Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  Troy removed the bottom of the bin, unwrapped the bundle inside and read the typed note that accompanied it.

  Get What You Can. Then Out. END.

  Troy would have to wait for the explanations later but it became clear that Proctor kept the lines of communication open just for him.

  Troy unblocked the door and exited the men’s toilets. He knew there’d be just one chance to get this right, and he reminded himself of that small fact all the way to his meeting with Mo Mace.

  *

  Troy travelled past a couple of kids. They were performing bicycle tricks over a makeshift ramp made of broken shards of wood, and had slanted the wood on top of crumbling bricks. One of them decided to sit it out, choosing to suck on a lollipop with a comb stuck into the roots of his tired afro. Up ahead a few people were drifting into the snooker hall but Troy’s focus centred on just on one thing. Mo Mace and his passport. Mace wanted to meet at the snooker hall and not anywhere else.

  Troy asked the Italian behind the bar if he had seen Mo but the question drew a blank expression. A tap on his shoulder forced him to turn around to be met by a stranger wearing a grin and blond highlights at the ends of his hair.

  ‘You after Mo?’

  ‘Yes, do you know where he is?’

  ‘Sure do. He’s waiting for you over there.’

  The man directed Troy to the back room and everything was at least going according to the adjusted plan. Or so it seemed. Troy turned the handle of the door and stepped into the room.

  Then came face-to-face with Marcin. Troy stood close enough to see the bristling pinpricks of grey upon Marcin’s chin and the trouble in his unmistakable sunken eyes. He panicked and pulled out the SIG, quick to jab the tip of it into his stomach.

  ‘Step back,’ he warned. ‘Where’s Mo?’ His finger tightened around the trigger and he prepared himself to use it.

  ‘You should move that away. It makes me feel uncomfortable.’

  Troy mocked him. ‘I’m so sorry about that. Now answer my question!’

  ‘You’re playing a dangerous game by threatening me.’

  The conversation never progressed any further because Troy never heard Blondy creep up behind him. The blow to the back of his head knocked him out cold. Meanwhile, Mo Mace sat in the corner hidden by the shadows, epitomising the very reason why he had been able to survive in his industry for so long.

  *

  Troy’s eyes flickered open. The taste of blood soured his mouth. His hands were tied but he had space to manoeuvre. The room reeked of a lemon scent. Troy saw the frames of a set of windows ahead, but the windows were covered with wooden boards that had been nailed down tight. Whisky coloured linoleum stretched across the floor and the oddest thing lay in the centre of the room. A knee high square oak table with rope tied around its legs.

  Troy used all his strength to roll over onto his stomach. When he did, he wormed his way forwards but breathed in the dust from the floor, which floated up and scratched at the back of his throat. Unintelligible sounds soon separated into individual voices, and Troy pushed his face as close as possible towards the gap between the door, and the surface of the floor.

  FIFTY SIX

  Kearns decided the time was right to inform Breck that Mo Mace had tried to contact him with the exact time that Troy planned to meet. She waited until he finished his conversation with a junior officer then pounced.

  ‘Mo Mace called for you.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Not long ago. I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Kearns smiled. ‘Troy’s on his way to meet him.’

  ‘About time too. We’ll keep our arrival low key, no sirens or cavalry. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes. I’m going to stop off at the armoury.’

  Only a small number of SCU of officers were allowed to be armed and Arlo Breck happened to be one of them.

  *

  The double doors of the snooker hall creaked when Breck and Kearns walked through, and Breck seemed to be still adjusting to the weight of his firearm in its holster when he approached the man behind the bar.

  ‘What can I get you to drink?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s information that I’m after.’ Breck showed his ID. ‘I want to speak to your manager.’

  ‘He’s not around at the moment but maybe I can help?’

  ‘A man by the name of Mo Mace frequents this snooker hall. I’m looking for him.’

  ‘Maurice left about twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘On his own?’

  ‘No, with a group of men.’

  ‘What men?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know. Never seen them before.’

  Breck glanced towards Kearns but she couldn’t offer any suggestions.

  ‘Did he look uncomfortable like he might have been in danger?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t say that. He seemed relaxed.’

  Kearns stepped forward. ‘He’s lied to me about all of this. I’ll throttle him.’

  ‘This is not what I need right now.’

  A disappointed Breck left the premises while a secretly satisfied Kearns followed behind. Inside the car she tried to offer a solution.

  ‘You may not want to hear it but we still have a way out of this.’

  ‘No, Pat, I’m not going to pin all of this onto our dead POI Alper. Not when Troy is hiding something. We both know that.’

  ‘OK, I tried.’

  By the time they arrived back at the station, Breck’s foul mood had diminished enough for Beatrice to feel comfortable enough to approach him.

  ‘I won’t ask what’s annoyed you,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a result that might cheer you up though.’ The word result pricked Breck’s interest enough for him to take notice. ‘I’ve finally got a name of the owner of the house linked to phone number, found on our dead POI in Norway.’

  ‘Who does it belong to?’

  ‘A person named Marcin Dvorak.’

  ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell for me. Do we know who he is?’

  Beatrice shrugged and felt a bit embarrassed because she hadn’t researched that bit. ‘Please find out who he is and get me some time with Judge Palmer – I’ll need a search warrant.’

  Beatrice left and more than ever before, Breck felt the strain of the job. He suspected that Kearns fed him false information regarding Troy’s meeting with Mo Mace and he wanted to confront her. Somehow, he held himself back and a move away from the SCU seemed a real option once again. Breck needed to believe that he could trust his colleagues.

  While he agonised, Bashir caught sight of him and walked over, noticing his mood.

  ‘What’s getting you down, Arlo?’

  ‘Nothing sir, just a little tired with this case that’s all.’

  ‘I know our resources are stretched because of the march today but have you got all the help you need?’

  ‘I think for where we are now, it’s sufficient.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a feeling it will end soon. I don’t know why but I do.’ Bashir began to reminisce. ‘I worked on a case back in ’68 similar to this. Went for a bit without any real feeling of progress, followed the wrong leads and all sorts we did. Then we got a result unexpectedly.’

  ‘Well, I’m always hopeful sir.’

  ‘Good. Glad to hear it.’

  ‘How are we set up for the march?’

  ‘I’m drafting in as many officers as I can. In fact, I’m looking at a few thousand and I hear the council are moving the elderly and disabled away from potential areas of trouble. Last ditch meetings with the Front and the opposing groups, failed to find a compromise in my eyes.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘No and our intel tell us there might be an anti-fascist gathering around Clifton Rise. So Arlo, in the words of many who have faced a battlefield before the advent of war, God help us all.’

  Bashir strolled away and in a case of perfect timing, Beatrice came rushing over.

  ‘I have new
s on Marcin Dvorak.’

  ‘Go on,’ Breck urged. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘He’s the nephew of Aychm Dvorak.’ The name sounded familiar to Breck. ‘His uncle is wanted by the Yard, Interpol, everyone.’ Beatrice couldn’t contain her excitement at the discovery. ‘He’s the one I told you about. I bugged his car on Riley’s old operation.’

  ‘Why is our dead POI linked to him?’ Beatrice was at a loss to explain. ‘It’s all right, I don’t expect you to answer that but we need to move fast on this. We’ll need an instant response car (IRC) behind us so I’ll sort that out now.’

  Breck knew he had been given another chance and he was intent on grabbing it with both hands.

  *

  Breck acquired a search warrant for the property in Rotherhithe in record time. While he, Kearns, Beatrice and officers in the IRC, rocketed to the address, Breck felt it could lead to something. His mind tried to balance many different bits of information, anomalies, and things that were strange enough to drive him crazy if he let them. Deep down though, he knew he was edging closer to the truth.

  They arrived at the house in a squad car rather than the Allegro. Breck approached the door of the four-bed detached house first. The IRC boys, led by Francis, stood beside Breck. Ten years’ experience, lean and focused.

  ‘We’re not sure what we’ll be dealing with so everyone be on your guard,’ Breck warned. Then he counted down. ‘Three, two, one.’

  The door burst open with the first kick he executed and they all rushed inside. Kearns searched the ground floor with Francis, while Breck led Beatrice up the stairs for a quick sweep of the place. Everyone remained on their guard. Breck soon ventured into a bathroom big enough for one. He opened the cabinet and found half used tubes of shaving foam and razors. Behind the bath taps lay a small comb with hairs trapped between its teeth. Judging by the length of the comb’s teeth whoever used it preferred to keep their hair low. Breck bagged it so that samples could be extracted and he had expected to find more. When Beatrice called him, the sharp urgency that infected her voice forced him to rush out and witness a sight that took him by surprise.

  FIFTY SEVEN

  The march

  Inside the home registered to Marcin, one of the bedroom walls were covered from top to bottom with photographs of a woman. Beatrice recognised her straight away. Kearns bolted upstairs and entered the room after hearing her call Breck. Beatrice had their full attention.

  ‘That’s Ceinwen Phelps, Troy’s married girlfriend.’ I remembered her from the marketing material that I saw at Xenon.’

  ‘What’s her connection to Marcin Dvorak?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Beatrice confessed.

  Breck ran it through. ‘The POI is connected to Marcin, and Marcin is connected to Ceinwen. What are we missing here?’

  None of them had the answer.

  Breck stepped in closer and inspected the photographs. ‘In a majority of them, Ceinwen appears to be relaxed but unaware they have been taken. While the others, the Polaroid snaps, have been shot from a shorter distance and she’s looking straight at the photographer.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ Kearns asked.

  ‘She either knew our dead POI, or she knows Marcin somehow,’ Breck deduced.

  Beatrice stepped away from the wall and opened the wardrobe nearby. It seemed a pointless action until a white paper bag fell out and rolled to a stop by her feet. Breck gave her the nod to untie it and she reeled back when she did.

  Breck peered inside. ‘That looks like a human finger.’

  ‘Definitely a finger,’ Kearns added after she had a look too. ‘There’s a friendship ring on it.’

  ‘Pat, the silver ring with a Greek key pattern is the same one Simon showed us at the strip club. We know which of our deceased had a finger missing don’t we?’

  ‘Geraldine.’

  Breck stepped away to view the photos on the wall again. ‘If that is Ceinwen in the photos then that at least gives us a motive for Troy being set up wouldn’t you say? She’s at the heart of this.’

  Kearns had seen enough of the severed limb and joined Breck near the wall. ‘Set up by who though, our dead POI or Marcin?’

  ‘Seeing as Jean-Marc Alper is dead, I’d say Marcin pulled the strings on this one.’

  The shocking discovery allowed Breck to shift the killer tag away from Troy at least, and shift it over to Marcin Dvorak.

  Breck stared at the paper bag. ‘We now have evidence to connect Marcin to at least one of the murders.’ He turned around searching for Kearns. ‘Where’s Pat gone?’ He didn’t notice she had left.

  ‘Maybe she went outside,’ Beatrice suggested.

  Breck moved aside the curtains and glimpsed Kearns talking to a group of kids on bicycles. He didn’t understand how she could be with them one minute then gone the next, so he made his way down to investigate, only to bump into her upon her return.

  ‘What were you doing out there, offering to buy them sweets?’

  Kearns ignored the biting remark. ‘We now have a registration number for a maroon Jaguar XJ12. Those kids out there saw it speed away from here not too long ago.’

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have barked. OK feed that back to the station then finish off searching down here.’ Breck turned around and caught Beatrice on her way down, holding the bag. ‘Bea, please get someone at the station to ask Clarke if he knows where Troy is. Let him know that we now believe his friend to be innocent of Geraldine’s murder, if not yet Janet Maskell’s. Tell him he may be in grave danger. It might make him cooperate with us.’

  As expected a small crowd had gathered, and while Breck moved beyond them, his radio snapped into life. They received a positive ID on the Jaguar after it became involved in an incident with a motorbike as it turned into a residential road in West Cransham. Breck gathered the team and informed them. After that, he buckled up and he leaned across to Kearns in the car.

  ‘I need you to get us there fast, Pat. Every second counts now.’

  ‘Every second always counted, Arlo,’ she said the under her breath afterwards. ‘You just didn’t realise.’

  Kearns shifted the gears and nailed the accelerator to the floor. In seconds, the streets became a blur. Breck took out his standard issue firearm to make sure the safety was off, while Beatrice felt nervous. Although situations like these were what she wanted to be involved in.

  No one had mentioned it but the shadow of the march tainted the air and it stoked Breck’s curiosity.

  ‘How many Front demonstrators have turned up?’

  Kearns tried to think. ‘Not sure, someone guessed it to be around five hundred or so. Could be more, even up to a thousand.’

  ‘Less than we anticipated. What about the other side?’

  Kearns made a sharp turn which shifted everyone to their left. Breck banged his head on the window. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Sorry. From what we know, there are several anti-Front groups.’

  ‘How reliable is that intel?’

  ‘Shall I give you that piece of string metaphor?’

  In a rare light moment Breck shook his head. ‘No, don’t bother.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ve got everything there, horses, riot shields. The lot, Bashir made sure of it.’

  Kearns attempted to loop onto the A20 before being forced to slow down due to the large crowds, but Breck’s frustration ballooned.

  ‘Why have we come this way? We’re touching the edges of the march.’

  ‘You told me to get us there fast. This is the quickest way!’ Kearns snapped.

  Beatrice chipped in. ‘Everything is blocked. We were working on this case so we’re probably a bit behind with any last-minute arrangements.’

  Though Breck didn’t want to admit it, Beatrice’s explanation made sense as they witnessed New Cross Road become bottled-necked with a slew of bodies, placards and angry faces. The Front demonstrators, protected by the heavy police presence, shouted obscenities at the anti-fascist opposition, who weren’t s
hy in giving it back. Bits of wood, empty cans and bottles cut through the air, while the radio airwaves were congested with all things concerning the march. Something had already kicked off nearby. It concerned Breck

  ‘Do you think that’s Clifton Rise their talking about?’ Kearns asked.

  ‘Could be. The march started from somewhere near, perhaps Pagnell Street. We need to get out of here. Francis’ team in the IRC are following as close as they can.’

  Streams of people were now running after a few of the Front’s footmen. The police protection ring had been broken and Breck saw Benjamin Genta, squaring up to a Front demonstrator twice his size. His ‘Stop The Muggers’ banner had been unfurled on the ground and he gripped Benjamin’s shirt collars, then administered a tight bear hug. His python grip squeezed the life out of Benjamin and Breck feared the worse. He couldn’t get to him with what was happening all around. He needn’t have worried. Benjamin fired-forward a head butt which split the man’s nose. Blood pooled out of his nostrils and down into his mouth, forcing him to let Benjamin go.

  Breck glanced up. Eggs sailed through the air and failed to reach their targets, but ended up hitting the car. A brick sent in retaliation the other way failed to find its target too. It cracked the windscreen.

  ‘Pat, turn us around and get us the hell out of here. We’ll go the other way,’ Breck said.

  ‘Alright, I’m doing it now.’

  Kearns winced and performed a U-turn, hitting one or two bodies in the process, but not seriously injuring anyone. With the horn blasting, they burst through and left behind the devastation.

  Kearns used her intimate knowledge of the back streets to loop them onto the main road again, in order to reach West Cransham where the Jaguar was last seen. Breck urged Kearns to up the speed even more, and the IRC came into view behind them.

  While they sped along, the crack in the windscreen became a problem. It continued to impair Kearns’ vision. She tried to angle her head away to an undamaged part but in doing so she swerved. Breck panicked. He grabbed the wheel so Kearns hit the brake. The car spun out of control. Beatrice didn’t have her seat belt on and the momentum tossed her around in the back seat like a rag doll.