Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  Breck said goodbye to Molly then left the house with a single glance back. The location had served them well but with the property up for renewal in the next few months, he’d consider moving if a new environment would help.

  He started his car but nothing happened and he continued to turn the key in the VW without any success. It failed to spark into life and he suspected that the alternator might need replacing. Determined to get to the interview on time, he left it and trotted up to the high street to find a taxi.

  After a few minutes, one pulled over and Breck jumped in. He was desperate to settle into the right frame of mind but even with the troubles at home and an interview ahead, the case wasn’t far from his thoughts. Solving it would be a chance to cement his worth to Bashir by locking up the right Troy. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed an opportunity. He asked himself, what would he do if he had gone on the run?

  He couldn’t find the answer but believed he’d get it soon. In the meantime, he did some prep, not enough, and by the time the driver demanded the fare he had decided to take his chances. He paid up and scurried out.

  The building where the interview would take place didn’t look like much and its tidy blue sign had been nailed onto a rotting square wooden board that needed replacing. Regardless, Breck knew the job here would pay him more than his current salary. It’d be far safer too.

  He straightened his tie and walked into the reception area of Hardwick Stanfield, a business security firm, convincing himself that this was what he wanted. A life away from the SCU. With his shift beginning in an hours’ time, everything fitted in fine. He gave his name to the receptionist then waited, fidgeting with butterflies tingling in his stomach, until he was approached.

  ‘Arlo Breck?’

  He looked up to see an elderly skeletal man. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘This way please.’

  He was led through to a set of double doors by a World War One veteran. Bill gave him an overview of the First World War and swore that he knew Lawrence of Arabia.

  ‘Small chap he was, but he weren’t half bright,’ he said, and Breck definitely thought Bill could be old enough to have lived in that time.

  Although he walked with a limp, he had a hardened look about him and Breck sensed that his past experiences had softened him somewhat.

  Bill led Breck through a maze of corridors before stopping outside a green door. He knocked twice then opened it. Breck walked through to be greeted by a man with a pockmarked face and a cushioned stomach. A poster of Cilla Black was planted on the wall behind his desk and he extended a hand. Breck shook it then Bill closed the door and left the two men alone.

  ‘Hello, I’m Mr Garsdale.’

  ‘Thank you for inviting me to the interview. It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.’

  Garsdale waited for Breck to get comfortable before starting. ‘The pay’s weekly, holidays are 18 days for the year and a team of eight needs managing. They can be difficult I’ll admit. Sometimes thinking that they know best but they do understand their job. I need a strong person in the Head of Security role so what makes you think you can lead the team here?’

  ‘For the very same reason that you invited me to this interview, Mr Garsdale. I’m a copper that can cope with stressful and tricky situations by thinking on my feet.’

  ‘I’ve already met many people that cope with stress and think on their feet Mr Breck. What makes you different to them?’

  ‘I think that not all of the people you have seen would do the job the way I would. I’m pretty good at analysing situations and looking at the facts.’ Breck made the mistake of telling Garsdale what he thought he wanted him to hear rather than what he really believed.

  ‘Following the facts is fine most times but the obvious route doesn’t always lead us to where it should. It’s the reason why a few people get away with their crimes.’

  Breck could’ve applied Garsdale’s words to his own case which unnerved him. ‘You work as a policeman, why do you want to leave?’

  ‘I think it’s time to. It feels right and it can be unpleasant work at the end of the day.’

  ‘Unpleasant in what way?’

  ‘Dealing with those that want to hurt others and trying to stop them.’

  ‘I’d like to hear an example of one of your cases.’

  Breck paused. ‘Sorry, Mr Garsdale, but apart from what I’ve put on the CV, I can’t say anymore. I’m in a special unit you see, and the work we do is confidential.’

  An unconvinced Garsdale wrote down a few notes, then turned his attention back to Breck. ‘Why is that then?’

  ‘It’s just the way it is I suppose. We deal with high profile incidents so a lot of things are classified.’

  Garsdale rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and put his pen down. He was disappointed. ‘My staff know that when I ask a question I expect an answer, classified or not.’

  He leaned forward across his desk with an unflinching stare that must have scared many interviewees already. Breck didn’t know where to start with answering the question and for the first time wondered if he’d be wasting his talents as Head of Security.

  ‘Sorry but I have to be careful with what I talk about.’

  Garsdale’s mood darkened. Not a good sign and Breck was surprised by his stance. He doubted if anyone at the SCU would find out if he spilled a little bit of information to Garsdale, but he stood by his principles. He knew that if he got the job he wouldn’t have to deal with any murder investigations, or put up with the likes of Ray Riley. It was a damn good chance to be free so why was he intent on ruining it?

  On the whiteboard behind Garsdale’s desk were child-like diagrams showing the uninitiated what the word ‘security’ meant. Securing business premises were the company’s key focus and Breck wasn’t sure how he’d fare patrolling a large building. Or asking a team of eight to do so and having to fill in when any of them were away.

  ‘I think your managerial experience may not be enough,’ Garsdale said.

  ‘Forgive me for asking but if that is so then why call me in?’

  ‘To see you face-to-face Mr Breck. Yes, you tick a few boxes but dealing with staff issues on a day-to-day basis requires a certain amount of skill. The management of people is key.’ Garsdale shuffled through a few loose papers on his desk and somewhere along the line his face had forgotten to smile. Breck couldn’t wait for it to end and he didn’t have to suffer for long. Garsdale stared at him with a blank expression with his hands clasped on top of his desk, looking fed up. ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Breck. I’ll be in touch.’

  After a brisk handshake Breck left. The whole experience felt like a chore and he wasn’t pleased that he had wasted his time. He brushed off his two-piece suit and took off his tie. Then he folded it into one of his pockets and left the building.

  The passing cars were all Breck had for company but he couldn’t believe his luck when one turned out to be a squad car from Cransham. He flagged it down and the driver recognised him and asked how he came to be in the Tulse Hill area. Breck made an excuse that he’d forget by tomorrow and got in, pleased for the lift. Not least because he would save on the taxi fare.

  Breck used the car radio to get through to Kearns at Cransham and she reminded him that he was due to attend Maskell’s post-mortem. She sensed that he had the hump about something but couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it became clear. Breck wanted someone else to pick up the task.

  The SCU were allowed to leave the post-mortem attendance and the reporting of it to the uniforms. He made it clear they should on this occasion. He then turned to the driver and said, ‘No offence,’ while the perplexed officer kept his eyes on the road.

  Breck also learned that Kearns had been busy arranging for Maskell’s sister to conduct a formal identification of the body, which turned out to be a good thing because he remembered that he had been assigned to set it up.

  A Family Liaison O
fficer (FLO) had been sent to the home of Maskell’s sister and Breck believed her sibling might be able to give them valuable information so planned to meet her.

  Kearns saw his reluctance to visit Frank Cullen’s office as an opportunity to get one up on an old enemy, so she made plans to shift the task over to Beatrice. But she had a surprise for Breck, one he couldn’t possibly guess. Kearns wanted him to make a detour to an address she had just acquired. Breck thanked her and admired her resourcefulness.

  ‘Take a left here and follow the road down,’ he instructed the officer. ‘I’ll square this with your superior so don’t worry.’

  The address led straight to Benjamin Genta. Janet Maskell’s boyfriend was back in town.

  FOURTEEN

  Camberwell’s hotbed of noise from its crowded streets, became wedded to the choking fumes from cars that were glued to the roads by traffic standstills. Breck had already decided to jump out whilst in the jam, instructing the officer where to park if it cleared, before walking to where Janet Maskell’s boyfriend Benjamin Genta allegedly worked. From what Kearns had been able to establish he had returned from visiting family in Wolverhampton. He grew up there but left after he finished school and moved to London. His record was relatively clean, having only been arrested once before for demonstrating. Nothing worse than that.

  At the corner of Denmark Hill and Peckham Road a couple of school kids were larking about, missing valuable school time. Of course, they didn’t see it that way. Pupils seldom did. Breck passed them by and reached his destination in a matter of minutes.

  Benjamin Genta worked in a landscape gardening shop, narrow in width compared to other shops nearby, sandwiched between a bookmaker and a fast food outlet. As Breck neared it he saw a man fitting Benjamin’s description packing up a van. Breck called out to him.

  ‘Benjamin Genta?’

  The man stopped and glanced around. ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘I’m DI Breck and I need to speak to you.’ Breck showed his ID.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Janet Maskell.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’ He closed the rear doors of the van.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’

  The man paused and struggled to forge an answer while Breck watched, waiting to see if there were any signs of guilt.

  ‘What’s happened to Janet?’

  ‘We should go into the shop, Benjamin.’

  ‘Nah, I don’t want my manager knowing my business. Plus, you’re Old Bill, so let’s do it out here where there are witnesses.’

  Benjamin’s distrust of the police was evident. Even so Breck just shrugged, happy to let him have it his way. ‘OK then. There’s no easy way to say it. She’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’

  The shock numbed Benjamin and he struggled to take it all in.

  ‘I want to you ask you a few questions because we believe it’s murder.’

  Benjamin stepped back, quick to protest his innocence. ‘Hold on. I didn’t do it.’

  He then tensed up and clenched his fists in a mixture of emotion and fear, while looking for an escape route. One he couldn’t find. Breck thought it best to calm the situation right there and then because he didn’t need the thrill of a chase.

  ‘Do me a favour, don’t run. I know you’ve been away so providing we can corroborate your alibi, there’ll be nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Why should I trust Babylon?’

  The derogatory tag of Babylon didn’t worry Breck because he knew that the police were often called much worse. There was still work to be done on a local level.

  ‘You should trust me because I’m the one person that cares if an innocent man is locked up.’ Breck ended the sentence with a determined stare, just enough for Benjamin to understand.

  ‘OK, let me hand these keys over to my manager and explain what’s happening.’

  ‘You’ve got one minute.’

  Moments later the squad car that picked up Breck from Tulse Hill, freed itself from a lane of traffic and parked behind him. Benjamin Genta emerged from the shop to find Breck waiting with the rear door open.

  ‘Come on,’ Breck said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Benjamin Genta kept his thoughts to himself as he slid into the car, then they drove away.

  *

  Inside one of the available rooms at the station Breck placed a cup of tea on the table for his latest interviewee. Benjamin Genta had become glassy eyed on the journey down as Janet’s death became a reality. Yet he seemed desperate to conceal his true feelings in front of Breck over his lover’s murder. Breck had already done his homework on Benjamin. His mum worked as a nurse for the NHS and his dad used to work for British Rail but had now retired. However, the dark cloud in his life centred around his brother’s death. Wesley Genta died after being stabbed when he tried to break up a fight between two youths. Breck could feel the subtle anger brimming beneath the surface but he didn’t think Benjamin was a bad person. Far from it.

  He pulled his chair into position after he sat down next to Kearns and had dodged any questions about his smart appearance following the interview, by throwing his suit jacket into his locker. If anyone questioned his unfamiliar trousers or shoes, he just told them he fancied a change.

  He observed Benjamin for a bit, trying to work out what he could be thinking, without much success. Then he began.

  ‘Right, you comfortable?’

  Benjamin rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m never comfortable around you lot. Never know what I’m going to get.’

  ‘I know what happened to your brother and I’m sorry but don’t let that get in the way of doing the right thing here.’ Breck loosened the top button on his shirt. ‘Let’s begin. Where were you between noon and 2:00 p.m. yesterday?’

  ‘At church.’

  Benjamin stared at the tea within the plastic cup, held it then took a sip. The confession made Kearns baulk. With an unkempt beard, uneven afro, and an opened Adidas tracksuit top which revealed a white string vest, Benjamin Genta didn’t look like the type to attend church. She should have known better but she couldn’t help herself and leaned in close to issue a warning.

  ‘Let me remind you that you’re looking at life in prison if you don’t stop playing games. You do know that, don’t you?’

  Her tone became a slight worry for Breck. Benjamin was just a POI at this stage with Troy still their main suspect.

  ‘Hold on lady, my mum asked me to drop off some flowers for the vicar ahead of the service on Sunday. I did that before I came back to London.’

  Kearns shoved a notepad and pen Benjamin’s way. ‘I want the name of the vicar and the church.’

  Obliging, he wrote in the notepad then passed it over, but when Kearns picked it up and read it, she wasn’t impressed. ‘You cheeky sod.’

  She jabbed her index finger into the centre of Benjamin’s forehead. It caused his head to jerk back. He slapped her hand away and sprung to his feet. Breck was quick to step in. He didn’t want the tea to go all over Benjamin because he had witnessed Kearns splash someone before in an interview.

  ‘Listen everyone, I’m sure that we’re all on the same side here. We want to catch Janet’s killer so let’s just calm down.’

  Breck’s intervention seemed to do the trick. Both Benjamin and Kearns cooled it.

  ‘Pat, do me a favour? Go and check out his alibi.’

  ‘What, right now?’

  Breck raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, now,’ then he read the words which had been written down for Kearns and smiled. She left the room and Benjamin felt relaxed enough to sit back down so Breck resumed the questioning.

  ‘What was your relationship with Janet Maskell?’

  ‘My relationship with her?’ Benjamin chose the moment to take a mouthful of tea. ‘I am…I mean, I was her gardener.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘What else do you want me to say?’

  ‘Were you sleeping with her?’
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  Benjamin said, ‘Yes,’ through gritted teeth. ‘We were seeing each other but she came onto me, not the other way around.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not interested in who made the first move, or how many times she wanted it. I’m just trying to understand how close you two were. Now, did you at any time meet any of Janet’s friends?’

  Benjamin laughed. ‘Friends? Professionally I didn’t exist but she was more relaxed when I went to visit her. Even though I got disapproving looks from that nosey old neighbour of hers whenever she saw me.’

  Breck assumed that by the term nosey old neighbour he meant Wynda Brodie. ‘When was the last time you saw Janet?’

  ‘It was the day before I went to Wolverhampton. A Friday night.’

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about her recently? Did she seem concerned about anything?’

  Benjamin shook his head.’ Nope, nothing. I go away, come back and now she’s dead. Doesn’t make any sense.’

  It appeared that there would be little else to discuss but Breck wanted to be sure.

  ‘Is there anything that you need to tell me about your relationship with Janet that you haven’t mentioned yet? I don’t want any nasty surprises later on.’

  Benjamin shook his head so Breck shrugged and removed himself from his chair, feeling disappointed that more couldn’t have been accomplished. Benjamin would be held until his alibi checked out. Until then there was nothing more to discuss.

  Breck walked over to the phone on the small table at the other side of the room and dialled her extension.

  ‘Pat. Have we got any leads on Ceinwen?’

  ‘Nothing but I am waiting for the Vicar to ring me back.’

  ‘OK, see you in a bit. I’m finished in here. It’s been a waste of time.’

  Breck ended the call but Benjamin overheard the conversation. ‘Ceinwen, did you say?’