The Detective Deans Mystery Collection Read online

  Table of Contents

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  STORM LOG – 0505

  For my girls, Rachael and Gracie.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  DEAD BY DESIGN

  For my wife Rachael, without whom, dreams would mean nothing and sacrifice would have no purpose.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  THE BONE HILL

  Live life to the full and dream big every single day, no matter how inconceivable it may seem.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Bonus Material: THE NIGHT SHIFT

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Copyright © 2019 James D Mortain

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  STORM LOG – 0505

  James D Mortain

  For my girls, Rachael and Gracie.

  Prologue

  What made someone the ideal victim? he speculated.

  Were they created that way, right from the start? Was it a case of nature or nurture? On the other hand, was it all down to luck, perhaps? Maybe they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He chuckled. There was no such thing as the wrong time. Everyone had a time, regardless of how it may play out.

  He stared down intently at the washed-out family snap as if it was the first time he had seen it. The truth was, he had studied this photo many times before and with equal fascination.

  He was alone. There was no noise from the TV or radio, only the sound of his own trancelike, metronomic breathing, eyes refusing to deviate from the photo as he gazed down at Mum, Dad and himself.

  To anyone else it would be a classic family photograph: two children, a boy of about six and a girl of about eight, wearing woolly hats and scarves, frolicking in the snow with their parents. For him, though, it was more. It had always meant much more.

  Back, then, to the question. He smiled, and closed the two halves of the black faux-leather photo album, carefully placed it into the box and slotted it in the correct position, the right way around, between number 3 and number 5.

  He snorted joss stick-scented air through his flared nostrils and cast his mind back. The first was easy – he had been left with little alternative. The second fell somewhere between curiosity and education. And what of the next? He had been counting down her final days since they first met. She was… ideal, but she was not going to be alone. The one after her, he would leave to fate, and for the sporting hell of it.

  Chapter 1

  Carl considered himself fortunate to be with Amy. She was widely regarded as the university babe, especially amongst his mates. He would just smile, go along with what they would say, join in the banter so as not to lose face. If only they knew.

  She was stunning, and fun – too stunning, and much too fun. He wished she were less popular, especially with the blokes. He despised the heads that would turn, the eyes that would undress her, the endless attempts to lure her. He carried a snail’s shell of doubt and suspicion. They had been together almost a year, and each month, each week and each day was increasingly destroying who he used to be. Who he should be.
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  His last conversation with Amy was on Friday afternoon in the university’s east car park.

  ‘So, you’re off to Devon again tonight,’ he said glumly.

  She frowned. ‘You know I am.’

  ‘I was just wondering if something might have changed.’

  ‘No. But you know I’m back on Monday. We can meet up at lunchtime, if you like?’

  Carl looked away.

  ‘God, what’s wrong with you?’ Amy nipped.

  Carl knew that Amy loathed his silent treatment. ‘Nothing,’ he said quietly. The warm, gentle breeze snatched away his answer, adding to its misdirection.

  ‘Carl, what’s wrong? You have to tell me,’ she said, her face increasingly tight and unforgiving.

  He turned to her with a fake smile. ‘Nothing,’ he said again, but inside all he could think about was Amy meeting up with Scotty, and his imagination was filling in all sorts of undesirable detail.

  ‘Fine!’ she snapped and walked to her side of his car, climbed inside and slammed the door with a thud and rattle.

  He waited ten or more seconds. Now he was the baddie. He clenched his jaw and joined her inside the car. ‘Come on,’ he mumbled. ‘I’d better drop you back.’

  They hardly spoke during the three-mile drive to Amy’s student home. Carl steered with his left hand, his arm acting as a barrier between them. It didn’t matter to Amy, though, because she spent the entire journey looking out of her window.

  When they arrived, she looked over at Carl, but he continued staring ahead.

  ‘I’ll see you on Monday then,’ Amy said.

  ‘Yep.’ Carl had not moved. His left hand still gripped the wheel.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, crestfallen. ‘Bye then.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Amy pulled quietly at the door handle, but before stepping out, she turned to Carl, sank her head and stepped silently onto the pavement.

  As Carl pulled away with a squeal of rubber and a scattering of gravel, his gaze met hers for a transitory moment in the rear view mirror.

  ‘You fucking whore.’

  Chapter 2

  Amy Poole arrived at her parents’ home in the early evening and carefully manoeuvred her car into one of the last available spaces on the street. She used her sunglasses to sweep hair from her face, slid her phone into the front pocket of her backpack, and strolled the short distance uphill to her parents’ house.

  She had called ahead, and her mother was already waiting at the open door as Amy crunched her way up the shingle pathway.

  ‘How was the drive, darling?’ Mum asked, holding out an arm to take Amy’s bag.

  ‘Pretty good actually,’ Amy said, and embraced Mum on the doorstep.

  ‘How have you been, my love?’

  ‘Yeah, good.’ Amy looked into the hallway. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

  ‘Have a wild guess.’

  ‘At the window?’

  Mum laughed. ‘How did you know?’

  They both giggled and Amy followed mum through to the kitchen. Amy smiled to herself as Mum’s heels echoed off the old flagstone flooring. She was nothing if not glamorous, even at home.

  Mum removed a bottle of white wine from the fridge and topped up an already half-full glass sitting alone on the breakfast bar.

  ‘Glass for you, darling?’ she asked.

  Amy shook her head, noticing the purposefulness of the pour.

  ‘Cheers,’ Mum said, taking a long swig.

  Mum was not a big drinker. Amy waited.

  ‘I’m afraid Aunty Jayne isn’t well. Your dad and I have arranged to visit her tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh no! What’s wrong?’

  ‘We don’t yet know for sure,’ Mum said, ‘but because she’s alone, we thought she might appreciate a little help for a while.’

  ‘Of course. We can all go up tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ve already discussed it. We want you to stay here but Dad and I will be leaving after breakfast.’ Mum took a longer guzzle. ‘You’ve a hard year coming up. These times of relaxation won’t come around that often, so enjoy it while you have the chance.’

  Amy complied silently with a nod.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Mum said, with a reluctant smile. ‘How’s everything going with that new boyfriend of yours, darling?’

  ‘Fine,’ Amy replied, but did not feel much like talking about Carl right then.

  ‘Why don’t you meet up with Scotty? You always have a nice time when you see Scotty.’

  ‘Already sorted,’ Amy said. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing him tomorrow night.’

  Amy’s dad came into the kitchen.

  ‘I thought I heard your voice, sweetheart.’ His weighty hands rounded her shoulders and he gave her the gentlest of kisses on the forehead. ‘How are you doing, love?’

  ‘Hi, Daddy,’ Amy purred. ‘Mum just told me about Aunty Jayne.’

  A frown creased his brow, but before he had the chance to say anything else, Mum interjected.

  ‘Come on, darling, let’s eat. You must be starving. We’ve got beef stroganoff and homemade bread.’

  ‘How’s the studying going this week?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine. We started on firearms legislation. I can’t believe how complicated it is.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can assist you much there, sweetheart. It was never my forte either.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Mum encouraged, ‘you can have your solicitor-talk after food.’

  ‘We’ll chat later,’ Dad said with a wink. ‘Let’s not keep Mum waiting.’

  Next day Mum and Dad had gone by ten. They wouldn’t be back to see Amy off. In fact, they thought they could be in Gloucester for most of the week, which suggested that they knew more about Aunty Jayne’s health than they were letting on.

  It was another glorious October morning in North Devon. Amy spent the first minutes of her time alone gazing out of ‘Dad’s window’ towards Adamsleigh and the yachts clustered near to the sailing club, dancing gently on the incoming tide. She had long since realised she was blessed to live in such beautiful surroundings.

  She took Mum’s advice and spent the day lounging around the garden, reading a chick-lit book, and soaking up the sun on a recliner. Anyone could be forgiven for thinking it was July, with the warmth.

  She had arranged to meet with Scotty around eight, at the quay in Torworthy, and by seven thirty, she was almost ready and glanced at herself in the hallway mirror. She was feeling good. She had no makeup to check, she rarely needed any. Her short denim skirt accentuated her long tanned legs, and she finished the look with her favourite O’Neil short-sleeved blouse.

  It was time to leave.

  She raced up to her bedroom and scrabbled around for her dependable helpers. Drawing her platinum-blonde mane away from her face she ducked beneath the tap and washed the pills down in one. Deciding against taking a jacket, she set off on the five-minute walk to the bus stop on the quay.

  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 qu
arry 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?