by Lloyd Otis
His guest nodded.
Aychm sat like a king surveying land he’d be happy to plunder. Men like him didn’t get to where they were by being foolish or rash. They considered their options. Every single last one, and the man sitting next to him could be invaluable.
Aychm leaned over and whispered a name and The Messenger reeled back. ‘Don’t be surprised that I know who you are. I’m very good at finding out what I need to. It changes nothing between us.’ Aychm rose to his feet and The Messenger followed suit. Although the revelation had shaken him, the two of them then strolled through the park, towards Aychm’s Rolls Royce, and the bodyguards followed. The Messenger had heard about Aychm’s unpredictability. His temper and ruthlessness were well known. ‘If I’m in the US then it’s the feds, over here it’s the Yard trying to snare me, so I am careful, always careful,’ he admitted. ‘Don’t put me at risk, or I’ll attach your tongue to my wall.’ One of the men opened the door to the Rolls but Aychm paused before getting inside. ‘Loyalty is what I value and weak links are what I detest. It makes me not a heartless man but one that is pragmatic so this is my wish.’ Aychm whispered into The Messenger’s ear with an emotional request, then he entered his car and said, ‘Do that for me and I’ll put you where you deserve to be.’
*
In West Cransham, the houses were beautiful monuments with one lane of the road equal to the width of two out on the main. A maroon Jaguar XJ12 parked half-way up the hill, so The Messenger wandered up to it and opened the passenger door. The smell of paprika and garlic hit him straight away, which he refused to comment on as he shook hands with the driver. Ever cautious, he spotted another man sitting in the back with blond highlights that illuminated the ends of his flowing dark hair. He shifted in his seat. Marcin Dvorak, the driver, noticed.
‘Blondy’s a trusted confidante. Don’t worry,’ he said, seeking to reassure his guest.
‘Glad to hear it,’ he replied.
Marcin focused on the man’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘His hair looks pretty? It takes him a long time to get his hair like that; it’s a technical process.’ The Messenger relaxed due to the reassurance, and the strange hair care insight. ‘Large chunks of his hair are pulled through the holes in a plastic cap that he wears and then a hooked needle is used to isa, icy, iso…’
‘Isolate?’ Blondy chipped in.
‘A hooked needle is used to isolate the strands for bleaching. Very technical.’
Marcin held a silver key which he rotated between his fingers before he dropped it into The Messenger’s hand. ‘That is the key to a different property. Not the one we agreed. I need to make one final trip to the old place, but I believe it will be compromised very soon. This new property is up for sale so no one will be there. Go in and act normal then the neighbours won’t be concerned. They’re used to seeing different people come and go, but if you stand around like you’re looking for trouble, they will be. I know you won’t do that. Get the job done.’ Marcin pulled out a bottle, unscrewed the top and inhaled whatever was inside. ‘Let me tell you something. My uncle and I don’t like liabilities. As my uncle always says to me, they’re bad for business.’
‘Smart man, your uncle.’
‘Yes, his decisions are always the right ones.’
Marcin’s need for recognition, mixed with delusions of invincibility, saw him boast about various things. The sort of things a man in his position shouldn’t talk about. Many times his uncle had warned him to keep his mouth shut, and many times he had failed to.
The end of the meeting saw The Messenger pull out a gift, a white paper bag which he handed over, knowing that Marcin had a penchant for mementoes. Then he left the Jaguar. Marcin’s eagerness saw him untie the knot and peer into the bag, and he smiled because it confirmed one thing. He had the right man for the job.
Yet, Marcin had no idea his guest had conversed with his uncle prior to their meeting. If he did, he’d reconsider his opinion and discard his plan. In fact, he’d change everything.
FORTY NINE
Breck was in the Major Incident Room (MIR), transferring his case updates onto the board. A board now clustered with other cases. It would soon make for difficult reading, yet another reason to get things resolved sooner rather than later.
When he finished, he received a visit from Kearns and saw her wipe away a tear. Mary Tellow had called her. She wanted an update on the whereabouts of her daughter’s killer and used emotional blackmail to try and get it. Kearns couldn’t tell her anything and Breck wrongly assumed her upset was in some way linked to her estranged daughter. Kearns thought it best to play on that.
‘My Kim still believes the poison that my ex-husband is spewing. I’ve made a right mess of things.’
‘You can fix it. I know you can.’
‘Not this time, Arlo. Do you know why she won’t speak to me?’
Breck often wondered but Kearns always seemed reluctant to go into detail.
‘Only if you want to.’
‘His name was Dean. She loved him. And when it suited, he acted as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Kim met him while they were both first year college students. Dean was a bit of a lad, full of himself and had the physicality of John Wayne with Donny Osmond looks. His dad happened to be one of Mick’s work colleagues. As time went on, I noticed Kim become more withdrawn. Some of her spark had disappeared but it didn’t make sense why, so I followed her one evening, blame the detective in me. I followed her and found out Dean was pushing her around. That son of a bitch bullied my daughter and I witnessed it all.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I lost it, Arlo, and ended up hurting him. It caused an almighty row but not in the way I expected. Kim sided with Mick and refused to speak to me. They both felt I went over the top and it also gave Mick the excuse to walk out and leave me. Just another example of my unreasonable behaviour he said.’
‘You did the right the thing.’
‘Kim’s love for Dean blinded her. They split up in the end but she still blamed me then left with Mick when he decided to go. So now you know, I’m a bad mother. One that drove her own daughter away.’
‘Nonsense. I’m sure she’ll return Pat, you’ve just got to give her time. To me, it sounds like you were doing her a favour and she’ll realise that one day.’
Kearns’ emotions had begun to get the better of her, so Breck opened his arms and gave his partner a hug. It was the least he could do.
They stayed in the MIR for a bit until she felt ready enough to resume work. Then they left together.
*
Late into the evening, Kearns’ mood still appeared to be sullen which was no good for her, the team or the case. Breck lifted his head away from his paperwork with a suggestion.
‘Fancy a drink, Pat?’
‘Are you asking me out on a date?’
He laughed. ‘Molly’s staying with her aunt for a bit so I’m lonely.’
‘Come on then,’ she said as she grabbed his arm. ‘I know a place.’
They were on their way out when they passed Beatrice, packing her things away, so Breck invited her too. She agreed to come along despite the presence of Kearns and all three stepped out of the of the station, and headed towards Breck’s car.
The bar in Crystal Palace, best described as a place full of tired faces desperate to put the day behind them, played soft jazz with the potential to induce sleep. Kearns ordered a Gin & Tonic while Beatrice settled for a glass of white wine. Breck killed his thirst with a pint of lager. After Kearns got the second round in, the conversation between the three relaxed, but it was inevitable that the case would crop up.
‘I want to lay the cards on the table,’ Breck began.
‘I don’t see any cards,’ Kearns joked.
‘No, I’m serious. Our department is always under scrutiny from those at the top, and the media profile of the double murder case is snowballing. We’ve had a press conference and it’s been discussed on local radio, appeared in l
ocal newspapers. As well as one of the nationals. Yet, we are still no closer to solving it. One version of Troy has escaped and now the other one is dead. Found overseas in a fishing boat.’ He broke off to take a mouthful of lager.
‘Some cases just don’t get solved,’ Kearns remarked.
‘Well the ones I’m working on do.’
Beatrice cut in. ‘How do you sum up this case at the moment, Arlo?’
‘It’s tricky. I don’t know what Alexander Troy is hiding, or why he is trying to convince us he is not the killer by leaving me a message, and a trail for us to follow.’
‘A trail?’ Kearns questioned.’
‘The Blackfriars pub,’ Breck reminded her.
‘You know my view, Arlo, I definitely believe our dead POI was involved with both Janet and Geraldine’s deaths. Someone silenced him.’
Breck needed another opinion. ‘Beatrice, what do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just wondering, why would someone kill our POI and equally, why is our prime suspect still on the run?’
‘Maybe it isn’t just us he’s running from,’ Breck suggested. ‘Looking at where we are with this I think that if we find Troy again, we’ll get the answers we need. Mo is going to call me when Troy arranges to meet him. Then we’ll nab him when he collects his passport and squeeze the truth out of him.’
Breck had a wild-eyed and determined look about him that Kearns had seen before. She knew she had to swing with it for now and reflected on her partner before Breck. An absent minded chauvinist prick, that liked his own company. He barked orders when it suited and he’d let her take the flak when he didn’t have the balls to. When a back problem forced him to retire, she told him how sorry she was to see him go. She lied. Kearns celebrated that night like she had never celebrated before.
Breck in contrast, acted completely different, and showed her respect which made the situation more difficult. She could just about justify her betrayal, but the guilt of hiding the secret from him, long ago began to eat away at her soul.
*
The light had left the sky when the phone woke Breck. He bolted upright with a see-saw feeling inside his head, his hands clambered around in the dark, attempting to reach the phone. He toppled over an empty glass and a half-full bottle of white, but his eyes were quick to refocus and soon became accustomed to the darkened setting. He used a few tissues to mop up the spillage and hoped that he didn’t drive home drunk. He threw a hand against the wall to balance upright. The phone kept ringing so he staggered over to it.
‘Huh? Hello.’
‘It’s Pat, sorry to bother you. I know it’s late.’
‘Hi, what’s wrong?’ Breck heard a noise from upstairs. ‘Hold on, just a second.’
He moved the phone away from his ear. The floorboards were definitely creaking overhead. It served as a sharp slap in the face and forced him to come to his senses. Someone else was in the house.
Breck threw the phone to one side and left the room. He grabbed the golf umbrella propped against the wall and went to investigate, feeling embarrassed that his intoxicated state made him rely on an umbrella for protection.
The tentative steps he took allowed him to inch his way upstairs until he saw the outline of someone. A woman. She stood by the entrance to the bedroom. The woman stepped forward wearing one of his shirts, unbuttoned all the way down the middle.
‘I see you’ve woken up then.’ Beatrice couldn’t stop smiling.
Breck discarded the umbrella, displaying no emotion but the guilt of knowing what he might have done, began to cut him open.
‘What’s going on here?’
‘I guess you’ll be wanting this back.’ She grabbed his attention by playfully slipping out of his shirt – the one she bought for him. Breck felt uncomfortable while she stood before him semi-naked. He needed a way out. Then he remembered Kearns.
‘I’ll speak to you in a bit, I’m on a call.’
Breck drifted back downstairs in a daze to pick up the phone.
‘Hello, Pat sorry about that. What’s wrong?’
‘I’m just checking that you got home all right. Beatrice said she’d drive you home in your car because you had a few.’
‘Er yes, she did. I woke up with a pounding head though.’
‘Anyway, I just wanted to make sure that you reached home safely. How did Beatrice get home?’
And there was the real reason Kearns had called – to see if Beatrice had stayed the night.
‘Don’t know. When I woke up she was gone.’
‘Ah she must have caught a cab. OK, I’ll let you rest – see you tomorrow.’
‘Bye.’
Breck ended the call then heard Beatrice call his name. He found her sitting on the lower stairs, this time with the shirt back on.
‘Was that Pat checking up on you?’
‘Yes.’
‘She needs to get a life she does. Anyway, you don’t look happy to see me.’
‘Bea, thank you for driving me home. Please tell me what happened afterwards?’
‘You just saw me almost naked standing by your bedroom and you ask me what happened afterwards. Are you serious? You want to know what we did?’
The venom in Beatrice’s words shocked him. Breck shook his head. He didn’t want to know but Beatrice wouldn’t let up. She grabbed him, so that she could whisper it in his ear, and she watched his exasperation as her words slipped out, resenting him for the fact he’d never leave his girlfriend.
If true, Breck was aware that what Beatrice claimed, could damage both their careers, alongside his marriage.
Breck walked away, determined to let things run their course. Beatrice would stay the night and they’d leave for work in the morning together. Once they reached the station, they’d walk in separately, minutes apart, and try not to talk about this night ever again.
FIFTY
After arriving at the station, Breck travelled to the MIR. A letter with the Hardwick Stanfield postmark dropped through the letterbox, before he had set off for work this morning. He didn’t feel relaxed enough to open it with Beatrice around so popped it inside the glove compartment to read when he was ready.
In the MIR, Beatrice remained distant after what had happened which Breck expected. The other SCU members in the room were junior but with the march approaching, it was all Breck could get. Once he had everyone’s attention he began to give an update of key movers and major events of the case so far. Yet, when he took a step back and thought about it, they had a lot of information already. It just needed piecing together.
‘The last thing I’d like to mention is that we’ve now got a warrant to raid the Camden address of our deceased POI. We obtained the address through his car registration number and planned to wait until he returned. That will now not be happening so a few of you are going in. Beatrice will lead.’
The revelation bolted Beatrice upright and caught her unaware. Was this her prize for being with him last night? Breck on the other hand preferred her to be out of the way.
Kearns had a question. ‘Has Morten given you any more information?’
‘Not yet but I’d love to know how our POI ended up with a harpoon embedded in his eye socket.’ The room fell silent. ‘Right everyone, we’re done.’
The group began to disperse but Kearns had a quiet word with Breck.
‘We can win this by pinning it all on our dead POI. It’ll cover up for the fact we can’t piece together the information we have.’
‘Pat, this can’t be closed until I catch our prime suspect and question him. You know that.’
‘Fair enough, you’re the SIO. It was just an idea.’
‘Yes I am the SIO.’
‘Take it easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Beatrice passed by and Kearns noticed her lack of communication with Breck. ‘Why has she been given the lead on the Camden address raid?’
‘It’ll be good for her. I think she feels that things are moving slowly in her career.’
‘She lacks patience that one. Anyway, I’ve got to sort something out so I’ll see you in a bit.’
Breck gathered his file then returned to his desk to find a letter which had been couriered. It originated from overseas. He used a letter opener to lift the seal of the odonatologist’s report sent from Morten Hoebeck. The report had been written in Norwegian, but the key parts were translated and highlighted. A lot of it made for unexciting reading but the parts that mattered were clear for anyone to see. The odonatologist had reported that the dead man known as Alexander Troy, was in the age region of 40-45 years old. Not the 32 years of age his ‘official’ documents stated.
It astounded Breck and he couldn’t peel his eyes way from the report but he required one more favour from Morten. If the POI wasn’t Troy then he needed to know the dead man’s real identity.
FIFTY ONE
Breck had his conversation with Morten and now sat in Bashir’s office to give him an update of the case so far.
‘Beatrice has led the raid on the empty property in Camden and checks revealed that the owner had been paid three month’s rent in advance, via a recognised estate agent. Plus a deposit too. Both parties are innocent of any wrong doing.’ Bashir’s searching gaze gave the impression he expected to hear more than he had. ‘I asked my contact in Norway to get an odonatologist to carry out oral tests on our dead POI, which he did. There was a non-match to the specified age.’
‘A non-match?’
‘Yes sir, Morten my contact, also ran a check on our man with other international agencies like Interpol and the FBI. They matched his photo so I can now confirm his real identity. He’s Jean-Marc Alper, an accomplished conman of French origin. Never been caught and speaks English better than most.’
Breck expected Bashir to ask why he had never thought of contacting one of the international agencies before but he never did. Perhaps because Breck’s main focus had been on the other Troy.