STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (25 page)

The custody sergeant groaned. ‘A lot of it is shouting and screaming – “Get me Detective Deans” and stuff like that. He is just relentless with it, won’t say much else. We haven’t managed any fingerprints or DNA yet because he’s been such an obstreperous prick. It’s taken us almost two hours to work out who you were.’

Deans’ jaw was on his knees. What was Babbage doing? He had caught himself.

‘Has he said what he wants to speak to me about?’

‘Oh, just ramblings. Says it’s something you are really going to want to hear, but he won’t tell anyone else. Like I said, I’m sorry to call you but at least I can stick something on the log to say that I made contact with you.’

‘Did he have a designated phone call?’

‘Yeah. You.’

‘What? No family or friend?’

‘I take it you don’t know what he’s on about then?’

Deans did not answer; he was too busy trying to work out what the hell was happening.

‘Hello?’ the custody skipper said after a moment’s silence.

‘Sorry,’ Deans said, shaking sense back into his head. ‘Okay, thanks for the update. Can you do me a favour? Don’t let him go just yet.’

‘Why?’ The skipper’s voice had changed suspiciously.

‘I need to make some phone calls.’

‘Just who exactly do I have in my cells, Detective?’

Deans chewed for a beat on his response. ‘He could be a crucial witness to the Amy Poole murder.’

‘Witness or suspect?’

‘That’s what we’ll have to find out.’

‘Why didn’t I know anything about this until now?’ the skipper asked spikily.

Deans bypassed the question with one of his own. ‘Where’s his car? The one he was stopped in?’

‘I assume it’s where the stop-check took place. Hold on…’ There was a long pause and then the sergeant came back on the line. ‘There’s nothing from the arresting officer to suggest it’s been moved.’

Excellent
, Deans thought.
At last, we could be getting somewhere
. ‘Do you happen to know the vehicle details?’ he asked.

‘VW Golf. Dark blue. Five-Five plate.’

‘Thanks, Sarge. I need to make some enquiries. I’ll be in touch again soon.’

‘Make it quick. I don’t want this one in my unit any longer than needs be.’

Deans checked the time on the cooker display. If he pushed it, he could be in Devon by eight, all things going his way. There was no time to arrange a job-car from the office so he bundled up his papers, jumped in the shower, threw some spare clothes into a bag, grabbed his suit and set off in his own car. So long as Babbage continued to play up he had a chance of reaching Devon in time. His main problem now was bringing others into the loop, and that was going to take some doing.

He decided he would call Ranford and Denise Moon whilst en route. Savage could wait. This was Deans’ one chance to grill Babbage, but the more he thought about it, the more unbelievable the circumstances appeared to be.

Deans waited until he was beyond the M4/M5 interchange, and then dialled Ranford.

‘Tell me again,’ Ranford said. ‘Some prisoner is asking to speak to you about the Op Bejewel murder?’

‘Yep. Ash Babbage. He was nicked earlier today for assaulting a traffic cop. I strongly believe that he’s our suspect.’

‘Hold up, Andy. Who is this Babbage? I haven’t heard him mentioned before.’

‘It’s a long story. I just need you to trust me, the same way I trust you right now.’

‘Who else knows you are on your way down?’

‘No one. I was kind of hoping the bosses wouldn’t be around at this time of night.’

‘Well, you’re right, they’re not. Jackson has been floating about, but I expect he will get off soon. I have to be honest; I don’t think you’ll get a rousing reception. Jackson’s made a point of making you a hot topic of conversation.’

‘Don’t worry about that. There’s too much at stake to fuss about that bollocks.’

‘What do you need me to do?’ Ranford asked.

‘Find the log that relates to the arrest. Find out where the car is. Then work on the inspector to get a full forensic lift.’

‘I can’t request a full lift without grounds, Andy.’

‘I know, I know. The crux of it is, we needed a break and this could be it. Tell the inspector I was working a line of enquiry relating to Babbage; it was thin, but now he’s banged up and making unsolicited comments about the murder. Run the registration details through PNC and ask someone from Intel to put the plate through ANPR for the night Amy went missing. I also need you to get hold of the custody centre – make sure Babbage isn’t released before I get there.’

‘I can’t promise anything,’ Ranford said. ‘You’re asking a lot. What shall I tell Jackson?’

‘Absolutely nothing. Do your best. I’m just passing Weston-Super-Mare, so see you in a bit.’

‘I’ve got to ask, Andy. Why are you still getting involved with this case?’

‘I just have to. Let’s leave it at that for now.’

Deans next contacted Savage, explained the phone call from Sergeant Jarvis and opened up about Denise Moon.

‘Bloody hell, Deano, what are you playing at?’

‘I know what I am doing, Mick.’

‘You could seriously drop in the shit, Deano. You’ve got enough on your plate without chasing the evidence of a fantasist.’

‘Well what else have we got?’

‘There is no “we”. You are no longer on the case and it is time you acknowledged that. Come on. Come back home.’

‘I’m right, Mick. I know I am. I can’t let this opportunity pass by.’

‘Deano. You are going to make yourself look a prize twat, and how do you suppose it’s going to reflect on the rest of us?’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You might not, but I do.’

Deans did not answer.

‘What are your intentions, Deano?’

‘Get the vehicle examined, search his home address.’

‘Bloody hell, Deano. He’s only belted a traffic cop, that’s almost no offence. How do you propose obtaining authority for all of that?’

‘Leave that to me.’

‘What about Groves?’

‘What about him?’ Deans had not even considered Carl Groves.

‘Well, didn’t he see the Golf and the driver?’

‘You beauty,’ Deans shouted excitedly. ‘That’s why you’re a bloody skipper. Can you sort out an ID procedure for me, please?’

‘You would owe me big time, Deano. What system do they use down there?’

‘I don’t know. Can you speak to the on-call ID officer up there and see if the systems are compatible, and find out if Groves is willing to play ball?’

‘You’re missing one big thing, Deano. Groves is on bail for murder. You cannot have the suspected murderer doing an ID procedure for a possible witness. It’s the wrong way around.’

‘Well then I guess someone with big
cojones
has to start making decisions about Groves’ bail status.’

‘He’ll be on bail for months, until we can verify his account.’

‘And this is one way.’

‘No, it’s not, Deano. It’s fishing.’

‘Do you trust me, Mick?’

‘I do. But I also think that you’re going through a tough time and maybe you need to back off and let Devon run with it alone.’

‘Mick, we have a car. We have a different suspect. Groves could confirm both of them. No one else can.’

‘If Groves is telling the truth, Deano. It could still be a bunch of bullshit.’

‘It’s not. Tap up the ID guys, please.’

Savage grunted. ‘Let me mull it over, Deano.’

There were huge risks, not least treating Groves as a witness rather than a suspect. If he picked Babbage out, great. It would be another legitimate route to pursue. However, if they ran the ID and Groves failed to pick out Babbage, how would that look at any future court trial? It could seriously damage the prosecution case if Groves was indeed the killer. Any half-decent defence team would jump on the inconsistency and put enough uncertainty in the jury’s mind to find reasonable doubt, and Groves would walk. Then again, the prosecution could argue a fair and transparent investigation – innocent until proven guilty and all that. It was a tough judgement call and one Deans was glad he did not have to make himself.

The phone remained silent for the remainder of the journey. He did not know if that was a good or a bad thing.

On arrival, Deans made his way into the police station and asked to speak with Ranford. The receptionist made a short call and returned to say Ranford was out, but handed Deans the phone.

‘Hello,’ Deans said.

‘Sergeant Jackson speaking, how may I help?’

Of all the people it could have been.

‘Hi, Sarge, it’s Andy Deans. Has DC Ranford spoken to you about anything in the last couple of hours?’

‘Are you in my reception?’

‘Well, I’m downstairs in the public area, if that’s your reception.’

‘What are you doing here, Deans?’

‘Perhaps I could come up to the office and discuss that?’

‘No. There is nothing for us to talk about. Go home, where you belong.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Deans said. ‘There’s a prisoner in one of your cells requesting to speak to me personally. Someone who wants to discuss the Amy Poole murder, with me. Now, we could argue the toss about whether I’ve been stitched up or whether you think I should or shouldn’t have anything to do with this investigation, but as I see it right now, that prisoner and I are your two best bets to progressing this case.’

‘Which cell? What prisoner?’ Jackson asked sharply.

‘Well, there we go. It seems that we do have something to discuss after all.’

‘Five minutes, starting from now.’

Deans heard the dead tone and handed the receiver back to the receptionist. ‘DS Jackson has asked me to go upstairs.’

Moments later, he was in the CID office facing an angry-looking Jackson. Behind him sat Gold and Ranford. Deans glared at Ranford and suddenly doubted his own trust and judgement.

Jackson took two steps towards him. ‘This way.’

The corridors were dark – cost-cutting in full effect. Jackson walked as if he had night vision and found the door handle to the little interview room with ease. Deans wondered if he had taken Gold down to this room yet, but in slightly different circumstances.

‘Who’s this prisoner?’ Jackson asked with a spiteful tone.

‘Ash Babbage.’

‘Where?’

‘North Devon Custody Unit.’

‘Why should he ask for you?’

‘That’s what we should all be trying to find out.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Custody Sergeant Jarvis.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘You should arrest a few more people then.’

‘Stay here,’ Jackson stormed, leaving Deans in the brightly lit shoebox of a room alone.

After several minutes, Ranford poked his head around the door.

‘Where were you earlier, buddy?’ Deans said angrily.

‘It was Jackson. He told me not to have anything more to do with you or I’d be off the case as well.’

‘What a tosser,’ Deans said just as Jackson came back into the room.

‘Follow me,’ he said to Deans, and cast a ferocious glare at Ranford.

Jackson headed them back to the CID office.

‘Shut the door,’ Jackson told Ranford.

Deans found the corner of a desk, perched his weight on the edge and sat on his hands as Jackson paced back and forth menacingly.

Then it began.

‘Just who the hell do you think you are, eh?’ Jackson said, bearing down on Deans. ‘Tell me when you started to call the shots in my jurisdiction, Constable?’

Deans did not speak, refrained from catching eye contact.

‘Well?’ Jackson roared. ‘I am asking you a question, son.’

Deans shrugged, but before he could say anything Jackson was on him, inches from his face.

‘Since when do you start arranging forensic recovery?’ Jackson’s spittle was wetting Deans’ lips. He knew Jackson was baiting him for a reaction and he was not about to feed the man’s anger or ego.

‘I’m told that CID requested a full lift and forensic examination of a suspect vehicle. Am I missing something here?’ Jackson was now involving the rest of the room. ‘Well?’ he shouted.

Gold then showed her inexperience. ‘I didn’t.’

‘I know that,’ Jackson said still facing Deans. ‘Apparently someone else has been making these supervisory requests.’ He then turned to Ranford, who took a step backwards and bumped into a chair. ‘It seems Detective Ranford has been in liaison with the Duty Inspector.’

Deans had heard enough. ‘I asked him to.’

‘You,’ Jackson snarled, now practically nose-to-nose with Deans. ‘You asked him to? Got your own budgets, have you?’

Deans stood upright from the desk and flexed blood back into his numbed fingers. He was altogether larger than Jackson was, not to mention ten or more years younger, and now they were standing toe to toe.

‘Get out of my face, Sergeant,’ Deans said with quiet determination.

Jackson, whose nose was now level with Deans’ chin, pivoted sideways. ‘What are you going to do, Constable… strike a superior officer? I don’t think that would be a wise career move now, do you?’

‘I’ve no intention of striking anyone,’ Deans replied calmly, as Jackson crabbed a couple more half steps away. ‘Do you know what I find most disappointing? You are here flexing your stripes, arguing about who organised the forensics, when all that matters is, it was done. We can bicker all night long but one thing hasn’t changed: a young girl is dead and we’re here to investigate how and why, and that’s exactly what I intend doing. Now, we have someone locked up who knows something about it, and wants to talk to me. If everything goes tits up, then direct the blame my way, but until then, let’s try to work this sodding case together.’

‘Don’t think you can come down here with your city ways, son. There are procedures, there is policy, and there is
respect
,’ Jackson boomed.

Deans looked to the others, who quickly turned away.

‘Respect?’ Deans repeated through gritted teeth. ‘Let me tell you what respect is. Respect is doing everything we can for the families of our dead victims. Respect is allowing highly trained officers to get on and do their jobs without making them feel like children—’

‘Get out of my fucking office,’ Jackson screamed, his face deep crimson red.