STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (27 page)

‘Yes, I granted the recovery of that vehicle earlier today.’

‘Thank you, sir, I’m very much obliged,’ Deans said, currying favour. ‘On being stopped by your officers, Mr Babbage apparently requested to speak personally with me in relation to the Amy Poole murder. This was completely unsolicited and I don’t believe in coincidence, sir.’

The inspector peered at Deans, his features unyielding.

‘Sir, I further request that we conduct a search at his home address for any evidence relating to the victim or the crime, and seek his cooperation in an ID procedure. Only then may we prove or disprove any involvement he might have in this murder.’

‘Forensics?’ the inspector asked.

‘Well, sir, who knows what we may uncover at the home address, or from the vehicle, come to that.’

The inspector scrutinised Deans for an uneasy second, then nodded. ‘I think, given the serious nature of the offence under investigation and the embryonic stage we still sadly find ourselves at, I’m willing to authorise a Section Eighteen search of his home address, and if he won’t agree to an ID procedure then we can still go ahead using his custody image. Which we have, yes?’

Deans and the custody sergeant shook their heads in tandem.

‘That’s in hand I take it?’ the inspector said to the custody sergeant.

The skipper nodded. ‘He’s been a difficult prisoner, sir, but we’ll press on with that immediately.’

‘Don’t think I’ve come across a willing one yet,’ the inspector said dryly.

That could be about to change
, Deans thought.

‘Good,’ the inspector continued. ‘And I think we’d be justified in obtaining fingernail scrapings, clippings and hand swabs.’

‘Sir,’ Deans acknowledged.

‘But we don’t have any evidence of a sexual assault, so we’d be hard pushed to obtain intimate samples. Am I right?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Deans said.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Gold said.

‘Thank you for that concise review of the case, uh… Deans. I did speak to Sergeant Jackson earlier regarding the vehicle lift, but he rather waffled.’

‘Thank you, sir. To be fair to Sergeant Jackson, we haven’t had much opportunity to exchange updates today.’

Gold concealed a knowing look to Deans.

‘Keep me informed,’ the inspector said, and waved the desk sergeant towards a computer screen, which they both then crouched over.

Gold sidled up beside Deans. ‘How did you get away with that?’ she whispered.

Deans chuckled. ‘You just need to hit the buzzwords and hope the BS sounds good.’ He noticed Gold had become subdued. ‘Hey, are you alright?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

‘Why not call Jackson, keep him sweet? We are going to need some extra staff for all this work I have just created us.’

‘Okay,’ she said and lightly brushed against him. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘Thanks,’ Deans said somewhat surprised. ‘It’s sad your sergeant doesn’t see it the same way.’

Gold laughed and wandered off to a side room to make the call.

Deans had taken a gamble with the inspector and now the result was on the flip of a coin. He was relying on something somewhere coming good, but he could never have predicted the events that were to follow.

With a plan of attack laid out less than an hour later, Deans was heading off to Babbage’s home address along with two uniformed PCs from the late shift, roped in to assist with the Section Eighteen search. Gold was back at the station, tasked by Jackson to interview Babbage along with DC Travaskis from her HQ unit.

Deans had nothing specific to search for at the address as so little information about the murder was known. Perhaps they would find the victim’s missing mobile phone, a tube of recently opened superglue or a signed confession. Fat chance. Despite this, he felt a palpable excitement the closer they got to their destination. He had already seen the intelligence reports on Babbage and the address. Both were spectacularly void. He was entering the unknown, and cops never liked to do that.

They arrived on the housing estate shortly before ten and parked directly outside the address. Deans saw both late turn officers checking their watches anxiously. Their team was due off at eleven and the night shift would be arriving at the station for their ten until seven stint. That final hour of changeover was often the only chance officers had to complete any accrued paperwork during the shift, but Deans had used the drive over to good effect and had hatched a plan that would ideally work in everyone’s favour.

The estate was modern, predominantly laid out with semi-detached properties and no apparent symmetrical basis of planning. As with most estates, there was a degree of claustrophobia from the neighbouring properties but he had certainly seen much worse. These had decent-sized driveways and a patch of lawn at the front, and some had their own integrated garage. All the properties appeared to have the same red brick and white UPVC windows and doors. Toy town, Maria would call it.

Babbage’s property was set in complete darkness on the left-hand side of the road. Deans could see the silvery number thirty-four on the front door, reflecting brightly in the streetlights. His anticipation grew as he gathered up his go-bag and a raid box from the boot of the car and pulled on a pair of blue vinyl gloves.

Deans directed one of the PCs to the rear of the property as he fiddled with a bunch of keys taken from Babbage whilst he was in custody. The other PC was shining a powerful dragon lamp directly at the door lock, causing the million times candle light to bounce back off the glossy surface directly into Deans’ face. He gestured to the PC to kill the light so that a) he could see again and b) the entire neighbourhood wouldn’t wake up to their arrival.

Once Deans confirmed the PC at the rear was set, he then unlocked the door, gently forcing it inwards. He did not know if he was about to trigger a house alarm, if a dog was waiting on the other side, or even if someone else might be there ready to greet him.

Darkness and silence were all that he found.

He pulled on a pair of elasticated shoe covers and entered the hallway, noticing an unset entry alarm box on the wall.

He’s confident
, Deans thought.

‘This is the police,’ Deans shouted, and listened for signs of movement or response. There was none.

He turned to the PC. ‘You stay out here.’

‘Shouldn’t I come in with you?’ The PC said, looking disappointed.

‘No. I need you to deal with anyone paying too much attention to our arrival.’

‘But what if you need help?’

‘Well, then I will shout for it,’ Deans said, and shoved the door closed from the inside.

He flicked a light switch, illuminating the narrow hallway. Closed doors were to his left and right. A stairway at the end of the hallway kinked out of view. He huffed and turned back to the front door. He was being bone-headed and should really have someone else with him, just in case.

He stewed for a moment and then opened the front door, to find the PC carving the illuminated dragon lamp through the air, as if it was some kind of giant lightsabre. He killed the light the moment he saw Deans.

‘When you’ve finished battling Darth Vader, perhaps you’d like to come inside,’ Deans said, holding the door wide open, already regretting his decision.

The PC immediately made towards Deans with a broad grin.

‘Not that,’ Deans said, pointing to the lamp. ‘You’ll need forensic gloves and shoe covers.’

‘I’ve already got some,’ the PC replied eagerly, rummaging through a pouch on his utility belt that was bursting with paraphernalia for every eventuality.

Fuck me, it’s Bear Grylls in uniform
, Deans thought, and waited patiently while the PC slipped the covers over his brilliantly polished Magnums and carefully rolled on his gloves with surgical precision.

What have I done?
‘Ready?’ Deans asked.

The PC nodded enthusiastically.

‘Do not touch anything. Do not open any doors. Do not go inside any rooms – unless I say you can. Understood?’

‘Affirmative.’

Deans did not know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he turned back to the hallway. His instinct directed him to the door on the right. The living room. It was unoccupied and sparsely decorated. A warm breeze brushed against his neck from behind. The PC was right behind him, straining to look into the room over his left shoulder.

‘Tell you what,’ Deans said, with a backwards swat of his hand. ‘Just sit tight here for now. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ the PC replied dejectedly.

‘Been in long?’ Deans asked.

The PC pulled a face.

‘The job. Been in the job long?’

‘Oh, this is my first month without a tutor-constable.’

Figures
, Deans thought. ‘Well, take in all you can, but most importantly, do not cross-contaminate anything. Okay?’

‘Affirmative.’

Deans turned his attention to the room on the left, the kitchen. He walked in hugging the wall line so as not to disturb any potential footprints or markings on the vinyl floor.

The room was fridge-cold, as if a window had been left open, yet they were closed. Deans stooped forward, and pulled his coat tight over his shoulders, becoming strangely lightheaded. He reached the far side of the room and discovered another narrow galley-way leading to a doorway that probably led to the rear of the property, and the second bobby. He backtracked to the hallway and saw the PC was standing exactly as he had left him.

‘Relax,’ Deans said. ‘I’m just going upstairs. Stay put, unless I call for you.’

The PC nodded, and Deans edged his way up the stairs. As he approached the top, the already-uncomfortable air temperature took a noticeable dive and his scalp felt like it was separating from his head. He zipped up his North Face jacket and stood on the landing.

Four white doors faced him, three closed and one, at the end of the short hallway, left open. He opened the first door on the right, being careful not to disturb any potential fingerprints on the handle. It was the bathroom. Standard three-piece and tiled floor to ceiling in a nautical theme. It was spotlessly clean and tidy. He worked anti-clockwise and next entered the room with the open door. Meagre furniture made the room look larger than it actually was, and he could not help but notice the vibrant pink, flower-patterned wallpaper lining the wall behind the bed.

He scoured the room. The bed was single, neatly made and smoothed down with new-looking white sheets. A single shabby-chic bedside table matched the wardrobe, and a full sized vanity mirror took the space opposite the bed.

The room was immaculate and starkly feminine. Denise’s words
don’t trust her
sprang to the forefront of his mind.

He moved on to the study. An altogether different room; deep red walls, black glass desk and modern computer equipment. A small red dot in the corner of the screen and a glowing cordless mouse revealed that the system was on. More reason to believe that Babbage had not expected his arrest.

Pine shelving took up the majority of one wall. On the upper shelves, numbered box files stood on end and reading material filled the remaining space. Stephen King was clearly popular, and then he noticed, one, then two, then several other books on witchcraft and the dark arts.

Deans’ extremities were stiffening from the chilled air and he was glad there was only one room left to check, but as he stretched out for the handle, his entire body broke into a tremor and each hair on his body reached for the sky.

‘Jesus, this place is cold,’ he muttered, and rubbed his arms vigorously, and then noticed the vapour from his breath, drifting in an eerie and unnatural direction towards the fourth door. Mesmerised, he watched until the haze dissipated against the wood.

He shook his head and gently pushed down on the handle, to reveal a small, square room of complete emptiness.

Instantly, Deans experienced an intense burning sensation shoot from his eyes into the crown of his head. He dropped to his knees and he clamped his head.

‘Everything alright up there?’ came a voice from downstairs.

‘Yep,’ Deans called out as the pain intensified. Maria’s smiling face flashed into his mind, followed by Amy’s limp corpse lying on the pebble ridge.

‘Argh,’ Deans moaned through a tightly-clenched jaw, as he pressed his hands firmly into his face in a futile attempt to relieve the agony.

‘Fuck’s happening,’ he squealed.

A voice in his right ear stunned him to a complete halt.
Don’t stop
.

Deans snatched at his breath and looked over his shoulder. No one was there. He leapt to his feet and scanned the landing. It was empty. He crept back to each of the other rooms and cautiously looked inside. There was no one else around, other than PC Skywalker downstairs.

Deans bunched his eyes – there was no mistake – he heard the words, as clear as if someone had been stood next to him, someone who was female.

His mind accelerated.
This is it
, he thought.
This is what Denise was trying to tell me. My sign. My connection
.

He walked to the very edge of the top stair and looked down. The PC was not in sight, but the intermittent radio chatter from his radio confirmed he had not moved from the hallway. A waft of familiar-smelling scent drew Deans back to the landing. It was the same brand that Maria used, he could not recall the name, but it was shaped like an apple. He sniffed the air, following the trail and found himself back in the small empty room. The brilliant whiteness of the walls and ceiling all of a sudden appeared exaggerated and significant, and instead of smelling perfume, he was now inhaling an overpowering odour of bleach.

Deans stood in the middle of the room and took in the four walls. What was happening? It was as if all his senses were being used properly for the first time.

He faced the wall to the right of the door. He did not know why. An aura of white light glimmered in his peripheral vision, the shimmery movement of something else in the room. He turned that way, his skin crawling with electricity, but saw nothing.

He waited, barely breathing and several minutes went by before warmth returned to his body. He shuffled his way to the stairs and slowly walked down.