STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (17 page)

11:16 p.m.

Deans leant back against the wall of the custody corridor, his head soothed by the cool paintwork.

‘Andrew, can we have a chat please?’

It was a familiar voice coming from further along the corridor.

Deans struggled to focus through his bleary eyes and saw Detective Chief Inspector Bellamy dressed in casual clothing, standing with the custody sergeant. Saturday night in the custody suite at just before midnight was not the normal place for the boss to be. Deans stood tall and tucked a flap of shirt back into his trousers.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, and wondered what event had happened during the time he had been interviewing Groves to prompt this visit.

Deans felt awful. His eyes were gritty, he was starving hungry having eaten nothing since breakfast, and he had a day’s growth on his chin, not to mention a humour deficiency – not ideal circumstances to be chatting with the boss.

Deans walked through to a side room that the boss had just entered. He knocked on the door and hesitated, seeing Bellamy facing into the room from the far corner, like a prize-fighter waiting for the opening round.

‘Andy, I hear you’ve been doing a fine job on this missing person case.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Deans replied. He knew Bellamy had not bothered to come into work at this time just to tell him that.

Bellamy pointed to a chair, already positioned to face in his direction.

Deans cleared his throat, and gently lowered himself down. ‘Thank you,’ he said uneasily.

‘Andy,’ the boss said, taking two causal steps forwards, ‘there’s a delicate divide building with this investigation that I realise might now be a Devon murder enquiry.’

Deans nodded. ‘Sir.’

‘I understand you’ve been interviewing the suspect here tonight.’

‘That’s right, sir, Carl Groves.’

‘Yes.’ The boss walked over to the door and gently closed it. ‘Let’s get the bollocks out of the way first, shall we – Mr Johnson’s put in a complaint against you.’

‘You’re kidding—’

‘Don’t fret, I’ve heard all about Mr Johnson, but I do need copies of those interview tapes.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Deans said reluctantly.

‘Fine. That’s that part done. Now… your man Groves; we have pumped a lot of resources into this job and a week has already slipped by. The time and effort we have put in and continue to put in will count for nothing without a positive outcome. The significance of this job hasn’t been missed by the Chief, who wants an early Somerset result. The press are likely to be all over this and DI Feather will be facing the music, so I need to ensure we are portrayed in a positive light. Being a Devon murder it is highly irregular to have someone of your skill mix, shall we say, seconded to assist when they are sure to have competent officers available.’ He paused. ‘Are we at a stage where we can go to the CPS tonight for a charging decision?’

Deans did not respond at first and he wondered if the boss had practised, or if that shite just came naturally to him. He found it unbelievable to be having this political conversation on a Saturday night with the DCI. The scowl he had been wearing since the end of the interview was not fading.

‘Sir, thank you for coming in tonight to keep me appraised of the management thoughts on this case. I am acutely aware of the cross-border issues; however, there is still a very long way to go with this investigation. We are not at a stage where we can get a charging decision tonight because I don’t believe Carl Groves is our man.’

The boss frowned, but Deans continued unhindered. ‘I suspect that a third party, as yet unidentified, may have some valuable information for us.’ Deans then stunned himself by what next came out of his mouth. ‘I have to be honest, sir, I don’t give a shit whether this job belongs in Devon or Somerset. The fact is I’ve been working on it flat out since Monday. My wife hasn’t seen me and I’ve been living between two counties throughout the week. I’ve seen the body and spent crucial time with the family. They trust me and we have a rapport. I’m the only person, be it here or in Devon, who has the faintest idea of what has happened. Groves did not kill Amy Poole. He may even have seen the killer, but a lot of work still needs to be done before we know that for sure and I’m the best person to do that. Sir.’

The DCI glowered ominously. He was a man highly regarded in the station, but he also came with a fierce reputation.

‘Andy, have you been getting enough rest? You seem, shall we say, on edge.’

‘No, sir, in a word. I’m completely knackered but crime won’t crack itself and in the absence of anyone else giving a damn about this case, up until now it seems; I’ve had little choice in the matter.’

‘Well, now I’m giving you that choice. I have discussed it with DS Savage this evening and we have agreed to release you on secondment, for one month only, or alternatively, I can pull you out of the investigation with immediate effect and you can resume normal duties. So, what’s it to be?’

It was an easy professional decision to make, but unbelievably tough from a personal perspective. It would undoubtedly mean living away from home. Maria would freak out.

Deans looked away; his pounding forehead reminded him how tired he was, but his thoughts turned to Janet and Ian Poole.

‘I want to stay on the case, boss. It’s reached a significant stage.’

‘Fine. Your dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed, Andy.’

Before leaving, Deans updated Bellamy with the content of the interview. The boss agreed with Deans; Groves was to be bailed, having spent the last thirty hours in custody, but on the proviso that he adhered to strict bail conditions. The last thing they needed was for Groves to be the most compelling storyteller the station had known.

Deans returned to the office. All the lights were out apart from one solitary strip of fluorescence above his desk. It was a stark image confirming that this investigation was beginning to dominate his life.

A note was Blu-Tacked to his computer monitor. He tore it off and held it beneath the light.

Deano, we are off on rest days now. I am sure you will have already seen the boss. I bet that was a pleasant surprise! If you choose to continue with the job, your overtime and cancelled rest days for this week will be authorised on Monday; just let Admin know what you need. I hope you opt to spend a few days at home with your wife. You deserve it – you both do. Mick

Amy was very happy to accept the lift into town. She was surprised to see him but thought well of everyone and appreciated his generosity. She also felt unusually stimulated to be in his presence – could not quite put her finger on it. He was enigmatic – precise and wise, yet fragile. He gave her a feeling of security, like an uncle or aunt would, after all, he must have been twice her age.

She chatted happily about her coursework and he showed a genuine interest and understanding about the subject. They discussed how unusually warm it had been for the time of year, and about where she was planning to go that night.

They arrived at Torworthy in good time, and Amy said she would see him soon. He wished her a fun-packed night, pulled away, and Amy strolled towards the bus stop where she then heard a shrill whistle from across the road. It was Scotty.

Jumping Joe’s was just around the corner and was about the best place in town. She guessed that was from where Scotty had emerged. It sold cheap booze in plastic containers and the oldest person there would be Liz behind the bar, who was probably in her mid-thirties but lived life like she was desperate to remain ever-young. The floors and furniture were sticky, drink-soaked timber and the bar was long and narrow with enough spirits lined up behind to encourage over-indulgence for the most discerning of drinkers. Joe’s was open until two a.m. and most weekends it was busy right to the end.

Amy ran across the road and flung her arms around Scotty, squeezing him firmly.

‘Hey, you,’ she said.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he replied, and they kissed and remained that way for a number of pleasurable seconds.

He took her hand and they walked the short distance to Jumping Joe’s where they met with three other friends. They chatted, laughed and joked, and Amy danced to her favourite tunes. And after a few glasses of wine, Scotty encouraged Amy to join him in drinking flaming sambucas. She was not overly keen on the taste, or the thought of burning her lips, but being with Scotty, how they used to be, was feeling good.

They danced together with intoxicated eagerness but by about half past midnight, Amy was feeling the effects of the booze.

‘I’m going to head off,’ she said to Scotty, in a quiet area away from the others.

‘Why? Come on, Ames, we’re just getting going,’ Scotty said, pulling at her arm.

‘I’m not feeling too good.’

‘Ames, come on. Stay. Just a bit longer. I’m not ready to go.’

‘Who’s inviting you anyway, cheeky?’ she said playfully.

He reached for her hand. ‘You know what I mean.’ He was looking serious for the first time that night. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘Maybe next week. I need to chat to my parents, and see what’s happening, but I’m definitely down the weekend after, so we can do something then if you like?’

Scotty ducked his head close to hers. ‘Are you really going to finish it with sport billy?’

She smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Definitely.’

Amy slipped out through the front door as an expectant queue of young revellers hugged the building line to enter. She made her way to Diamonds burger bar, which was a van that always parked on the quayside at weekends, and as she queued to get a bottle of water she realised she was tipsier than she wanted to be and giggled at her recklessness. All she could think about was her luxurious bed and soft pillow back home, but the taxi queue was thirty deep.

Being a small town the taxis were in scarce supply compared to when she was at university, and she knew from bitter, cold experience that she could be waiting for at least half an hour before she could plop herself into a ride home. At least it was dry and her alcohol cloak was keeping the chill away, so she sat on a nearby bench and steadied her wobbles.

A couple of younger guys approached and began asking where her boyfriend was and where she was going next. It did not matter that she was quite drunk; Amy was used to being chatted up. That happened a lot at university, much to Carl’s distaste. She did her usual routine and humoured the guys in a friendly yet unmistakably hands-off fashion, and it worked. They got the message and directed their attention elsewhere.

Amy wondered what Carl would be up to and guessed he was out with his rugby crowd getting as drunk as he could and chatting up pretty girls. She looked at her phone to see if he had left any messages. He had not, and she could not help but feel disappointment.

He was probably no more than forty metres away from the taxi rank and had been watching Amy since she came out of Jumping Joe’s. In fact, he had hardly moved from the time he dropped her off, and could still make out the faint, lingering trace of her perfume.

He was parked within one of the busier police loops, and had seen the same squad car cruising for the last couple of hours. Sometimes it stopped for ten to fifteen minutes in a prominent position opposite the taxi rank and the rest of the time, it drifted, looking for flash points, or more likely at the partying girls. A riot van had joined the others for a short time but then sped off to the jeers of the loutish youths that were kicking empty beer cans around the quayside. For all he knew the squad car he kept seeing was the only police presence left in the town. He was unconcerned; his story was sound. If asked, he would say he was waiting to collect his daughter, and who would think otherwise? Besides, nobody had bothered him up to now.

Amy was clearly quite drunk. He had taken particular notice as she bumbled her way down the street and had sniggered at his fortune, though he was increasingly concerned that she would be taking a taxi.

He had to intercept Amy before she joined the rank, but the one-way system meant that she would be out of view until he could drive back along the quay – where he hoped she would still be sitting on the bench. He did not want to get out of the car, could not risk one of the cameras identifying him. It would have to be swift, smooth, and of course, Amy would have to agree to come with him.

He saw her readying to move, and he swiftly started the engine. His eyes lingered on her one final time and he headed off along the one-way system, taking him on a loop around the outside of the bars and pedestrian areas that closed to traffic during the day. It should take no more than three to four minutes to return to the quay, but that would be enough time for Amy to get away.

A glance at the speed dial showed he was doing thirty-eight. If the cops were out there, he would be stopped for sure.

Anxiety was beginning to bite as he approached the final right turn. Amy was out of his view, but he needed to be patient and wait before re-joining the main road, because a procession of boy racers was passing in front of his junction. He slapped the top of the dashboard. Sod’s law; they were slow cruising. He gripped the wheel tightly and inched out slowly into the road, anticipating the final boy racer’s passage. The rear lime green Honda, with its unsocial barking exhaust caused him more than a fleeting distraction.

He strained to focus ahead through the bright glare of brake lights. The rear Honda was now but a crawl.
Do your posing elsewhere
, he thought, irritation growing. He could now see the row of benches, and searched frantically for Amy. She was still there.

He slammed the wheel.
Would you believe it?
They were taking turns to show off their cars to Amy, in some kind of urban courting gesture. He had no choice; he would have to stay tucked in behind and bring up the rear. His car most certainly could not be mistaken for a boy racer’s, and she might even find it amusing. He just needed her to get in.

The front passenger window buzzed down and he leant across the gap until she could see him.