Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  ‘If it helps, he just popped in again. Said he had left his car keys behind and picked them up off the table there underneath some magazines.’ Breck glanced over to where Clive referenced. ‘He drives one of those nice Mk4 Cortinas.’

  Breck’s eyes burned bright, and he was already on his way out of the station when he asked, ‘What coat is he wearing again?’

  ‘Not a coat but a green bomber jacket!’ Clive replied.

  Breck exited the station at a crossroads, unsure of where the POI had gone until he saw a man wearing a green bomber jacket cross the road. A Mk4 Cortina was parked in the direction in which he headed and Breck came close to calling him but held back. The POI continued past the car and then Breck followed him.

  He watched him head down into the heart of Lewisham and enter the Riverdale Shopping Centre. There was a slight bustle about the area which suited Breck fine. The additional people would act as cover for his unscheduled surveillance. At one point he even crouched down and pretended to tie his shoe laces after the POI stopped to glance around to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  A glut of passers-by blinded Breck’s line of sight until the POI continued again with his journey. This time walking into a department store. The clothing aisles enabled customers to flitter past, browse left and right with ease, and he stopped at a rack of men’s shirts to check them out. Breck stopped too but next to a line of women’s lingerie. He had no choice, couldn’t afford to get too close. He grabbed a bell sleeved chemise and pretended to inspect it, oblivious to the store’s security guard that had taken a keen interest in him. Perhaps it was the way he caressed a garment made for the opposite sex. Or could it have been because he kept peering over? Either way, the guard who weighed in at two hundred and fifty pounds with a cloudy grey shirt tucked into his charcoal trousers, came thundering towards him prepared for a confrontation.

  ‘You all right there?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘It’s just that you’re standing by the women’s section.’

  ‘Is it a crime?’

  ‘A crime?’

  ‘Yes, for me to be browsing through women’s clothes? I might be searching for a present.’ The guard considered this but while he did, he refused to leave.

  ‘Yes you might but this department floor is my domain.’

  The last thing Breck needed was for him to make a scene, so he flashed his ID and told him to, ‘Piss off,’ then turned his attention back to his target. Of course that just served to make matters worse because the guard blocked his path.

  ‘I’d like to know what you’re doing. Right now you’re making a big mistake. Back off or you won’t have a job this time next week.’

  Out of pride the guard remained rooted to the spot but it was a no-win situation for him and when Breck saw the POI leave the store, he simply pushed past.

  Breck maintained a safe distance while he continued to follow behind and soon switched onto Ladywell Road. He felt the ache in his feet as he trotted beyond the black steel posts on which the paint had long ago stripped away, and the other end beyond the posts opened up onto a large patch of green. The POI headed straight towards its centre.

  There were a few people slotted around but he seemed comfortable enough, planted next to a mother and her screaming toddler. Minutes later a man approached, flaunting denim on denim and the two of them seemed to know each other. They began a conversation. From where Breck stood, he couldn’t get a clear view and wondered why the POI had left his car outside the station to walk so far for this meeting? He’d have to get closer to them. Breck approached an ice cream van near to where they stood, hands in pockets, whistling a tune. As he closed in the other man left which was unfortunate. But not wanting to raise suspicions, he carried on towards the van and asked the woman inside for an ice lolly. He kept a discreet eye on the POI and to be honest, he had expected the tracking to be much more difficult. Tricky. As long as he wasn’t spotted he wouldn’t be complaining.

  ‘That will be thirty pence,’ she said.

  Breck took the ice lolly. ‘Thanks.’ He pulled out the correct change and paid, but when he turned around his stomach flipped. The POI had disappeared. Breck’s desperate stare stretched across the grassy landscape but he drew a horrifying blank. He struggled to process just how it could have happened. The POI had gone and somehow Breck suspected he knew he was being followed.

  In frustration, he ran over to the mother and her child - who had now stopped wailing to nibble on a chocolate bar. The mother made the most of the few minutes peace.

  ‘Excuse me. There was a man in a green bomber jacket sitting right next you just a moment ago. Did you see where he went?’

  ‘Sorry, no I didn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure? This is important!’ Breck failed to realise the volume of his voice had shot up by a few decibels. The woman grabbed her child out of fear but the little girl tried to struggle free and dropped her chocolate bar to the ground. She resumed her wail but Breck remained unperturbed. ‘Why won’t you answer the question? I need to find him!’

  ‘If you don’t leave us alone, I’ll scream for help.’

  Breck came to his senses and backed off. The mother’s words slapped him hard and he knew he had to accept that he had been given the slip. It was a wake-up call and proof that all was not as it seemed.

  Breck had screwed up. He threw the ice lolly to the ground in disgust and walked away. Lemon wasn’t his favourite flavour, anyway.

  SEVEN

  Kearns took a bit of time out for herself in the yard, smoking as she attempted to come to terms with what had happened. And what would happen, and what might yet be. The station was already in panic mode after the fracas and although order had been restored, she needed to speak to Bashir.

  Beyond the gates a young woman walked past and her svelte size and innocent face reminded Kearns of her own estranged daughter. The more she stared at her the more the woman transformed into Kim and it transported Kearns to the past. To a time where her exhusband would be fast asleep whenever she returned home from work.

  He trapped himself under the spell of booze, and she would often stop and stare at him with overwhelming sadness, disappointed that he failed to live up to the potential he had shown when they first married. The magic had long since fizzled away between them. Love replaced by hate. But the one good thing to emerge from their union was their daughter Kim - a bright and feisty young girl.

  In those days, working as a WPC always tired Kearns. She’d get in, drop her handbag to the floor, slip off her shoes then open a bottle of wine. She’d eat the digestive biscuits on the sofa beside her sleeping husband and stretch out her legs to get comfortable, accepting that biscuits and wine for the third night in a row wasn’t the type of diet she wanted to advertise. It had become her new bad habit and as the News at Ten flashed onto the television screen, Patricia Kearns would often fall asleep.

  One morning when the door slammed shut, she jumped out of her sleep. It was bright and light surged through the window, and lit the room. She sprung up, still hazy and peered outside just in time to see Mick set off for work. It made sense now. The slamming door was a sign of his anger at having to make his own sandwiches for lunch again. She felt nothing and recalled glancing at the wall clock. No time for a bath, just a quick face wash. She had to get going, and it was after she put on her shoes and straightened up that she saw the note pinned to the door.

  Mum,

  I’m off to Julia’s after college. See you later.

  Kim x

  Kearns switched back to reality. Her daughter now lived miles away and the girl that had reminded her of Kim a moment ago had gone too. It didn’t take long for her steely resolve to resurface though because there would be no reunion today. Just shit to sort out.

  Kearns discarded the cigarette and stepped back inside the station to see several skinheads from the fracas lined up with their hands handcuffed behind their backs. They disgusted her for their attitude but had served a pu
rpose today. Whether or not that purpose was morally right or wrong she couldn’t yet decide.

  Kearns made her way to Bashir’s office but stopped just outside the door when she heard him on the phone. He sounded agitated, which meant he’d soon slam it down. She counted down from ten and by the time she reached three, he ended the conversation with a bang. It sounded as if he had broken the phone in two and her pensive knock was apparent to Bashir who opened the door himself to let her in.

  ‘You look worried.’ He stepped aside to allow her to enter. ‘Have a seat.’

  ‘I’d rather stand, sir.’

  ‘OK, what can I help you with today?’

  ‘The suspect that we apprehended earlier has escaped. My fault.’

  Bashir returned to his position behind his desk in deep thought.

  ‘A situation occurred in reception.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about it. Was just on the phone to Clive. This is not good but we can blame the fight that broke out for this.’

  ‘The suspect saw his chance and just got away from me.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll blame the fight.’

  ‘I didn’t handcuff him.’

  Bashir’s eyes widened. ‘No handcuffs? Are you mad?’

  ‘Sir, after our conversation this morning I thought...’

  Bashir cut in. ‘Patricia, it’s not for us to dictate these matters in such a direct way. Although a charge could have been pinned on him within a few hours it wouldn’t have happened under my watch. He would have been bailed by tomorrow.’

  Bashir put a finger to his lips to halt any more words from Kearns while he analysed the situation, and in his moments of thought he knew what to do next.

  *

  On his return to Cransham, Breck headed towards the exact spot he last saw the Mk4 Cortina parked. It wasn’t there. This version of Troy had been smart enough to shake him, collect his car and drive away. Breck fumed. He didn’t even have a registration number to check so his only hope was to get the address the POI gave upon his arrival.

  Feeling deflated, he entered the station to witness a clean-up operation underway. He had no idea what was going on but saw plenty of uniforms looking dazed, juniors were tidying up, and seniors were standing around shaking their heads. Breck spotted droplets of blood on the floor where the mop hadn’t yet reached and concluded that a fight had taken place. So he went over to Clive for an update, noticing a newly attached plaster on the custody sergeant’s cheek.

  ‘It looks like a hurricane has swept through here.’

  ‘Yes, it was quite something that you missed.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A bloke brought in for driving without a licence happened to be one of the Front’s’ security chiefs. He took offence at how they man-handled him and made a big noise about it. One thing led to another then he turned apoplectic.’

  Breck had a look around. ‘Looks like it was quite a noise.’

  ‘It went up a notch when his mates bowled in and tried to have a go. We’ve currently got several men locked up but a juvenile that was with them escaped,’ Clive said, making sure the plaster behaved itself by staying in place. ‘Did you find the Troy fella?’

  ‘Yes. I trailed him to Ladywell then lost him.’

  ‘That’s not like you Arlo. Rumour has it you’ve got supernatural police skills that are unexplained.’

  ‘Funny. There’s a comedy club around the corner if you fancy a career change. Anyway, how can I locate him when all we have is an illegible address? He’s our POI and I want to speak to him now. For your reference, the other Troy is our prime suspect.’

  Clive itched the scratch on his head. ‘He told the interviewing officer that he had a holiday booked to Norway, planning to visit one of them remote islands.’

  ‘What’s the island named?’

  ‘Something like Spits…Spitser…’

  ‘Spitsbergen?’

  ‘That’s it, or it could have been Bear Island. One of the two but he said that his flight was scheduled for today.’

  It wasn’t the type of news that Breck wanted to hear but there was little he could do.

  ‘Thanks Clive. I wanted to speak to him before he went on holiday but will have to figure something else out.’

  Breck grabbed one of the hard-boiled sweets from the metal dish on the custody desk. The strawberry and cream flavoured sweets were reserved for visitors, but that mattered little to him as he unwrapped one then popped it into his mouth.

  On his way back to his floor he stopped off at the gents, still annoyed at being given the slip by the POI, but consoled by the fact he had the other Troy at least locked up in a cell. His relief was short-lived. At the urinal he was joined by fellow SCU officer Ray Riley, a heavyset man with a small face and deep lines that tracked his forehead. His reputation at the best of times preceded him, and he did nothing to dispel them. It gave him a sick boost to be the bad boy of the SCU. He used to be on good terms with Breck until their well-documented quarrel a year ago. Since then he always tried his best to put Breck down and now was no exception.

  ‘How is it going, still failing at your job?’ Breck knew he should ignore the snipe but wanted to fire back with one of his own.

  ‘I’m doing quite well but I haven’t seen you around much. If they haven’t got any work for you perhaps you should do us a favour and go home.’

  Riley smiled. ‘You were never in my league. Even now that you’re a DI, you still ain’t.’

  Riley always feared that Breck would overtake him on the way up the career ladder and Breck liked to play with that.

  ‘Did I tell you that I’m working on a big one, a dead finance director and a case of double identities? I don’t think I did. You’re not important enough.’ Riley kept his lips sealed so Breck goaded him further. ‘I’d love to know what are you working on. How to harass teenagers down at the Riverdale?’

  ‘I’ll give you that one Arlo, the older you get the sharper you’re becoming but some of those coloured kids need watching. Anyway, the reason you haven’t seen me around much is because I’ve just come back from holiday.’ Riley stared straight ahead, fiddling with his trouser zipper while humming Bowie’s Starman.

  Breck feigned interest. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Costa Rica. Didn’t want to come back to be honest.’

  ‘So, why did you?’

  ‘To see your pretty face and I love the power the job gives me. I’ve just found out that I have to help with patrolling the Front’s march. Keep them out of harm’s way from those anti-fascist hooligans.’ The surprise at Riley’s words registered on Breck’s face.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, everyone has a right to voice their opinion. Anyway, the point is Bashir has put me in charge of a specific area along the route and it made me think.’ Riley acted as if time had frozen while he stared up at the ceiling. Breck had to check that his heart was still beating.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, please don’t keep me in suspense.’

  ‘It made me ask, what have you been given?’ Breck ignored him but that didn’t stop Riley’s poison. ‘You haven’t been given anything with regard to the march and I thought you’d be a dead cert.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  Riley sharpened his next set of words. ‘Well seeing as you can relate to both sides of the fence.’

  Breck managed to hold himself back, left the urinal and washed his hands in the basin, wishing he knew of a way to thump Riley and get away with it. The man’s ignorance was to be expected but it had no room in Breck’s complicated world. A place where he would not get even as much as a second glance in most places as things stood. If it were known that a difference existed, he’d be getting three, four, or even five glances. The rest didn’t know it but Riley did.

  Investigations were ongoing regarding the scale of corruption in the force. Breck hoped Riley wouldn’t be able to weave his way out of anything. It’d just be a matter of time before he was questioned. His conviction rate remained
high, yet there were always rumours about him and the way he chose to do things. What Riley did to get those high rates, no one apart from his partner Gaz Bennett quite knew. Gaz could blow the lid off all his dealings but he’d probably implicate himself as well and it was that loyal silence which allowed Riley to play the game, and take advantage of whoever he wanted to.

  The mirror above the wash basin allowed Breck to see his weary face. The odd strand of grey already tracked parts of his hair. The job had aged him and he never even realised.

  Breck left the toilets and remembered he hadn’t yet phoned his girlfriend. He’d be unable to pop round to see her before he finished work proper. A phone call was the least he could do. He made it a priority to ring her when he reached his desk, but he didn’t get any further with that thought because he bumped into Beatrice.

  The first thing to note: her upset. The second thing to note: her borderline hate. It pointed the finger at his responsibility for all of her woes and she made herself clear.

  ‘We need to talk now!’

  It wasn’t the best time for him but he was fearful she’d cause a scene. Breck didn’t want to feature on the station’s gossip lists. Or face a difficult time while working alongside her.

  ‘Let’s go into the function room.’

  He held her arm as he led her away.

  The function room was where the station’s officers would meet with stakeholders, council officials and prominent community leaders. Currently undergoing a refurbishment, the tables and chairs were hidden, draped in a sea of white covers. The perfect place for Breck to obtain some privacy for the conversation to come. He now regretted that drunken kiss he shared with Beatrice at the recent SCU team night out.

  As soon as he closed the door she used her body to block it, sending a clear message. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave until she said so. Beatrice liked him much more than a friend, and a lot of the lads fancied her which gave him a bit of a confidence boost. However, Kearns saw her as a danger, a viper ready to sink her teeth into anything she desired. She seemed to have her eye on men that could in some way further her career but Breck didn’t see her like that. Perhaps the pouting lips had something to do with it.