Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  Kearns pulled up outside the care home in Southwark and lifted the handbrake into place. Breck cast his eyes towards its orange-brown brickwork and dusty glass windows that were supposed to be cleaned every other day. In the wettest months, the rain would transform the brick into candy apple red and wash away the algae, as well as the dust from the glass. The manager, Emma McNamara, had been running the home since 1972.

  Kearns’ subtle shake of the head went unnoticed as both officers left the vehicle and walked up the steps, then through the main doors. Breck gave his name to the male receptionist while Kearns grabbed a seat in the waiting area. The place carried a fresh smell which made for a great advertisement to any visitor.

  Kearns looked at the health posters on the wall, along with selected magazines on the table. It was a stream of shouting which broke her concentration, Breck’s too when he joined her.

  ‘Come on Reggie, calm down.’

  ‘No, no, no, I want to speak to the manager. He hit me. He hit me so hard he did.’

  Three people came into view from around the corner. Reggie a pensioner and two care workers, a man and a woman. They held him tight and he appeared to be confused while resisting them, still dressed in his pyjamas. They man-handled in a way that suggested he could be a threat and when Emma McNamara trail-blazed along, she pit-stopped. They had a few quiet words and then his anger dissolved away in a matter of seconds. Breck believed through a mixture of bribery and fear. They led Reggie back around the corner out of sight and Emma approached Breck.

  ‘Hello, Arlo, how are you doing?’

  ‘Not too bad, Emma. You look busy as always.’

  ‘Yes, Reggie can be like that sometimes but we care for our residents here as you know. I’ll try to catch up with you later.’

  She dashed away, then the male receptionist called Breck’s name and he turned to Kearns. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She watched him walk through a set of double doors to the main activity room of the care home. It had been pushed to its limits to include a huge television that flickered and a seating area with a spot reserved for board games.

  A row of cushioned chairs were outside in the garden, picturesque for when the sun shone through and not quite so when it didn’t. Just a few of the old folk seemed with it. Most didn’t and amongst them was the person Breck had come to see. Wrapped in a dark shawl, an old woman with a sandy beige complexion, stared straight ahead with her old skin stretched to breaking point over the brittle bones underneath. She looked frail but her mind remained sharp and it was on her insistence that she wore a faded hazel wig as a replacement for hair.

  ‘Have you been behaving yourself?’

  ‘Sometimes, where’s my fruit?’

  Arlo gave the woman a hug. ‘I never had time to pick any up for you. This is an unofficial stop off.’

  She frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, I just wanted to see you.’

  ‘They’ll sack you if you don’t be careful.’

  Breck laughed. ‘They’ll need a better reason that this.’

  Kearns decided to stretch her legs. The curiosity gripped her and she peered through the glass panel of the double doors to watch Breck, wondering what on earth he was up to. She saw him pull something from his pocket and hand it over to the old lady. Then he gave her a goodbye hug.

  Breck came out and Emma happened to be standing nearby, talking to a member of her staff. When she spotted Breck she killed the conversation and almost pounced on him.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, Arlo. You look well.’

  ‘So do you Emma, how are things?’

  ‘Well, I’ve split up with my boyfriend.’

  ‘Who’s the latest one?’

  ‘A painter and decorator who’s crap at his job and a few other things too.’ Breck felt embarrassed, he didn’t want the details. ‘So I’ll have to move on.’ While he smiled, Emma felt Kearns’ back-off stare and decided to close the conversation. ‘Well if you ever want to check up on her but are too busy to visit, just give me a ring.’

  Emma handed over her personal telephone number and Breck did something with his eyes. A deep stare thing that made her blush. An uncomfortable Kearns coughed in an effort to grab his attention but Breck couldn’t understand why she wanted to be so protective. He struggled to fathom Kearns’ dislike of Emma’s flirty nature, ignoring the loosened buttons on her blouse, or the flickering light simulation of her eyelids. A typical man.

  Breck thanked Emma then left the building with Kearns by his side, fully expecting her next question as they walked down the steps.

  ‘Who’s that old lady at the care home? You said this visit has nothing to do with the case.’

  ‘In a loose sense of the word it has.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Her grandson is the senior investigating officer.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Oh.’ Kearns’ words became lodged in her throat midway much to Breck’s amusement.’

  ‘Yes she’s my grandmother.’

  ‘That old lady is your grandmother?’

  Breck opened his wallet and dug a finger into one of the small pockets. He pinched a finger-sized photo and pulled it out.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘My mother. She died in ’65 and my grandmother took me in after that. Kearns saw the resemblance between Breck and the woman in the photo. The eyes and the shape of the face were the same but her skin was just a shade darker.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, there’s plenty more like me around. People with a mixed heritage and paler skin that allows them to be whatever they want.’

  Kearns offered an understanding smile. ‘You kept that quiet.’

  ‘I used to a lot more as a kid, easier to get along with everyone that way I thought. Not now though. I just don’t shout it from the rooftops.’

  ‘I’m glad you told me.’

  ‘Apart from you, only one other person knows.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Ray Riley.’

  Kearns’ face clouded over. ‘That idiot?’

  ‘He found out by accident but it’s a long story for another day, Pat.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be waiting for that day you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Let’s head back to the station and get the Maskell press conference out of the way. Then we’ll prepare for our trip to the Yorkshire B&B to locate Troy.’

  They neared the car and Breck stopped for a moment and watched a mix of people going about their business from across the street. He realised he could choose his identity just like people choose their friends. Yet, in these troubled times of division and difference, he couldn’t determine whether that choice was a gift, or a heavy curse.

  TWENTY ONE

  New Jersey

  The thing that attracted Ceinwen Phelps to Alexander Troy was his kilowatt smile. She witnessed it first hand after he had sent over a bottle of champagne while she lunched with a friend in Mayfair. He wasted no time in waltzing over to their table; full of himself, but what could have been a short-lived meeting turned out to be something much more. She accepted his business card, laughed about it too. When she arrived home she summoned enough courage to dial his number and speak to him. They had a lot in common and she knew that they’d end up together.

  Dressed in a smart flared trouser suit, Ceinwen’s chocolate brown hair hung loose over her shoulders and the gold stiletto heels tapped against the floor. She pulled her wheeled suitcase through the airport, although many people still carried luggage the traditional way. The wheeled suitcase had been bought from Macy’s in New York and the store was amongst the first to stock it. For Ceinwen, it amounted to a kudos thing. It served as a great conversation piece.

  She made her way towards the airport’s exit and dreamt of a better life with an air of optimism that refused to be diminished, swearing to never give her love to the wrong man. She’d made the mistake more than once before and she still found herself paying the price for the biggest one of
all.

  Ceinwen raised a hand to hail a cab. A stranger appeared out of nowhere. Her eyes had to look up to see his face and the striking line of smoke coloured hair on his chin would make him stand out in crowd.

  ‘Ms Phelps, I’m Eddie and transport’s been arranged for you.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Your company laid it on.’

  His arrival took her by surprise but after the long flight she was in no mood to turn him down. Eddie took the suitcase from her and she followed him to a black Cadillac, one that would have trouble squeezing onto a majority of English roads. She strapped herself in and listened as the engine grunted into life, while Eddie moved the vehicle away and upped its speed, switched on the radio then turned it down low.

  Ceinwen Phelps, Senior Mergers and Acquisition Manager, at Xenon, saw New Jersey as a world away from her discreet corner of South East London. However, the trip would be another string to her bow. A step up the career ladder beckoned and although there’d be obstacles, she wasn’t afraid to dream.

  The journey didn’t take long and when Eddie slowed the vehicle to a stop, Ceinwen peered through the window. The champagne coloured canopies of the hotel were eloquent, just as she’d heard, and she couldn’t wait to go inside. Ceinwen opened her purse and offered Eddie a tip but he refused. He retrieved her suitcase and she left the Cadillac to see him walk towards a payphone. He beckoned her over but she didn’t understand why. She pulled her suitcase along and joined him.

  Eddie handed her the phone. ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Take the phone damn it.’

  She took the phone and pressed her ear against the receiver. She didn’t expect the voice on the other end and the shock crippled her.

  Eddie waited for a few seconds then unpeeled the phone from Ceinwen’s tight grasp. He watched her while she remained stock-still. When he had amused himself enough, he jumped back into the Cadillac and parked it across the road. Ceinwen’s head began to spin and she had to accept the truth. Even with being thousands of miles away in New Jersey, she wasn’t safe.

  *

  She walked into the hotel and checked-in, glancing back while she spoke with the receptionist to see if she could spot Eddie from across the street. She could. He sat in the Cadillac, chewing on a piece of gum, looking like he had all the time in the world.

  The concierge appeared and showed Ceinwen to her room. She gave him a tip and after he left, locked the door, pressed her back against it and slid down. It felt safe there and she sat staring across at the light which filled the frame of the window, wondering how everything could turn sour so fast. The past had come back to haunt her and she needed to prepare for the worst.

  The voice.

  This was just the beginning.

  Eddie had been sent by the man in her nightmares. A man she had a relationship with before Troy. A man named Marcin Dvorak. Her biggest mistake. He had provided an escape route for her at the right time in her life once upon a time. A bit of light-hearted fun that a causal relationship brings. She never meant it to be serious but Marcin wouldn’t let go. His obsession suffocated her.

  Ceinwen left her room, exited the hotel, and welcomed the soft breeze that greeted her outside. She still found it difficult to come to terms with the situation and hopped on a bus, unsure of its destination. It didn’t matter much, she just wanted to get away.

  A mix of people were inside and she slumped down onto a window seat for a cut-price sightseeing tour. A few stops later she jumped off and stepped out onto the street, wrapping her arms around her body and followed the path of the wind. She ended up in an unfamiliar place in front of a Two Guys department store sign, amongst parked cars, where a girl in a dazzling rainbow coloured shirt swigged beer from a bottle. The girl sat on the back of her boyfriend’s Harley Davidson. Her mini-skirt rode high on her thighs.

  ‘Excuse me, Ms. See, you don’t look like you from round here,’ the girl said. Neither was she judging by her mid-western accent.

  ‘I’ve flown over from England.’

  ‘England? Cool. Have you … ah … come over to party?’

  ‘No, I’m here on business.’

  The girl swung her head back towards her boyfriend and smiled. Not a nice smile, more crooked and twisted. She took another mouthful from the bottle and brought her voice to a whisper. ‘You like him?’ Ceinwen looked at the man in the blue T-shirt and ripped jeans, with a moon-shaped scar on his left cheek. The sun had tanned his skin and he looked like he worked on bikes or even cars, because grease stains were still trapped underneath his fingernails. The girl became impatient. ‘Don’t leave me hanging.’

  The question seemed to be an odd one and with all she had to worry about, it confused Ceinwen.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by do I like him. I need to get going.’

  ‘But see, I was thinking, um, that maybe we could all go to the bar across the street and ah, well you know, do some drinking. Get to know each other see, and go to a motel for some fun.’ Ceinwen stepped back, baulking at the salacious invitation but her reaction caused immediate offence. ‘C’mon, loosen up bitch!’

  Ceinwen jogged away, unaware that Eddie had been observing on the other side of the road from inside the Cadillac. After a few moments of walking when she attempted to cross the road, she saw him too. She stepped back onto the pavement and scurried away, almost in a blind panic.

  The biker and his angry girl rode after Ceinwen. She still swigged from the bottle while his eyes were dead and they both focused on their prey. The roaring engine made Ceinwen turn around to see them mount the pavement and she spotted a diner up ahead. They’d catch her before she’d reach it.

  Ceinwen moved as fast as she could but missed Eddie sprinting over. She missed the kick that he flung at the Harley which made it zig-zag then crash.

  She watched him walk over to the rider while the girl laid on the ground clutching her bloodied knee. He pulled the rider away from the bike and used his head as a punch bag. Ceinwen thought he was dead, so did his girl.

  She hobbled up on one knee and seeing her boyfriend’s face in pieces made her want to kill Eddie. She turned her bottle into a weapon and Eddie shook his head, then clawed away one side of his opened leather jacket to reveal his Smith & Wesson Model 27. With its six-inch barrel, a .357 bullet would punch a tennis ball-sized hole into her and the thought of Eddie’s six-round cylinder opening her up scared her enough to force her back.

  Ceinwen turned around and ran into the diner. It was a half-full with a shallow stream of chatter and one of the employees kept her in his sights after she entered, wondering if she was a problem waiting happen. She asked for a table and he handed her a menu.

  ‘You okay, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes fine, thank you.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I said I’m fine!’

  Ceinwen tried her best to appear normal and even ordered a drink to calm herself. It took its time in coming but when it arrived, any chance for a moment’s peace evaporated. There was Eddie again. This time inside the diner. He seated himself just three tables away and pulled out a newspaper. Ceinwen, couldn’t take the mental torture anymore so she balled her fist, sprung from her seat, then stormed over to his table.

  ‘I want to speak to him,’ she demanded.

  ‘You want to talk to him?’

  ‘Yes, right now!’

  Eddie fumbled around in his pockets for loose change and folded away the newspaper. Then left the diner with Ceinwen to walk to a payphone nearby.

  He dialled a number and followed it up with a mumbled conversation then passed the handset to her. She stared at it, recalling the time fate intervened and freed her from Marcin’s grasp. The police forced him to disappear and it allowed her to return to a normal life. Now he had come back and the option of going to them for help didn’t exist.

  Ceinwen valued her life. Marcin, nephew of one of Europe’s most feared criminals, never failed to get what he wanted. Wi
th his shadow looming, the danger now extended to Troy as well as herself. But Marcin didn’t know about Troy, yet. If he did, he’d go after him so Ceinwen needed to think fast and figure a way out of this mess. As soon as the event she had flown over for ended, she’d be heading back to England.

  No choice.

  Ceinwen took the handset, readied herself then spoke.

  ‘Marcin just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,’ she heard herself say. ‘I want you to leave me alone, that’s all I want, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.’

  TWENTY TWO

  London

  Breck did his one hundred press-ups, which he tried to do most mornings then went to check on Molly. Still fast asleep, she hadn’t given him an answer yet on whether or not she wanted to speak to someone professional about her ordeal. Although he wanted to give her time, he feared that she might be running away from it all. His own guilt at handling this very personal matter had become a problem for him but he kept that from her. As an officer of the law safety should have been his middle name. Yet when Molly needed him where was he? Pissing it up in their local boozer and ending up falling asleep, while Molly had her life torn apart, bit by bit.

  He always reassured her that the search was ongoing but energy and hope and been depleted from him long ago, snatched away and replaced with a reluctant acceptance that he had tried everything. He called in all of his favours and used police resources without success. He couldn’t tell her anything else other than he still believed he would catch the man whose face she didn’t see on the night she walked home alone.

  Breck had a shower. The warm water felt good on his skin and freshened him up. When he finished, he popped down to the kitchen with a small towel wrapped around his waist and made a slice of toast. He adorned it with a thick spread of honey.

  After he finished he grabbed the phone and rang the main number for the care home, ignoring Emma’s personal number.

  ‘Please put me through to Imelda Breck please, it’s her grandson.’