by Lloyd Otis
NINETEEN
Earlier
Kearns felt annoyed with herself for not wearing a scarf, and buttoning her coat all the way up was scant consolation for feeling like there was a chain of ice around her neck. She walked past a deserted playground, where the wood had begun to rot away from the seesaw, and the slide was covered in hardened bubble gum. She stared up at the block of flats, remembering the stories she had heard about the good old days.
Back then you could leave your back door open, let the children play with freedom, where the only missing people were the ones that had become lost on their way to their destination. Lost, not snatched.
Kearns wondered if those stories were true as she lifted the knocker. The person she had come to see had already glimpsed her through the window and expected her.
Jacob Simpson offered Detective Sergeant Patricia Kearns a drink, which she accepted. He looked a bit different to how she last remembered him. Now wearing silver framed glasses, he tied his hair back into a pony tail and his maroon cardigan elevated his intelligence. Kearns pointed to his frames.
‘How long have you been wearing those?’
‘About a month or so. They’re for reading.’
Simpson offered her a seat while he popped into the kitchen. Kearns chose the cleanest one to sit on and noticed the cardboard cut outs of the Fab Four on the floor. Poor Ringo was stuck at the bottom, squashed by the other three.
Simpson came out with a mug of tea in one hand and a beer in the other. He gave the mug to Kearns. She offered him a polite smile and took it. Just as she was about to put it to her lips she spotted a loose strand of his hair floating at the top so placed the mug on the floor without highlighting her disappointment. Simpson sat down and opened the conversation.
‘Your call sounded urgent, detective, and desperate.’
‘Urgent yes, desperate no.’
‘Have it your way, what can I help you with?’
‘You are going to be visited in a few hours by myself and another detective and when that happens, I’ll need you to follow a script.’
The request took Simpson by surprise. He swigged his beer.
‘That’s a lot of pressure on me, I might mess up. Hey, don’t you trust your colleague?’
‘More than I trust you.’
Simpson laughed. ‘Then why ask me, I was never your favourite.’
‘And you still ain’t but I need you to buy time for me. In the end it will lead to lives being saved.’
Simpson drained his drink. ‘That sounds like some far-out shit. I need another beer.’
He left his seat to head back to the kitchen and Kearns became impatient while she waited. She felt rotten doing this but Breck followed his nose so she needed to do her job.
Simpson returned to the room but this time he decided to stand.
‘What if I don’t want to do what you’re asking?’
‘No choice, I’ve got too much on you.’
Simpson held up an unsteady hand. ‘You’re one tough chick. I need an incentive detective you know that.’
Kearns did indeed know that and rose to her feet, then stepped away from the chair she was sitting on. Simpson saw the envelope that she left behind. Neither needed to discuss it.
‘Didn’t like the tea?’ Simpson eyed the untouched cup.
‘No, too much milk and a strand of your hair was in it.’ Kearns took her time to circle the room. ‘I know you’ve enrolled yourself on a college course and I can see that you’ve tidied yourself up a bit but I need the Jacob Simpson of a few years ago in a few minutes’ time.’ Simpson stood still, absorbing her words. ‘Make sure those cut outs are standing up. Lose that academic cardigan, the glasses, and for goodness sake, loosen your bloody hair.’
Simpson took offence. ‘What’s wrong with the hair?’
‘It makes you look too slick at the moment, and I don’t trust anyone that looks too slick. If I don’t, neither will my partner and if that happens we’ll have a real problem.
‘Cool.’
‘I might need to be a bit rough with you too so don’t take it personally. Now pay attention, this is what I want you to do.’
TWENTY
Breck slammed a fist onto the desk and a box of paperclips fell off but he didn’t give a damn and left them where they were. He regained his concentration enough to analyse a printout of Janet Maskell’s bank statements. She paid a fixed sum every month to B. Genta and he didn’t need three guesses to work out who that could be. He’d have to get Benjamin in again and find out why he kept those payments a secret.
A check of Troy’s dental records became a new item on his checklist and Breck wondered why the SCU were always a few steps behind. According to Jacob Simpson, Troy had left London to travel to Kearns’ old stomping ground in Yorkshire. A good place to lay low for a city worker he thought.
Breck stared at the clock hanging in the distance. He picked up the phone and dialled his home number. After seven rings Molly answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s me. How are you doing?’
‘Not bad, better than of late I think.’ Although it pleased Breck to hear the admission it still surprised him. He grew suspicious but didn’t want to upset the moment. ‘Things have been a bit clearer,’ she said. ‘I can’t explain it. What time are you home?’
‘Not sure. I’m investigating a murder don’t forget and these things can take unexpected twists and turns.’
‘You make it sound like a drama.’
‘It might as well be but I can’t control the ending.’
A long pause followed but he waited until Molly broke it. ‘Let me know when you’re on your way then and I’ll cook us something nice to eat.’
‘I will. Look, I better go, speak to you later.’
He heard a soothing calmness in her voice which he hadn’t heard in a long time. Their relationship had been affected by her failure to cope. Not her fault but it had made him feel alone for a while.
No sooner had the call ended than Beatrice appeared by his side. She stared at him in an awkward way. He knew why but chose to ignore it and instead fixed a blank expression in place, forcing her to release a forlorn sigh. The chemistry between them remained and he felt her anger towards him diminishing.
Beatrice handed him a note which he read with a great deal of interest.
Another way to identify the real Troy and been scuppered. There had been a fire at the POI’s dental surgery. All records destroyed. Maybe the fire wasn’t an accident, maybe it had been done with the intention of covering something up. Either way it left him in the same spot. Bringing the POI in for another Q&A now became the obvious thing to do. If he could locate him.
Beatrice tapped his shoulder.
‘Have you forgotten?’
‘What are you on about?’ She pointed at her watch as a reminder of the meeting in the Briefing Room. ‘The meeting.’
Breck thanked her, then she left. He took his time to leave his seat and grabbed Janet Maskell’s financial statements, along with his jacket. He met Kearns at the lifts and filled her in on the new information while praising Beatrice.
‘She did well getting that info.’ Breck pressed the button.
‘You think so? Isn’t she just doing her job?’
‘Do me a favour, go easy on her. We’re all one big team.’ Kearns rolled her eyes and gave him a false smile, so he took that as a sign she’d meet him halfway. ‘What do you think about the fire?’
‘Let us make it easy for ourselves,’ she advised. ‘We’ve got our eye on the wrong Troy. Why would a city high flier murder his own finance director? It’s too crazy.’
‘How do you explain the escape and the non-alibi?’
‘He panicked, became scared. Anyway, while we’re wasting time with him. The most probable murderer is relaxing somewhere in Norway.’ Breck felt uneasy at the suggestion.
‘I’ve spoken to my contact in Oslo. He’ll keep a lookout for him.’
‘It’s cu
t and dried so let’s focus on the POI. Wrap it up and take the plaudits. It’ll keep Bashir happy at any rate.’
‘I’ll think about it. In the meantime, we’ll go to Yorkshire and follow up on what Jacob said. Although, something doesn’t smell right.’
‘Like?’
‘Like why did the prime suspect live his life everyday as Alexander Troy for so long? Why did he work at Van Bruen for a number of years?’
‘He’s the real Alexander Troy and the other one has made him look like the murderer. Simple.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Breck said.
His fading resistance increased because he wanted closure too. Kearns released a satisfied smile, believing her colleague had already started to wilt under the pressure but she couldn’t tell him what she knew. She wouldn’t dare.
The lift doors opened and it was already 90% full but both officers were still able to squeeze in. Within a few moments, they reached their floor and forced their way out.
They entered the Briefing Room where a cluster of conversations simmered inside. Beatrice had taken the stairs up and had already found a spot, while Breck and Kearns found theirs too as Bashir took centre stage. He puffed out his chest like a peacock and his eyes scanned the room, stopping at Beatrice. Bashir often took an unorthodox approach in these sessions.
‘The victim in Arlo’s and Patricia’s Operation Nettle case has got a sister hasn’t she?’
Kearns nodded.
‘Yes sir. We’re due to speak with her.’
‘Good. Use the resources at our disposal.’
Bashir then covered other issues while everyone tried to look attentive even if they weren’t. He had an elephant’s memory and no one wanted to get on the wrong side of him. He also liked the SCU to look good at all times.
When he drew his session to a close, he notified Breck that due to external pressures, he’d have to run a press conference on the murder investigation. Breck’s reluctant nod followed but he accepted that certain matters couldn’t be delayed any longer. The case had gained press attention and now everyone was out in the open to be shot down.
*
Kearns pressed her back against a brick wall in the yard while having a smoke when Breck approached. He gave her a wink then she livened up, stubbed out the cigarette and opened the door to the Allegro. They were on their way to visit Janet Maskell’s sister so he handed her a note that contained the address. Kearns memorised it then pulled out onto the main road while Breck went through the questions that he wanted to ask.
When they passed Lewisham Library, Kearns heard Breck’s frustrated tut from behind.
‘Traffic’s moving slowly isn’t it?’
‘No point in having a flashing blue light if it can’t be used. Are we on an emergency call?’
‘I guess we are.’
Kearns let the sirens scream which allowed them to carve a path straight ahead and in a relatively short space of time they reached the home of Janet Maskell’s sister.
Outside Gabriella Maskell’s home in Brockley, ribbons of paint peeled away from the window panes and wilting flowers were the most impressive things to decorate the front of the garden. The curtains were drawn tight and after the fourth knock, the door opened. Gabriella stood before them wearing a loose-fitting pullover that hung over a pair of baggy shorts, and her gaunt face accentuated the pink puffiness around her eyes. Breck couldn’t fail to notice her skeletal frame. A Family Liasion Officer (FLO) stood in the hallway.
‘Hello Ms Maskell, I’m DI Arlo Breck and this is my colleague DS Patricia Kearns.’
Gabriella’s nervous smile flittered between the two officers before she left the door ajar and walked back inside. Breck shrugged then followed her in, while Kearns entered afterwards and closed the door.
Old newspapers were scattered across the floor in the hallway next to bits of broken glass and in the lounge the lights were burning on full power. Used tissues occupied a section of the floor next to the sofa chair upon which Gabriella sat. Sorrowful and depressed were words which sprung to mind to describe her sorry state. Her lifestyle seemed the opposite to that of her dead sister and she gave a longing stare at the mantelpiece which displayed a framed photo of Janet.
‘Thank you for seeing us,’ Breck said.
Gabriella’s response was curt. ‘No choice have I?’
She lurched forward and clutched her chest which scared Kearns for a brief second. Then she watched her stare into space, lost in her own world, while letting her arms dangle over the side of the sofa chair as if the last breath had been taken from her.
‘Can you tell us about your relationship with your sister?’
‘We weren’t close growing up. I was always jealous of her but we got on better in later years. I know what she could be like sometimes with me, quite sharp. She made a success of herself but me...well look around.’ Gabriella turned her head from left to right. ‘I should have done better but I didn’t.’ Breck and Kearns just listened, feeling that it wasn’t their place to cast judgement. ‘So have you caught the killer?’
‘Not quite but we’re working on it. We’re hoping that you’ll be able to tell us something which may be of help.’ Breck sat down opposite Gabriella. Kearns sat beside him.
‘Want a drink? I’ve got this.’ She turned to open a new bottle of the hard stuff which she lifted from the floor. ‘Or there’s lemonade in the fridge.’
Breck declined. ‘No thank you we’re fine.’
He gazed at the many photos of Janet planted across the walls and beside the TV. It almost turned the living room into a shrine.
‘I should’ve been a better sister I admit but I made up for it later though. Do a bit for charity now too.’
She tipped a mouthful of vodka into a glass and stared at Breck and Kearns with empty eyes. Breck waited until she swallowed her medicine before speaking again.
‘What can you tell us about her?’
Gabriella blew out a tired breath. ‘Not much, I mean she telephoned most times and asked how I was. Asked if I needed anything. She had plenty of money too, loved it more than life itself.’
‘Do you know of her relationship with a Mr Benjamin Genta?’
‘You mean the gardener, ten years her junior?’ Breck nodded. ‘She invited me around to meet him.’
‘Did you approve of the relationship?’
‘At first I was worried for her because….’ Gabriella paused and Breck wondered what she’d say next. ‘You know what folk are like.’ Kearns understood and nodded. For Breck, Wynda Brodie sprung to mind. ‘Mind you, he’s quite handsome and such a strapping bloke.’
In that moment Gabriella lit up and it made Breck smile before his next question.
‘Did you know that she sent generous amounts of money to her boyfriend?’ Gabriella shook her head. ‘Do you think he could have had something to do with her death?’
‘No, he loved her. She said to me once, he doesn’t carry knives, he’s not in a gang and doesn’t go around trying to mug anyone. He just wants to run his own gardening business one day. That’s it. He wouldn’t harm her, take my word for it.’
Kearns cleared her throat and leaned forwards. ‘Did she have any enemies that you knew of?’
Gabriella yawned then stretched down to pick up a discarded elastic band off the floor, pulled back her hair then used it to hold it in place.
‘Sorry, say that again.’
Breck repeated the question on Kearns’ behalf.
‘Enemies, did she have any?’
‘No,’ she said then her face froze as she tried to hold onto scattered memories of the past. ‘Jan could be a real party girl when she wanted, handled her drink better than me.’
‘How much of a party girl?’
‘She had calmed down of late but there was a time when she’d become very flirty with anyone, men or women.’ Breck’s gaze caught the floor as Gabriella added, ‘Don’t be shocked, we came from a liberal family but it’s just us…’ Gabriella realised what s
he said so readjusted her words. ‘It’s just me now.’
Breck nudged Kearns. She rose to her feet and headed off towards the bathroom while a sorrowful Gabriella poured out more alcohol. She raised the glass to her paper-thin lips, and threw her head back before swallowing another mouthful. Her eyes fizzled. Then her tears fell like rain and Breck grabbed a tissue from the box on the floor then handed it to her. She struggled to wipe her eyes and a little while after Kearns returned.
‘We’ll need you to formally identify your sister,’ Breck informed her.
Gabriella stiffened. ‘I can’t face seeing her dead body. Is there any other way?’
Kearns pulled a Polaroid photograph of Janet from out of her handbag to be used as a reference point. Gabriella’s eyes locked onto it. ‘That’s her, that’s my sister Janet.’
Kearns gave Gabriella a sympathetic look. ‘Try and get some rest love.’
‘The drink will let me rest, never lets me down.’
Kearns crouched and touched Gabriella’s arm. ‘Hey, go easy. I know it’s a difficult time but I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want you to throw your life away.
‘You think so?’
‘Yes, I do.’
As Gabriella let the words seep through, Kearns reminded herself that this was a part of the job she’d be happy to avoid.
Breck said, ‘I know it’s short notice but maybe you can attend the press conference? It would be a great help.’ He rose to his feet.
‘Yes, I’ll try.’
‘Thank you. Right, we’d better be going.’
The officers let themselves out but the FLO remained behind and when they reached the car, Breck asked for a favour.
‘Speaking to Gabriella made me realise once again that family is important. Pat, I need to make a visit before we head back. Nothing to do with the case.’
‘Where to?’
‘You’ll see.’
The vision of Gabriella Maskell made Breck felt a little bit emotional and it scared him. Maybe he was tired of encountering sadness and neither he or Kearns spoke much on the journey. Time to think had become a precious commodity.
