Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

‘Me neither,’ said another.

  ‘Idiots,’ he muttered under his breath then he folded the newspaper in half and put it inside his drawer.

  Kearns had a glint in her emerald eyes while she held a mug of tea with both hands and stared at a box of index cards displayed on her desk. Breck hoped with what she had found, they would be able to build a visceral picture of the victim’s life. He grabbed a seat nearby and brought himself closer.

  ‘Well done with getting this info,’ he said, combing through the box of cards as Kearns watched him read them. He relaxed back in the seat when he had finished.

  ‘So Janet Maskell liked routine and would leave for work at six-thirty every morning, with the journey time being around one hour, or an hour ten if she stopped off to buy a coffee. For a period, she indulged in a few one-night stands when several men visited her home but the last serious relationship she had was in 1974, which ended eleven months before a holiday romance in Switzerland.’ Breck straightened up in the chair as if it would help him to continue. ‘The data we have suggests she’s been single for the best part of a year which I’m not convinced of. What else is there?’

  ‘She liked to keep fit, jogged most mornings and employed a gardener.’

  ‘Do we know where this gardener is?’ Breck picked up a pen and twirled it between his index finger and thumb.

  ‘Away somewhere judging by a diary entry she made. One of her neighbours said she refused to use a housekeeper because she preferred to clean the interior of the house herself.’

  ‘That sounds strange. If she wanted no one cleaning the house why would she want to employ a gardener?’

  Kearns pushed her empty mug to one side. ‘It’s a good point but who are we to judge? People do what they want to do when the mood takes them.’

  ‘I suppose. Anyway, where are we with finding Troy?’

  ‘I’m still working on it but as you can tell it’s taking time. Haven’t you heard? Not everyone wants to talk to us nowadays.’

  Breck grinned at Kearns’ moment of sarcasm then they were interrupted.

  ‘Patricia, in here now!’ The officers turned in their seats to see their Detective Superintendent, Anil Bashir, standing outside his office looking like a bull about to charge. Kearns sprung out of her seat and went to see him, failing to notice a curious Breck following behind. After she entered Bashir’s office, he peered through the glass panel. It allowed him to look straight inside and although he couldn’t quite see Bashir, he had a clear view of Kearns. She seemed fine at first then turned ghost white.

  Breck broke away for fear of being caught spying, a reprimand was the last thing he needed. He returned to his desk to wait until his partner resurfaced. Maybe it was nothing but when she returned, she was pale and shaken.

  ‘Why did Bashir call you into his office?’

  ‘It was just about my performance. He told me I needed to improve.’ Kearns’ response was a lie, one she had no choice but to give.

  ‘Was that all? He seemed steamed up when he called you.’

  ‘He was. I think he’s just got a lot on. I’ll get onto locating Alexander Troy again.’

  Kearns had reached the door by the time Breck told her, ‘All right see you in a bit,’ and he already guessed she had not divulged everything from her conversation with Bashir. It bugged him but in the end he chose to let it slide. Although with hindsight he should have pressed for the truth. Considering what was to come, it would turn out to be one of his biggest ever mistakes.

  *

  Kearns left the Evidence Room still in a daze after her unexpected conversation, but there was no way she could escape from what Bashir said. The past she escaped from had come back to haunt her.

  Kearns returned to her floor and if someone had asked her who she had met along the way, she’d be unable to tell them. She glided across to the other side of the floor and slammed a hand down in front of Beatrice Pierce. It startled the young detective constable and served as evidence that the women tolerated each other but didn’t blend well enough to be the best of friends.

  ‘Have you been briefed about the Maskell case?’ Kearns waited for an answer that was slow in coming.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, that saves me going through it now. Take this.’ She handed over a plastic wallet containing the credit card that Breck found. ‘I need you to ring the card provider and find out where we can locate Mr Troy.’

  Beatrice looked at the Access credit card then sucked in both cheeks, uncomfortable with the request, but aware that she had no choice but to comply.

  ‘I’ve got a lot of other things to do. What’s the priority level?’

  Kearns baulked. ‘It’s high priority and needs to be done now!’

  ‘Not if I’m collating stats for the Superintendent.’

  Kearns’ blood boiled, but she didn’t want a slanging match in front of everyone.

  ‘A word of advice, love,’ she said. ‘It’s hard enough being a woman in this place so give that some thought before you get cheeky with me. You’ll need all the friends you can get as time goes by. Remember that.’

  Beatrice turned away from Kearns’ glare, sensing that an overlong lecture might be on the cards. She may have been the younger and more junior officer, but she wasn’t afraid to stand her ground and carried her pretty swathe of dark hair well. It helped her sweet smile. Yet another thing to annoy Kearns with. A few tense moments passed before she accepted the instruction but by then Kearns had moved onto other matters occupying her mind. She made her way to the ladies’ toilets, ran inside one of the cubicles and locked it shut, and in a matter of seconds Patricia Kearns vomited.

  *

  Breck became desperate for a development in the case to cheer him up and wished Kearns would bring good news soon. They had been successful in trying to locate family members of the deceased but had nothing much else to go on. That quickly changed when Beatrice arrived with an update.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, but we need to have a chat sometime soon. Let me know when you can fit me into your busy schedule.’ Breck didn’t fail to notice the sarcasm in her voice but she knew he wouldn’t make an issue of it. ‘From the details on the Access credit card, I’ve been able to locate the suspect.’ Breck brightened up. ‘Alexander Troy’s a thirty-two-year-old valuation specialist with no previous, employed at one of the big investment firms in the city.’

  ‘Which one?’

  Beatrice placed both hands onto her hips. ‘You’ll love this, Van Bruen plc.’

  ‘So now we know how he knew Janet Maskell.’

  ‘Yes, they worked at the same firm. She was a finance director there.’

  ‘Do we have his address?’

  ‘The card is registered to an address right here in Cransham. However, I believe as we speak, he’s at his place of work in Fenchurch Street in the city.’

  The news pleased Breck. They could grab Troy and get a quick result. ‘Have you seen Pat anywhere?’

  ‘No, not after she was rude. I think she’s jealous of me; you’re the only one that gives her any attention.’

  Breck didn’t want to get involved and gave his sleepy eyes a rub while Beatrice mistook his tiredness for weakness. Even a reluctance to be in charge.

  ‘I will make time for us to have a chat,’ he promised, ‘but right now I need to grab a few uniforms and visit our suspect.’ Breck released a half-smile and left his seat, unaware that the investigation would prove to be far more important to Kearns than anyone would ever know.

  FOUR

  Alexander Troy didn’t have a great start to the day. His pop-up toaster failed to work so breakfast didn’t happen the way he would have hoped, and he couldn’t find his favourite tie. To make things worse, he ended up having a fierce argument with a total stranger over a seat on the train. Despite this, there were other important things to concentrate on, matters personal to him. Some of these, if unsuccessful, would put him at great risk. But in getting it right as he had done
so far, he was on his way to achieving his goal regardless of who it hurt.

  While he was getting himself together, Cransham’s SCU were about to apprehend him for the murder of Janet Maskell. If he knew, then the calmness he displayed would have been replaced by sheer panic. He worked for Van Bruen, heavyweights in the finance sector, and it would destroy everything he had already put in place.

  Troy was stationed on a top floor that segregated its ambitious employees into banks of two, to reduce the risk of distraction through idle gossip. Desks were weighed down with a multitude of files and footsteps were silenced by the frayed auburn carpet. The telephones were in constant use. A determined Troy was intent on retaining his status, for his ego and to preserve his secrets. A glance at his watch reminded him his girlfriend had already boarded her flight and he wished he could have been there to see her off. But right now, his career was in trouble and he needed to rescue it.

  Troy ran a manicured hand across the trousers of his navy-blue suit to straighten it out. A creased suit was at the top of everyone’s hate list and today he needed to be liked. He popped his keys into his briefcase which he carried around to make himself look important, even though there was nothing more than an orange and a newspaper inside. He slid it under his desk then went to see his boss Lizzie Daniels. She either played Schubert or Brahms at a low volume, which served as a protective shield against the lower classes. When Troy entered her office, Schubert’s Symphony No. 8 filled the room.

  He had attempted to win new business by setting up a contract without approval. It went against the rules and had now led to a make or break meeting. Getting fired wasn’t an option. Not when he was so close.

  Lizzie sat behind a rosewood desk imported from Spain, like Queen Nefertiti, with phone in hand, speaking to a stakeholder that boasted of having high profile friends in Parliament. Her heavy mascara, locked curls and painted rouge lips, transformed her into a thinking man’s fantasy, and when she ended the call, she closed her eyes as if she was in the process of deep meditation. A technique she perfected while growing up in Chicago and it had already made hard boiled men crap their pants. Her clear varnished nails glistened under the faint light and Troy wondered what the hell was going on when her eyelids flapped open and she delivered a penetrating stare.

  He stood there for a few seconds perplexed, wondering in what way it was that he could have wronged her since the last time they had spoken. Then it hit him.

  She had become disappointed with his actions and the poor decisions he made. He now sat in the last chance saloon.

  ‘You’re one of my best workers Alexander so I’d hate to lose you over something like this but rules are rules.’ She only elongated his name when she was pissed off at him.

  ‘Once again, I want to say how sorry I am.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you are but it doesn’t change much does it?’

  Troy couldn’t argue with that. Lizzie gathered her things in preparation for their meeting with the CEO Wade Van Bruen, and together they left the office to make their way to Meeting Room Number One.

  *

  The Allegro screeched to a halt outside the Van Bruen building. Another police car arrived a minute or two behind. It caused a few people nearby to break off from what they were doing, and witness Breck exit then marvel at the building for a few seconds. He stretched his neck up to the skyline but failed to see the top, yet his adrenaline wouldn’t allow him to pause for too long. It coursed through his veins now and with two uniformed officers by his side, he made his way through the swing doors towards the reception area.

  The same auburn carpet that lined Troy’s floor also took centre stage in reception, though less worn, and there were two women stationed behind the desk at opposite ends of the age spectrum. The windows allowed visitors to look at what appeared to be a manufactured garden, and a rectangular wooden table, decorated with the latest business magazines for visitors to read, had chairs positioned either side. Breck pulled out his ID.

  ‘Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Breck. I need to speak to Alexander Troy as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘You want to speak to Mr Troy?’ The more mature one attempted to find his extension on the switchboard.

  ‘Yes, that’s right; Mr Alexander Troy.’

  She appeared to be flustered so Breck waited for her to compose herself. Then the younger woman behind the desk – with a face covered in stage make-up – pointed over his shoulder. Breck saw a man and woman exit a lift and a wry smile spread across his face at the bit of luck. He dashed over.

  ‘Hello, Mr Troy?’ There was a slight nod of confirmation. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Breck.’

  Troy glanced at Lizzie without any words before turning his attention back to Breck.

  ‘What can I help you with officer?’

  ‘I’d like you to accompany me to the station and answer a few questions please.’

  ‘What is this about?’

  ‘It relates to an incident that took place this afternoon.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ Troy was worried and ushered Breck out of Lizzie’s earshot. ‘What incident?’

  ‘We’d like to know your whereabouts for the last few hours and what you’ve been doing?’

  Troy’s heart drummed hard against his chest. His thoughts spiralled. Was his girlfriend all right? What was this detective referring to? Had his earlier actions returned to haunt him?

  ‘You see Mr Troy, we believe you were at the scene of a crime.’

  ‘A crime? There’s been a mistake I’m sure. I had lunch on Charing Cross Road then came into the office late afternoon after a prior agreement with my bosses.’

  Breck wanted to know how Troy’s credit card ended up at the murder scene but before he could ask, Lizzie gatecrashed the conversation.

  ‘What’s going on here, Detective Breck. I’m the General Managing Director and Alexander’s boss.’

  ‘There’s been a serious incident. We believe your employee can help us.’

  It was rare to see women working in the city at director level, so the revelation surprised Breck but also pleased him. Meanwhile Troy became more uncomfortable. He inched his body away until Breck gripped his forearm.

  ‘I will need to speak to you down at the station; a crime has been committed and we believe that you can help us with our enquiries.’

  Troy panicked. ‘Lizzie call our legal team please.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Breck advised. ‘This is routine and Alexander could be out in no time.’

  Lizzie appeared to be reluctant to argue with Breck and for the few moments they all stood still, time seemed to slow down. The break enabled Troy to consider his options and after another glance towards his boss, he calmed down.

  ‘Am I being arrested, officer?’

  Breck had a bush fire burning in his eyes. ‘Yes, I’m taking you into police custody so that you can help us sort this out. We want to establish the facts.’

  ‘The facts of what?’

  Breck showed no compassion and sought to enervate Troy’s resolve. He instructed the two uniformed officers, who stood by the entrance of the building, to come over and accompany the valuation specialist outside. They would wait in the car until he had finished speaking to Lizzie, wearing the same stony look which he greeted Troy with. He had no plans to remove it as the officers led Troy away and throughout, Lizzie stood rooted to the spot.

  Breck softened his steely expression for her because he knew that the ripples of murder often claimed many unsuspecting victims. The people that believed in the accused. The ones that were misled.

  Janet Maskell’s next of kin had been notified of her death so Breck could now let her employers know. Yet, for him it wouldn’t be easy. This part of the job never was. It wasn’t his first murder case, but he still hadn’t become used to stamping out all signs of emotion when breaking bad news. He urged Lizzie to sit down on one of the visitor seats in the waiting area. Both receptionists were still watching.

  ‘What is Al
exander accused of doing?’ she asked.

  ‘We think he’s connected to a very serious matter involving a Van Bruen employee.’ Breck lowered his voice. ‘I’m afraid that Janet Maskell, your finance director, has died.’

  Lizzie’s hands covered her mouth to stop her scream. The news wrenched her gut and she gave herself a few moments to let it all sink in.

  ‘She’s dead?’ Breck delivered a sharp nod. ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that at the moment but I can confirm that Mr Troy is a suspect.’

  Lizzie’s head dropped. She could bark orders at careless staff, coerce stakeholders into doing whatever she wanted, but for once she was confused and powerless to do anything. She wiped a tear from her eye and faced Breck, forcing her mindset back into business mode.

  ‘This is a tremendous shock as you can imagine. I can’t believe it. I spoke to her just after 1:00 p.m. regarding the meeting because we were supposed to go through a few things beforehand.’

  ‘How did she sound?’

  ‘Janet was fine, totally fine. She said she’d be on her way in but when she didn’t turn up I called again after 2:00 p.m. but received no answer. I think you’d better come with me and speak to my CEO. This is terrible news. He’ll want to hear it from you rather than me.’

  Breck understood the request while Lizzie rose to her feet and glared at the two receptionists. They were quick to look away and begin the process of pretending to be busy once again. When a tearful Lizzie walked through a set of double doors in silence, Breck followed right behind.

  Lizzie took him into Meeting Room One. Wade Van Bruen was a name he had come across before within the business sections of various broadsheets. He recalled only a comment or two from reading those sections because he never paid too much attention to them. No need to. Breck thought of those times, knowing that taking more of an interest would’ve helped him to build a picture of Van Bruen, instead of going in blind as he was doing right now.

  Van Bruen sat with his back to the door but as soon as they entered, he swivelled the chair around.