STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (2 page)

He was waiting for her, motionless inside his car, driver’s seat tilted back so that he was barely visible above the window line. Inconspicuously watching her yellow Beetle, with which he was so familiar.

He first spotted Amy as she walked downhill towards the quay, passing her car in the process. She was moving away from him now, maybe twenty metres ahead. He sat upright, eyes watching every step intently. His pulse rate quickened and the windscreen began to fog with his hot breath.

He had been biding his time for almost three hours now and the air outside had become moist and cool. Deciding against keeping the engine running, he did not want anyone, especially Amy, to know he was there. The hairs on his forearms stood rigid amongst the goose bumps, but that was not entirely down to the temperature.

He stretched forward and wiped the screen with the side of his hand leaving a band of smeared glass through which he was now straining to see, and consciously slowed his breathing. Twenty more seconds and she would be out of his view.

He did not take a second glance away from his quarry and lowered the driver’s window, just enough, and smoothly wound the car seat back to a more appropriate driving position, and the moment she was lost from sight he started the engine.

Lights out, he rolled the car downhill.

He saw her again as she crossed over the main road towards a bus stop, and he looked for a space to pull in. It had to be quick; she must not see his car or else the plan would fail.

Amy turned in his direction as she sat down on the bus stop bench, just as he killed the engine and cruised slowly to a stop behind a silver Smart car. He held his breath, dare not even blink. She looked away, not seeing him. It was still on.

She was sitting alone, one leg folded over the other, looking down at her mobile phone; the glow from the screen illuminated her face. Damn, she was looking good!

The corner of his mouth twitched and he licked his upper lip as her left thigh strained and bulged softly as it pivoted over the other knee.
Tonight is the night
, he thought.

A street lamp cast a faint umbrella of brightness around the bus stop roof encapsulating Amy. He considered his options: go across and take the initiative, or sit tight and wait for the right moment. He rocked in his seat – the right moment – whenever that would be.

A glance at the dash showed
19:51
in bright green square digits. He had no idea how long he had before the bus was due to arrive.

The longer he observed, the less of a choice he seemed to have. His legs were getting restless, his hands growing clammy and his breathing was no longer under his control. He knew what he had to do and it had to be now.

He quickly rehearsed the stages in his mind: what he was going to do and how he was going to deal with her reaction. He could not mess it up. He had waited a long time for this.

He smirked. Amy still was not looking his way. He had maintained the element of surprise, and so he stepped out from the security of his car. She was no more than fifty metres away, obliviously engrossed with her mobile phone.

Blood surged through his veins, and his hearing buzzed dimly with building adrenalin and excitement.

A car pulled slowly to a stop alongside the bench, partially blocking his line of sight. Only Amy’s head and shoulders were now visible above the roofline. He needed a clearer view.

A man climbed out from the car and walked towards Amy who noticed and waved to the man. She was now standing up, smiling and laughing, and the man was standing close to her, just inches away. Who was he?

Struggling to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, he moved further into the road but still only saw the back of the man’s beanie.

‘Scott?’ he breathed, recognition dawning. His shoulders and arms stiffened and his chest filled air. He stood planted to the spot as he watched their interaction.

Amy leant forward, giving Scott a lasting hug.

‘Bitch,’ he snarled. She had it coming to her.

He drew a sharp breath, his surroundings came back into focus – he was exposed, and he darted back to his seat.

It was too late. The other car was gone and so was Amy.

He noticed the time:
19:53
, and sat motionless, gaping ahead at the now empty bus stop.

Several minutes went by, and then he caught his eyes in the rear view mirror. ‘You fucked that right up.’

Detective Constable Andrew Deans was sitting despondently at his desk. From his second floor vantage point, he had a clear view of the people below going about their daily routines, most of them leading normal lives in comparison to his own. He sucked in deeply and expelled a long, coffee-fuelled breath as he watched with envy the public below. Tuesday afternoon, and this was his third day of six on duty, his morning confined in the small and overcrowded custody unit helping his colleague, Daisy Harper, interview a smug maggot of a man, arrested for stealing a large quantity of cash from his employer. Hours had wasted away as they waited for the solicitor to conduct his consultation, only to receive a half-page, barely legible, prepared statement at interview.

Few things bothered Deans much, but lingering around a stuffy, fluorescent-lit dungeon was certainly high up on the list, particularly as it was a beautiful day and especially as the brief was Johnson.

Deans secretly hoped that Johnson would one day become the unwitting victim of one of his own clients. Nothing serious, of course. Maybe a shed break-in or sat-nav theft from his car, but enough. Enough to see if Johnson would come bleating to the cops for help. Deans bet Johnson would rather suffer in silence than seek the help of his colleagues.

It was now three forty p.m. and the day had started at eight. There was an hour and a quarter to go before he could head off home, and it could not come soon enough. Harper had already gone for the day; had some family commitment or something. She had three kids to juggle as well as the job. They had been the only two detectives on duty that morning, but the skipper, who was himself enjoying some time off, had granted Harper the leave in advance. Now, Deans was solo in the office.

‘Great,’ he muttered under his breath as he continued to stare wistfully out of the window, considering whether to make his thirteenth coffee of the day.

DC Young from the late shift had been expected in at three but was commencing a crown court trial in the morning, so was pretty much written off from any meaty jobs that might arise. Deans was acutely aware that as it stood he was all that was left of the CID cover that day. The radio just had to stay ‘Q’ for a short while longer and then he could be at home with his wife and maybe even enjoy some fading autumn sunshine. He had learnt very early into his career never to use the word ‘quiet’ while on duty. Not only would his colleagues berate him, but it also had a nasty propensity of dishing up quite the opposite.

He sighed and flicked back through the recent pages of his blue A4 daybook – indispensable CID issue. No self-respecting detective could be without one. Those hard-backed matt covers safeguarded every investigative scribble. He had been working on a dubious robbery report from the early hours of yesterday; a young male victim, walking home at gone two a.m., alleging that he was followed by hooded kids on push-bikes who surrounded him, pushed him to the ground, produced a flick knife and stole his mobile phone and ‘probably about eighty pounds cash’. ‘Probably’ was never a good starting point and even more of a challenge with a hammered victim, unable to recall any significant detail about the offence, or the offenders.

Deans had already re-interviewed the complainant, sussing him out, testing his account, and four DVDs from the Council CCTV system were still sitting in his pending tray. No matter how many times he had tried to avoid noticing them, they were not going away.

CCTV was potluck, and sometimes a thankless task. Deans already had a slightly defeated mindset, and suspected the student had lost his phone whilst on the piss and been told by the phone company to get a crime number before they would offer a replacement. The eighty pounds would be mere embellishment.

He eventually mustered a degree of motivation with the aid of another strong brew and began reviewing the first disk, but it was not long before his eyes started feeling heavy with the lack of action from the computer screen.

DC Young sauntered into the office wearing civvies and humming along to headphones.

‘Dress down day?’ Deans said, looking Young up and down.

‘I’m at court tomorrow,’ Young replied, as he scoured the office. ‘Something going on, Deano?’

‘No. I’m it.’

‘Who else is on lates?’ Young asked more attentively.

‘You’re it.’ Deans smiled and turned back to his computer screen that was still showing dark and grainy images of a faraway park. Reflected in his monitor Young was pleading silently; arms out at his side.

With only a short time to go before his shift was due to end, Deans checked the log of ongoing calls for anything requiring CID attention. Though sixteen outstanding jobs showed nothing obvious to be concerned about, one made him take a second look. Medium Risk MISPER, LOG-0505.

CID did not normally deal with missing persons unless someone with pips on their shoulders deemed they were high risk. Deans knew that with a starting point of medium risk, this particular job had potential to ascend the stairs to the suits and so he read on.

Third party informant is reporting a missing housemate. MISPER – Amy Poole last seen on Friday afternoon. MISPER has not returned home over the weekend and has not attended lectures this week. Informant has spoken to MISPER’S boyfriend who has not had contact with her since Friday. Alternative telephone numbers are unknown
.

The log now had Deans’ full attention and he continued reading.

MISPER is a 20-year-old female student of Minerva University, Bath, living in privately rented accommodation. MISPER last seen with boyfriend, Carl Groves, on Friday 3rd October after final lectures. MISPER not answering calls texts or social media
.

A lacklustre voice from behind interrupted Deans’ concentration.

‘Anything I need to know about, Deano?’

‘Not really. There’s a medium risk MISPER – female student – probably one to keep an eye on.’

‘Oh great, not another bird shacked up somewhere? She’ll return once she’s had enough.’

It was not unusual for MISPERs to return of their own accord but the problem with them, especially when they were higher risk, was that they absorbed significant resources and time. Considering there were any number of MISPER logs every day, and this was the third that Deans knew of during his shift alone, only occasionally did one come along that grabbed the attention, and this was a case in point.

‘It seems a little strange to me,’ Deans said.

‘Well, it’s medium risk. Leave it for the woodentops to deal with.’ Young was always so complimentary about his uniformed colleagues.

Deans chortled and grabbed his bag. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said, tapping Young’s desk with his knuckle as he passed. ‘Have a good one.’

‘Remember I can’t get involved in anything, I’ve got court tomorrow.’

Deans did not reply. His stint was over.

Walking home, Deans continued to think about the MISPER log, and it bothered him. Friday afternoon to Tuesday lunchtime was a significant period with no contact. The boyfriend must have heard from Amy Poole at some point, some other family member, or a friend. But he knew the job would probably be waiting for him next day, along with God knows what else, so he continued his journey home and did not give it another thought that night.

Wednesday lunchtime and Deans was at home with his wife, Maria. She had been off sick from work since Monday. He was making her beans on toast, which was all she fancied. He made himself the same but double the amount. He was starting late-turn that day and wanted to know he had some food inside him just in case he did not get another chance to eat.

Despite Maria feeling unwell, they had at least spent some unexpected time together although she was not particularly forthcoming.

They were enduring an anxious time. No one else knew other than close family; no one else needed to know – yet. It was taking a toll, especially on Maria. For Deans it was slightly different. It was not diminished ownership, perhaps less self-imposed responsibility. They were both aware of the stats: twenty-five to thirty per cent, the experts had quoted. Not great odds if you were putting money down, but more than a glimmer of hope to cling onto if you dreamed of becoming a parent. Work was his coping mechanism, his fleeting release from the anguish. Maria had a part-time hairdressing job with her best friend from school days, who had two children herself. Deans did not think Maria resented the fact he could
escape
, but it certainly did not help that he was often at work when she was at her most fertile. The three a.m. attempts to conceive off the back of a long shift because Maria was ovulating, were anything but romantic.

He left the house having cocooned Maria within a duvet in front of the TV and a boxed set of
Sex and the City
and walked his usual route to work.

Bath was shaped like a bowl, with the majority of action taking place at the heart. He likened it to the crater of a volcano, not only in appearance but also for its quiescent energy with undertones of irrepressible ferocity. He had lived in Bath all his life, and becoming a cop had tainted his image, but not his love for his home.

He arrived at the office well before his shift was due to begin. The team on days were sitting around their desks, faces glued to their screens.

‘Hey, guys, how’s it going?’ Deans said as he walked past them towards his own desk. He fired up the computer and tried the room again. ‘All right, guys? How’s it been?’

‘Busy,’ DC Saunders replied, still looking at his screen.

‘Anything to hand over?’ Deans asked.

‘Need to speak with you about that MISPER from the weekend, Deano,’ DS Boyle, the day shift skipper said. ‘No problems. Uniform have disowned it and I see you were on duty when the job first came in.’