STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (33 page)

Sarah smiled, and took a sip from her glass without taking her eyes off Deans. ‘Can I ask another… personal question?’

Deans nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

‘How do you feel about your wife moving out?’

That question again. His eyes glazed over. How did he feel, and did he want to disclose it tonight, with Sarah?

He lifted his empty glass and Sarah responded by pouring more wine. He took another large guzzle before answering.

‘Numb. Sad …Responsible.’

Sarah fiddled with the stem of her glass. ‘I admire how you’re able to carry on,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I could cope as well if it were me.’

‘Well, it seems that thanks to Mr Babbage, I don’t have much choice in the matter.’

They both chuckled.

‘Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?’ Deans asked.

‘Please do.’

‘Jackson. I notice he is very… how can I put it? …close to you. Are you guys—’

‘God, no,’ she barged in. ‘Has somebody told you that we are?’

‘No, I promise. I kind of picked up on a vibe, from him anyway.’

‘I can’t lie. He has made advances my way, but I think I have made it abundantly clear he has no chance. After all, he is my skipper, and old. I mean, he must be almost fifty.’

‘Easy. I’m not far off that myself.’

‘No comparison,’ she said quickly, hugging the cushion a little closer.

Deans made a face. ‘How so?’

‘Well, you know,’ she said coyly. ‘You’re no letch, and you’re a gentleman… from what I can tell so far.’ She twitched an eyebrow and grinned.

Deans looked away, touched the pocket of his trousers, and felt his phone.

‘I should go,’ he said.

‘You can’t.’

Deans raised himself from the sofa.

‘You’ve had some wine,’ she said.

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You’ve had quite a lot,’ Sarah insisted, now following Deans towards the top of the stairs.

‘Thank you, Sarah.’ He touched her arm. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘You’ll never find anywhere to stay at this time of night.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he repeated.

When he reached the front door, Sarah was still at the top of the stairs. He offered a wave, and was gone.

Little did Deans know that the following twenty-four hours would change his life forever.

Deans woke early, cold, disoriented, and aching. A disciplined few were already out on the water. He did not want Denise to think that he was taking advantage of her kind nature, so not long after, he was doing his best to freshen up in the cruddy sink basin of a nearby twenty-four hour garage.

He arrived at the nick just it in time for seven. Sarah was at her desk.

‘Good morning, Sarah,’ he said.

She gave him a fleeting glance. ‘Hi,’ she replied.

‘Anything good,’ he said, referring to the documents she was looking through.

‘Where did you stay last night?’ she said, and swivelled in the chair to face him.

‘Just my usual.’

She turned back to her desk.

‘So, what’ve you got,’ Deans said, coming alongside her chair.

‘Wallet of photographs, and forensic data.’

‘Cool. I’ll have a look at those in moment.’ Deans picked up a mug from the desk. ‘Fancy one?’

‘Thanks.’

He left the office, but on his return, Sarah and the papers had gone. He found her in the bollocking room, documents spread over the table. He handed her a hot drink.

‘Thanks for the invite last night,’ he said.

She nodded.

‘I’m sorry I had to go.’

She nodded again and hooked hair over her ear. Deans lifted a report by the high tech crime analysts.

‘Shall I take a look through this?’

‘Sure,’ Sarah replied, but did not look his way.

Deans moved his chair to the narrow end of the table, closer to Sarah. ‘Excellent,’ he said, and gave a sideways glance. Sarah did not look up from her documents. ‘As expected,’ he continued, ‘Babbage’s prints are all over the camera, and there’s a partial lift from the rear housing. Could be Amy’s.’ He looked up from the paper. Sarah was paying attention now. ‘All the photos have been taken within a twenty-three-day period, ending on Monday the thirteenth. Looks like we also have a breakdown of the albums found in the study. Good job, high tech guys.’

‘That’s good,’ Sarah said and returned to her papers.

‘Can I see the photo album?’ Deans asked.

Sarah handed him the A5 sized, ring-bound wallet, each page numbered 1 to 83; a single colour print to each page. He flipped through the first forty-four but did not recognise any of the outside locations or any of the different females contained within. He then stopped at number 45. It was Amy.

She was sitting on a high-armed wooden chair and her head was slumped forward. Her arms draped over the elbow rests and her hair covering her face. If it was not for the extensive bruising she sustained whilst being buried, Deans would think he was looking at a snuff photo.

As he turned the pages in sequence, his mind’s-eye created a virtual replay. He saw Amy, and he saw Babbage. It was if he were a free moving entity in the room and they were unaware of his presence. He watched Babbage position Amy in the chair and could detect a palpable excitement in the room.

Deans pulled away from the album and looked over at Sarah. She was doing her own thing. He screwed up his face, shook his head, and nudged the album away. This was insane.

He could not ignore what was happening to him and pulled the album back. He opened the pages, his hands trembling. Another picture; Amy’s face. He brought it closer.
My God!

He touched the side of his right temple, his eyes burning on the page.
The headaches
, he thought. He raced through the subsequent pages, and then at number 71, his skin blanched and he stopped dead.

He was looking at the driveway, front garden and front door of his own house. Frozen air stiffened his neck and shoulders and goosebumps spread over his body like a pestilence of locusts, gnawing at his skin. He hurried through the pages, unable to turn them fast enough, but it was alone. A solitary image.

He returned back to the page and blinked uncontrollably as he took it all in. His car was on the drive.

Sarah had been watching him. ‘Are you all right, Andy?’

He did not answer.

‘Andy? Are you okay?’

The door opened and Jackson burst in. ‘There you both are. Briefing in ten. Don’t be late.’ He slammed the door and was gone.

‘Andy?’ Sarah said with more urgency.

‘Yes, what?’ he replied sharply.

Sarah flinched, a look of surprise on her face. ‘Shall we get some thoughts together for the briefing?’

‘Briefing?’

‘The one Sarge just told us about.’

Deans shook his head.

Sarah snatched the documents away from him and bundled them up together. ‘Come on,’ she said pushing her chair away from the table.

‘I’m going to give Babbage what he wants,’ Deans said in a monotone voice.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Me. He wants me. So he’s going to get me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I want to go solo in the next interview, Sarah.’

‘The sarge won’t go for that. He will want both of us there. The policy stipulates—’

‘Fuck the policy and fuck that wanker, Jackson.’

Sarah took a backward step. ‘What’s happened, Andy?’ she asked nervously.

‘Babbage has happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

Deans did not answer. He was already walking out of the room.

Deans and Sarah were the final two people to arrive at the conference room. There were no seats again so they stood against the wall. Deans sensed urgency in the room, the taste of progress in the air.

The DI explained that Sarah and Deans would put another interview to Babbage and hit him with all the new evidence. Jackson would arrange the extension of custody time from the magistrates’ court, and he hoped by the end of the day that they would have the full forensic package.

Deans did not mention the photograph; in fact, he failed to speak throughout the entire briefing.

Jackson followed Deans and Sarah out of the room. ‘I need a detailed report from you within the hour,’ he demanded.

‘About what?’ Sarah asked.

‘Everything. Unless you want to bow and scrape to the magistrates? No, didn’t think so.’

‘We need to prepare for the next interview. Ask the disclosure officer,’ Deans said.

‘Just get me that bloody report,’ Jackson snapped. ‘If we don’t get this extension we can kiss the next interview goodbye, along with the job.’

Deans had not seen him this flustered before. Angry – yes, stressed – no.

Jackson glared at them both. ‘I need it like yesterday, so get on with it,’ he said and stomped away.

Whether Deans liked Jackson or not, he had to agree with something he had said; they were scuppered without the magistrates’ approval for longer detention. Therefore, he and Sarah set about knocking up a typed précis, which just less than an hour later was in Jackson’s ungrateful hand.

Deans imagined Jackson would read the summary word for word like a script. He so wished he could have put something in to screw him up and make him suffer. He would have loved to view the spectacle in person but alas, the interview of Babbage was waiting.

They arrived at the custody suite and set about preparing the new evidence for interview. The duty inspector had already conducted a welfare check on Babbage and it was evident that he was still refusing legal representation, but that could still change with the looming prospect of another couple of days banged up.

Sarah took Deans along a narrow corridor to show him the video satellite room and found the DI inside talking on the landline. Five empty plastic chairs squeezed tightly into the width of the room, beneath a TV monitor fixed to the wall.

Deans looked at the bright image on the TV screen. It was the familiar view of their interview room.

Sarah raised a hand and quietly apologised to the DI, and closed the door again. She pulled at Deans’ arm before they reached the interview room.

‘Are you angry with me about something?’ she asked.

‘God, no. Why?’

‘You just seem quiet today.’

‘Sarah, seriously. I’m fine.’ He hesitated. ‘…I’m sorry. I’ve got a few things bothering me right now.’

She dropped her head. ‘I shouldn’t have invited you over. I’m sorry.’

‘Sarah, don’t be sorry.’ He reached out and touched her hand. ‘I promise it’s nothing to do with you, or last night.’

‘Are you sure?’ Her doleful brown eyes combed his face.

‘Come on,’ he said, giving her a one-armed hug. ‘Shall we get this show on the road?’

Two and a half hours later, they were ready. Jackson had succeeded with the extension and Deans and Sarah waited for Babbage’s arrival in the interview room.

Deans had scribbled a note to Sarah; she would start the interview but he would indicate when the time was right for her to leave.

Babbage walked nonchalantly into the room sporting a wide grin, a detention officer close behind. Deans looked away.

Sarah commenced the interview, and as before, Babbage stared at Deans throughout.

‘Tell us everything about the camera found in your study,’ Sarah asked.

Babbage leaned on the table towards her. ‘No comment.’ He sat back and faced Deans once again.

‘Tell us who the camera belongs to.’

‘No. Comment.’

‘Describe the images stored on the camera,’ Sarah continued.

Babbage closed his eyes, emitted a slow, hushed groan, and formed a satisfied smile. ‘Why don’t you tell us, Detective Deans?’ He said darkly.

The bastard was trying to wind him up, and doing a good job of it too.

‘I’m asking you,’ Sarah interjected calmly.

‘Come on, Detective?’ an increasingly-animated Babbage said. ‘Was there anything on the camera that you’d like to share with us?’

Deans did all he could not to vault the table, strangle Babbage and enjoy every second of it. Instead, through clenched teeth he responded, ‘It’s not my interview, Babbage, it’s yours. And you’re being asked a question.’

Babbage leaned closer towards Sarah, who simultaneously pushed back in her chair. ‘I tell you what, pretty,’ he said. ‘I will talk with Detective Deans now. So you can toddle off and do your nails or something.’

‘You don’t tell me how to run this interview—’

‘Sarah, it’s fine,’ Deans interrupted. ‘That’s fine. If Mr Babbage wants to speak with me, then that’s okay.’

Sarah looked up at the camera.

‘Go on, Sarah, it’s fine,’ Deans encouraged.

‘Mr Babbage,’ Deans said, ‘for benefit of procedure, would you please confirm that you’d prefer that it was just myself present during this interview?’

‘I believe that’s what I asked for. Go on, Sarah – off you go.’ Babbage turned to face the camera. ‘I hope you’re paying attention out there.’

Deans scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:
I’ll be OK. Stay in the video room
.

Sarah stood up and reluctantly announced, ‘The time is twelve twenty-three hours. DC Gold is leaving the interview room at the request of the defendant.’ She gave Deans another look of concern and headed out of the room.

Babbage appeared very pleased about things, and strangely relaxed.

‘So finally, Detective,’ he said. ‘Here you are, and here we are… alone.’

Deans said nothing, rested his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers, his stare penetrating.

‘I must say, I’m surprised at your constraint. I had you figured for a man that didn’t have much in the way of… self-control.’ Babbage forced a brief smile. ‘I was very sad of course, to hear of your dismissal when the
affair
came to light.’

Deans scowled, his fingers melding together as a molten fury surged through his body.

‘Oh, sorry, Detective. Has it only just dawned on you who the concerned member of public was that alerted your sergeant to the entire sordid liaison? One can only imagine what poor Maria must’ve thought when she found out.’

Deans was taut with rage.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ Babbage said dramatically. ‘How is the delightful Maria? You must miss her terribly.’ His tone was sickeningly patronising.