Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  ‘I think it’s obvious what has happened here, I’ve been framed.’

  ‘Nice try but no, I don’t think it’s obvious. My advice is, sign a confession to the murder and it’ll all be over. DS Kearns and I can get ready for our next case while you can prepare for the punishment that awaits.’

  ‘Punishment? OK, we’ll do it the hard way. I have nothing additional to add other than I want legal representation.’

  Breck turned to Kearns with a ‘that’s typical’ expression. ‘This interview is now finished.’ He checked his watch. ‘I have to leave for a meeting with Bashir.’ Then lowered his voice. ‘Are you OK to transport this idiot back to his cell?’

  ‘He won’t be a problem, I can handle him.’

  Breck left the interview room and kept the door ajar so that the officer outside could enter. Kearns gathered her file but when the officer pulled out handcuffs for Troy she intervened.

  ‘Leave it. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to try anything daft.’

  The officer shrugged, though surprised by the order. He ushered Troy outside with Kearns following close behind and they all walked along a winding colourless corridor, each lost in their own thoughts. Troy wasn’t surprised at the lack of support but he needed a sign. Maybe he could delay proceedings until he had found out more about what was going on. He needed to do something. Fast.

  They stopped when they heard a fierce crescendo of noise ahead. It snapped them into life. Someone had locked the door that led to the cells. Kearns knew they would have to take a detour through reception but that’s where the trouble seemed to be. It was the only way they could reach the cells.

  They would never make it.

  All three went through with Troy sandwiched in-between both officers. Due to the screams and chaos up ahead it sounded like a station under siege to Kearns, and when they entered the reception area she realised she wasn’t far wrong. An object flew towards her head but she ducked just in time. She grabbed Troy. Then instructed the officer to help out his colleagues and watched him enter the battle against a man that wore a swastika tattoo like a new shirt. He swung his fists while spitting hate at those around him.

  He was one of the Front’s feared soldiers and alone he was trouble enough, but with members of his entourage trying to defend him, it became a challenge just to keep him contained. Men like these didn’t care about doing time, they wanted to mark their moment in blood.

  Kearns tried to think of the best way to transport Troy back to his cell and it was when she locked eyes with him for the briefest of moments, that an unexpected understanding formed. A reluctance on her part, anticipation on his. Kearns turned her attention back towards the chaos, unsure of whether to stay close to Troy or wade into the fray. While she battled her indecision, she loosened her grip from his forearm. In an instant Troy wondered if this was the sign he had hoped for. He hadn’t been handcuffed. Kearns had seen to that.

  Everything became possible. Escape and point the police toward Janet Maskell’s real killer. Get this distraction dealt with. It was now or never so Troy pushed Kearns back. By the time she hit the floor he had disappeared into the heart of the melee. She jumped to her feet and scanned the room, believing she had seen him slip through a side door. One that would take him down into the basement. Someone had taken out a riot shield, and the thugs seemed to be losing the fight when a jagged path to the door open up. A flustered Kearns followed it and went through the side door, down a flight of steps, all the way to the basement that she had been in just twice before. Once by accident and the second time, to show the plumber where to go because she happened to be the nearest one standing when he came to fix the pipes.

  It was not the sort of place anyone would want to visit if they had a choice and because of that, it was perfect for Troy to hide in. His desperate action that she participated in made her uncomfortable but she knew the stakes.

  ‘Alexander, this will make a bad situation a lot worse. This isn’t the way to do it.’

  She didn’t expect him to reply and he didn’t give one which worried her even more. The dark created strange objects in front of her. Ones she couldn’t decipher, and it made her apprehensive.

  Bang. Kearns swung her head toward the sound and saw something scurry across the floor. A rat. That was it for her. She had enough and went back up, convincing herself that she may have got it wrong. Troy didn’t venture down here. She made a mistake.

  After she left the basement Troy peeled himself away from a part of the wall that a cluster of metal pipes had obscured. He edged his way upstairs and when he neared the top, he peeked through the door. Most of the trouble makers were cornered and he saw no sign of Kearns. Feeling confident, he made his way towards a clear exit, blended into the background and scooped up a discarded radio. When a WPC rushed towards him he held it close to his ear.

  ‘We have a few officers down over there,’ he said pointing, knowing that she was trying to put a name to his face. ‘They need help, quick!’

  She went to where he directed her, while he continued on his way out with a calculated calmness. The police radio gave him an identity and upon reaching freedom, he felt a spark of sunshine warm his face. It energised him. Troy stopped for a moment to absorb what he had done. Just a moment though, no more than that, because it had started and now there’d be no turning back.

  Troy darted across the main road oblivious to the squealing car brakes wrapped around the scream of horns and saw a crowded bus. He had no change for the fare because his possessions were at the station. He knew though that sometimes problems could be solved by unexplained measures of good fortune and he found that to be the case when the bus conductor twisted his head around, distracted by a bunch of over-zealous youths on the lower deck. It allowed him to sneak on and find a seat upstairs.

  After the bus pulled away, he saw Kearns step out of the station. She scanned the area trying to spot him, while he sat with the rest of the passengers, listening to their conversations overlap like pieces of paper, knowing he was now free to sort this mess out then get back to what he needed to do.

  SIX

  Breck found a way to differentiate between the two men both claiming to be Alexander Troy by opting for the simple prime suspect and person of interest (POI) tags. It had proven to be yet another issue solved and the day hadn’t even concluded. He needed to get his meeting with Anil Bashir over with and wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Breck tidied himself up so that Bashir couldn’t throw any derogatory comments his way as he had done in the past, then left his seat.

  Beatrice hovered near Bashir’s office and Breck wondered what she was up to. As he approached, she shifted to the side and called out, beckoning him to follow her. He still had two minutes to spare so he let his curiosity steer him.

  ‘Bea, what’s up?’

  ‘I don’t mean to be pushy but when can we talk?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment but I’ll try to find the time. Please bear with me.’

  He should have perhaps asked her what she wanted to talk about, although he had a sneaking suspicion.

  Beatrice checked that no one was watching before letting her hand brush against Breck’s. It turned out to be an awkward moment for him, one he never expected. However, they were colleagues and the situation needed to be handled with care.

  ‘Bea, what are you doing? We’re at work.’ She pulled away feeling hurt. Breck sought to make amends.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll make it up to you but I need to speak to Bashir first.’

  Beatrice forced a smile then walked away, battling with her emotions and leaving Breck feeling rotten. There was little he could do for the time being. What started off as office banter and flirtation, had now brought him to a tricky place with a colleague and it needed fixing. That would be something for later though as he readied himself then knocked on Bashir’s door.

  ‘Come in Arlo, you’re one minute late.’

  Breck checked his watch. Bashir was right. ‘So
rry sir,’ he said then walked in.

  Detective Superintendent Bashir possessed two obvious points of interest – dark rings around his eyes, part inherited and part legacy of late nights and early starts, and jet black bouffant hair. The items upon his desk emitted an impressive shine and Breck spotted the framed picture of the Super’s wife. She was best described as an English rose, fifteen to twenty years younger than her husband with long dark hair. He wondered how they met and how she became his wife but wouldn’t dare ask. On the shelf were Bashir’s medals from a variety of sports – badminton and squash – and two non-fiction books on psychology. The stuffed toy officer pushed into the corner of the shelf at least proved he possessed a suppressed sense of humour.

  Bashir threatened to suck the life from the cigarette wedged between his dry lips at the same time he invited his officer to sit. He had cleared his desk, leaving just a glass of water to his right side and a file to his left. Breck pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it but couldn’t help but stare at the white strips of crispy hair that decorated the sides of Bashir’s face.

  ‘Is there something on my person that is interesting you Arlo?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m just…nothing, sir.’

  The Super removed the cigarette from his mouth then placed it on the outer edges of a silver ashtray. One that had been engraved with his initials. A reward for fifteen years’ service.

  ‘I hear we have a dead finance director of a big city company. We must manage this in the right way, which I’m sure we are doing.’ Breck nodded. ‘I understand you visited the crime scene. How was it?’

  ‘Not pleasant as you can imagine. Seeing as the victim was left in a bad way. I’m thinking about running the microscope over anyone she’s fallen out with in her line of business, perhaps running the rule over Van Bruen’s possible competitors.’

  ‘No need.’ Bashir’s words took Breck by surprise.

  ‘I don’t quite follow sir.’

  ‘I know that as part of your investigation you have a name of an employee that works at the same company. Van Bruen are pretty rigorous with their vetting procedures so I’d imagine he’s not stealing their files to sell to the Chinese, or the Russians.’ Breck’s stony face failed to acknowledge Bashir’s attempt at dry humour. ‘The other man, the one that was attacked, there might be something there so follow that line of enquiry.’

  ‘But sir...’

  ‘That’s a direct order.’

  ‘The suspect tried to get new business. Should I look at the company in question to see if it ties in?’

  ‘They are legitimate. I don’t want us upsetting the wrong people, so no.’

  The smoke from the cigarette created a thin wall between them and Breck knew better than to challenge Bashir, so he told him what he wanted to hear.

  ‘As always, I’ll do my best to get a result sir.’

  ‘Good because the wealthy don’t like this sort of thing happening on their doorstep. It creates problems and makes us look bad.’

  ‘I’m sure the poor would have a problem with it too, sir,’ Breck retorted. ‘Shouldn’t everything be on an equal footing so that we investigate what we’re given regardless of social status?’

  ‘Wealthy translates as influential in my book and we’re here to protect those that wield influence. It’s what the SCU was set up for.’

  Bashir’s eyes glowed bright for a brief second before he let them return to their unnatural dimmed state. He relaxed his shoulders then took a sip from the glass of water. ‘You’ve been here for a while now and I brought you into this cess pit of a place Arlo because I need results. It’ll be difficult because the cuts have hit everyone hard, your team too.’ Bashir took time to reflect, wishing he could stop the rot but knowing Breck could if given the chance. ‘The whole service is haemorrhaging but we have to hit our targets. You’re the senior investigative officer in the absence of a regular DCI on this case, so due to that fact, I’ll be poking my nose in from time to time.’ Bashir pointed to his nose just in case Breck didn’t understand. ‘You’re also an ambitious lad, so I’m sure you’ll want to be a DCI one day.’ Breck wasn’t even given the time to respond before Bashir continued. ‘Sounds good doesn’t it, DCI Arlo Breck? Imagine it lit up in lights and keep that picture in your mind. You can make it here but I want things done the correct way under my direction. I don’t want us to look bad by slipping up.’

  Breck had already questioned his career by dreaming of a safer environment where the chances of survival were higher than they were at present. In the last year alone five officers he knew of had to retire due to injuries sustained while in the line of duty. However, now wasn’t the time to discuss that.

  ‘With regard to the current murder investigation, sir...’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Bashir sneezed then took a silk handkerchief from out of his pocket. Breck waited until his boss was ready before continuing.

  ‘I’d like us to keep watch on our POI.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances that makes sense but I can’t assign a budget for it. We’re stretched as it is.’

  ‘It would be very useful if we did.’

  ‘OK, I’ve got no problem with you doing it off your own back, great idea. But you’ll have to be resourceful with that one.’

  The OK bit pleased Breck but not the conditions of the OK bit. He had enough to do already in his normal day-to-day without worrying about managing a continuous surveillance operation. He felt defeated.

  ‘Let me mull it over, sir, no use making a rod for my own back.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Bashir said. ‘Mull it over. So, what do you know about our prime suspect?’

  ‘He’s a valuation specialist with Van Bruen which means there’s an obvious link between himself and Janet Maskell, with her being the finance director there. Having spoken to him in the interview room I can say that he’s a bit of an arrogant sod. For us, the exact relationship between himself and Ms Maskell is still unknown. He refused to acknowledge that there was anything other than a professional one between them.’

  ‘What’s the evidence against him?’

  ‘His credit card and a magazine with his name written on top found at the scene. No alibi for the period we believe Janet Maskell expired, and of course there’s the issue of the second Alexander Troy.’

  ‘Sounds all straightforward up until the part of the second Troy coming into this.’

  ‘I agree. After you came into the interview room and told Kearns the news, we went to speak to the other Troy. He seemed sincere enough and if he was an actor, then I’d say give him an award now. The main thing, he has an alibi for the time Janet Maskell died.’

  ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘Anywhere he wants sir. He’s an entrepreneur of some sort.’ Breck watched Bashir rake through the data in his mind.

  ‘Not sure I like the sound of that. As I’ve said earlier, focus more of your attention on the Troy that reported the attack. I don’t want this to drag on and on.’

  ‘Shouldn’t the focus be on the one without the alibi?’

  Bashir arched one of his eyebrows. ‘I don’t like repeating myself.’

  ‘Of course, sir, I’ll do what needs to be done.’

  Bashir’s satisfied nod opened the door for Breck to leave so he rose from the chair and walked out, careful to close the door behind him. The DI never cared much for following the strict code of authority and believed that impromptu decisions sometimes needed to be made. The rule book amended.

  Despite Bashir’s instruction the POI was the one with the legitimate alibi. He was at the station reporting his attack at the time of Janet Maskell’s murder. Formal identification of the fingerprints found on the credit card would soon arrive and surely implicate the prime suspect. Yet something didn’t add up. Why was Bashir blind to this? It didn’t make sense.

  When Breck returned to his desk, he was still reflecting on his conversation until the shrill of the phone made him jump. He managed to answer it after two rings. It was h
is girlfriend.

  ‘I can’t handle it, Arlo, I need you here.’ She sounded distraught.

  ‘Calm down, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m not good, I don’t feel safe and my head is pounding.’

  ‘Take some aspirin.’

  ‘Is that the best you can offer, aspirin?’

  ‘What else do you want me to say?’

  ‘Why did you leave me on my own this morning?’

  Breck kept his voice low. ‘You told me you were feeling better, I wouldn’t have come into work otherwise.’

  ‘I was but I’m not now, not right now.’

  Her distress knotted his stomach and Breck waited. Not because he didn’t know what to say but because he needed to allow himself time to cool down. ‘I have to go,’ he said after a while of nothing. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can but remember, I’m working.’

  Molly’s silence gave its own reply so Breck ended the call, frustrated and stressed. He stared at the floor for a few moments until he summoned enough strength to head down to the front desk, passing a few SCU colleagues along the way, and judging by the scowl on his face, they knew better than to strike up a conversation.

  Desk Sergeant Clive Bird had seen enough of the world and was just happy to turn up to work and do as much as he needed to do, nothing more, then he’d get off home. His vice was fishing whenever he could and he liked to throw a few bob on the horses too.

  ‘Have we got an address for Alexander Troy, the robbery victim?’

  Clive opened his leather bound red book and scratched his head as he read through the most recent page. He then flicked through the earlier pages before returning to it.

  ‘That’s strange.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Well there are two Alexander Troy’s listed in here. I don’t get it.’

  ‘Welcome to my life. I’ll explain later Clive, but there’s no mistake. It’s the one that came here to report an assault this afternoon.’

  ‘It looks like he scribbled it in. That’s on me it is, should have checked.’ Breck had a peek. Whatever POI Troy had written was illegible.