Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  He waited a while for them to get her to a phone but when she came onto the line it made it all worthwhile. ‘Happy birthday, gran!’

  ‘Arlo! Thank you. Yes, I’m another year older now.’

  ‘Maybe so but you don’t look it,’ he said, hugging the phone between his shoulder and ear while pulling out a box of cereal and a bowl.

  A raspy chuckle came back through the line. ‘Thank you for the present. I opened it first thing this morning.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘The gold bracelet is lovely, thank you. Emma’s going to put me in my nice dress later for when they sing happy birthday to me. There’ll be a cake with a million candles on.’

  ‘That’s sounds great.’ His gran then went quiet for a bit, enough for Breck to become concerned. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I received a birthday card from your dad.’

  Breck should’ve been happy that his dad hadn’t forgotten his former mother-in-law but he wasn’t. His father had schmoozed his way back into her life a few months ago, cap in hand, spinning a sad story. She gave him money then he left without word. No change there then.

  ‘I’d rather not know, please.’

  ‘He’s given me an address if you want to contact him.’

  Breck didn’t. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Arlo.’

  Breck wanted to be there to help her celebrate but the demands of the job prevented him from doing so. He couldn’t get time off. And even if he could, he wouldn’t want any discussions about his father to dominate her day.

  ‘Take care, gran. I hope you have a great time.’

  ‘OK then. Be careful.’

  He ended the call, pleased that he’d managed to keep his anger at bay. His gran had always been his rock but his father was another matter.

  Breck heard the clink of bottles from the milkman’s delivery and went to the door to collect the milk. He opened the door and picked up the two bottles from the doorstep, brought them inside, peeled back the silver foil from one and poured out the milk. A dollop of cream fell out onto his cornflakes as it always did the first time with new milk.

  Breck stood by the fridge to place the bottles inside when Molly entered the kitchen, holding one of his shirts.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you there,’ he said.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop down for breakfast while you were still here.’ She held the shirt aloft, aligning it with her face.

  ‘When did you get this?’

  ‘The other day why?’

  ‘It’s not something you’d go for that’s all.’

  ‘I fancied something different.’

  The shirt was a present from Beatrice, one that he never told Molly about so he agreed with her. It was lime coloured, had frilly cuffs, collars the length of eagle wings and large white buttons. Definitely not a shirt he’d go for.

  Molly placed it on a stool then joined him at the table, neglecting to tell him that she had acted on impulse and searched his pockets to look for any signs of cheating. She went through his drawer to see if she’d come across a love letter but the only thing she found was the shirt. She knew for certain he didn’t buy it.

  Breck gave Molly a soft kiss on the cheek. He handed her a bowl, the milk and the box of cornflakes.

  ‘You look brighter today.’

  She ignored his compliment. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The shirt. Where did you get it?’

  Breck’s heart drum-rolled. ‘You’re obsessed by it. Should I look for a female version?’ Molly ignored the joke to stare into her bowl, stirring the cereal and milk together over and over again. ‘Off a market stall down Portobello Road why?’

  ‘Nothing, just curious.’

  Breck didn’t know whether to believe her or not and became anxious, fearful of her next question so he came with one of his own.

  ‘Have you thought about going to speak to someone, to get you back on track?’

  ‘Off the rails, am I?’

  ‘Come on, you know what I mean.’

  ‘I might. I don’t know. I suppose seeing someone could help. I’ll think about it. Best to make sure it’s with someone I’d be comfortable with but I need to find something to do. I miss Woolworths and going into work to talk with the girls.’

  ‘I know but you didn’t want to go back.’

  ‘Couldn’t face the questions or the sympathy after what happened.’

  Breck felt Molly’s sadness. ‘I heard MFI were recruiting. One of our old sergeants works there now. I could have a word. It’d be useful if you were there anyway, we’d get discounted furniture.’ Molly didn’t seem enthused by the idea. Taking things one step at a time might be best, Breck now began to believe. ‘I tell you what, let’s see how you feel in a few weeks before you go rushing back to work.’

  The phone shrilled. Molly’s aunt Kathy had decided to check up on her niece. For once he had good news when she asked, ‘How is she doing?’

  Breck turned in Molly’s direction with a deep sense of pride. ‘Molly is...’ He stopped because he couldn’t find the right words so he said, ‘I’ll let her tell you herself.’

  He signalled for Molly to come over then stepped aside when she began her conversation.

  Breck popped upstairs to change into his clothes for work. He threw on a black sweatshirt and jeans, alongside, his sandy brown leather jacket. Perks of being in the SCU that would allow him to retain a bit of cool or so he hoped.

  By the time he returned downstairs Molly was still on the phone so he gave her a wave as he left. He breathed in some of that Deptford air and the VW started up first time, but he knew better than to question divine intervention.

  The main road played host to thick walls of traffic so Breck turned the car up onto Deptford High Street, with the intention of driving towards Pagnell Street. Once there, he’d join the A20 towards Cransham and all went well until his stomach churned. He still felt hungry but there was a solution and that solution also presented him with a longshot for something else. Breck pulled over next to the Paradise Lane Caribbean takeaway. A place where he’d stand out a mile.

  Paradise Lane’s pastel coloured decor and picturesque images of palm trees, and sandy white beaches didn’t quite fit in with the downcast morning. Breck made his way past a group of youths that eyeballed him and received a surprise.

  Benjamin Genta blocked the doorway.

  ‘I ain’t done anything,’ he said in protest.

  ‘I wouldn’t agree. We need to talk about the money Janet put into your account every month. First though, I want to fill my stomach. Don’t go anywhere.’

  Benjamin stepped out of the way and watched Breck order at the counter. He even swore he heard him switch to mild patois as he spoke to the owner Marla. A true out of body experience. At the same time a local face that Benjamin knew as a gun man, with links to notorious groups in Brixton and Ladbroke Grove, made his way out with food in hand. He swung a look towards Breck inside the shop and after being satisfied he offered no threat, he moved on.

  Benjamin had already been seen speaking to Breck so if it became known that he was a police officer then he’d have a problem. A big one.

  He turned around to see Breck collect his food and when the detective walked past, he urged him to follow. Benjamin waited until he reached his car first then pounced. Breck wound down the window leaving him to stand outside.

  ‘How did you know that I’d be at Paradise Lane?’

  ‘I didn’t know for certain. Call it a wild guess. I’m also hungry.’

  Breck showed off his food bag that contained curried goat, plantain, and fried dumplings.

  ‘Are you saying that you’ve bought food from there before?’

  Breck pulled a dumpling out and began to eat. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Ask Marla. She’ll tell you that I visit almost every week.’

  Benjamin grinned. ‘I’ll be back.’

&nbs
p; Breck watched him head into Paradise Lane and wished he was in there to see his face when Marla spoke to him. Moments later Benjamin resurfaced. Breck revved the engine.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Good, now get in and tell me what I need to know otherwise I’m taking you in.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Perverting the course of justice.’

  Benjamin made sure that no one was watching as he opened the door to the car and slid in. Breck moved onto his second dumpling and waited until his guest became comfortable.

  ‘Tell me about the cash gifts.’

  ‘The money was for the anti-fascist group that I’m a part of. We needed extra funding for leaflets and stuff like that. Janet agreed with what we were doing. Said she wanted to help.’

  ‘You need to be careful. Activists are being monitored.’

  ‘Someone’s got to keep up the fight. It’s us and them. We all heard about the punch-up at the station involving one of the Front’s men. At one of their rallies he said we were all muggers. Then he started talking about the Third Reich and said he’d shake us out of the trees. We’ve got to keep up the fight.’ Breck couldn’t really dissuade him. He felt the burn in his own chest too. ‘I get stopped on average about three times a week. They never find anything. Your boy Riley loves me I swear, always got something to say when he sees me.’

  Breck folded the top of the paper food bag and rested it on the back seat. The current social climate affected both of them in its own way.

  ‘It’s not easy that’s why I need you to be straight with me when I’m trying to do the right thing in finding out who killed Janet and why.’

  ‘There is something else that I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Janet said that she saw someone following her.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘Yeah, the last time we saw each other before I went to Wolverhampton. She said she spotted a man outside her workplace. He stood out because he wasn’t the suit type.’

  ‘What type was he then?’

  ‘A baseball cap and dark clothing type.’

  ‘What did he look like?”

  ‘White, powerfully built and wore a baseball cap. She told me that she couldn’t see him in great detail. It was getting dark.’ Benjamin rubbed his hands together as if the cold from outside had found its way into the car. ‘She spotted him again lurking around near her home for a bit then he disappeared.’

  ‘Why didn’t you reveal this at the station?’

  Benjamin shrugged. ‘I didn’t like what you represented.’

  ‘Fair enough but your girlfriend is now dead and that could be a credible lead.’

  Benjamin accepted that he had made a mistake. ‘Sorry, I know you’ve got your job to do. Look, come down to the Jupiter Club.’ Breck tried to place it. ‘It’s the community centre in New Cross.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know the place.’

  ‘Your colleagues damaged the sound system there and made arrests for no reason. We’re having a meeting there next week to talk about it.’ Breck recalled the incident. It occurred a few years back and remained unresolved. His silence gave Benjamin the answer. ‘Marla told me you’re a regular in Paradise Lane. Even said your grandma’s from Ocho Rios. Shit, I never reckoned that.’

  Breck smiled. ‘I want you to keep out of trouble. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I hear you but The Front are going to march near here soon and fight to “reclaim the streets” as they say. We’re not going to let them past so keeping out of trouble might not be possible.’ In his head, Benjamin was already somewhere else.

  Breck understood the failings of his own words and he let his eyes follow the alcoholic hovering outside the bookmakers, holding a part-concealed can of beer in a paper bag, talking to anyone foolish enough to listen. Ahead of him, a drug-addicted prostitute with tawdry dark hair and black heels, walked up and down in a skirt which refused to hide her milky white thighs. She had been brought into the station a few times. A sex-seller that knew how to play the game and often offered cut price deals. Ahead of her time many said. Four BJs for the price of two was a summer special other girls now copied. Breck’s observations became of great interest to Benjamin.

  ‘What are you seeing?’

  ‘A lot of problems,’ Breck admitted, ‘problems that need fixing.’

  ‘That’s right but not just here, everywhere. We’re in the dead lands, a place where you’re judged solely by the word of others. No one ever gets out. They stay trapped in it forever.’

  Breck didn’t want to hear that. To keep him going, he needing to know hope lay ahead somewhere along the line. He leaned across to Benjamin, opened the door and let him out.

  ‘Thanks. Remember what I said, keep out of trouble.’

  Breck watched him walk away like a street solider. One that had readied himself for an urban war.

  Dead lands, a place where you’re judged solely by the word of others.

  Breck sniffed the air and inhaled a sweet spicy smell. The food. He noticed that a vast amount of heat had already escaped from the bag which he could do little about so he tried to look for the positives. Lukewarm food had to be better than nothing.

  *

  At the station Breck padded past Clive and saw Beatrice up ahead carrying a bunch of files that threatened to topple over. He side-stepped a few people in his way and morphed his walk into a light jog so that he could catch up with her.

  ‘Need any help?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Breck lightened her load by taking some of the files.

  ‘Any developments with the Nettle case?’

  ‘We may have a breakthrough.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I just bumped into Maskell’s boyfriend, Benjamin Genta. He revealed that a man had been watching her.’

  ‘That sounds positive.’

  ‘We’re being given the run around at the moment so I’ll take what I can get. What are you doing with these?’ he asked referring to the files.

  ‘Bringing them to Bashir so that he can better organise our ring of steel for the march.’

  Breck saw Kearns in the background and wanted to speak to her. ‘I’ll bring these up in a sec.’ Beatrice didn’t feel like sticking around so went on her way.

  ‘What were you two talking about?’ Kearns asked.

  ‘Police work so no cheeky comments. New information from Benjamin Genta. Maskell saw a man outside her place of work and near her home on the same night.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A week before her murder.’

  ‘What have we got to go on?’

  ‘A white male, powerfully built, wearing dark clothing and a baseball cap. Run a check on all known local possible suspects. See if we can get a match. Might lead to something. It could’ve been our fugitive Troy.’

  ‘OK, let’s hope we get something from it.’

  ‘I need to give these to the boss, see you in a bit.’

  Breck made his way to Bashir’s office to deliver the rest of the files. Kearns went in the other direction to her desk and stared at the paperwork.

  It had to be done but something else tugged at her. Against her better judgement, she reached for the phone and dialled her daughter’s number. She hoped she’d pick up. After a few rings it went through to the answering machine. It wasn’t the result she wanted but she chose not to waste the chance to show she cared.

  ‘Hello Kim, it’s me love. I’m just calling to see how you are. I’m OK but I do miss you and we should talk. I’m not sure what you’ve been told but you should hear my side. Look, it’d be great if you could…um…give me a call back and let me know what you’ve been up to. Take care, love you.’

  Kearns ended the call and became tearful. Would Kim pick up the message? If Mick found it first he’d delete it without saying a word to their daughter. Despite the anxiety, Kearns didn’t mind taking that chance. Kim was her weak point and always would be.

  TWENTY THREE


  The Messenger

  He sat inside her flat after letting himself in without her knowledge. Sprinkles of cigarette ash littered the floor, discarded crisp packets overflowed from a coffee table. Damp and mould were embedded into the ridges of the skirting boards and he knew her name as he always had done. Geraldine. They said she was rebellious and could have anything she wanted with a wealthy daddy happy enough to indulge her.

  She partied like any other student, alcohol and drugs, and applied eyeliner in a way that created a look of anger. To scare the nonbelievers but he believed.

  He watched her from behind while she used the mirror as a guide. She massaged a thick layer of cream into her pink hair with black roots before sharpening the ends into spikes, then paused. She could feel his presence so he shifted out of view until she resumed. His eyes followed her over to the sofa upon which she stretched out, causing her T-shirt to rise up enough to expose her stomach. The stereo continued to blast out punk, deafening anyone at close range and the noise threatened to break the speakers. A relaxed Geraldine made an attempt to sing along until a number of ultra-loud knocks at the door disturbed the moment.

  She didn’t want to move, that much he could tell, but she did and expelled a lazy groan while her hidden guest watched her pad over to the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Delivery,’ a baritone voice fired back. ‘Can’t fit it through the letterbox.’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, mumbling afterwards.

  She unclasped the chain and when she opened the door the delivery man’s eyes scooped up the image on her T-shirt. A cut out of breasts printed across her chest, and he watched her finger the silver hooped ring that crossed over from her left nostril to the right.

  Geraldine signed what she needed to, then took the box without giving any thanks. After the door closed, her uninvited guest smiled. She belonged to him now.

  He waited, gave it enough time until the delivery man had long gone then the Messenger’s smile tightened into something hideous.

  He moved with speed.

  He wrapped a hand around her mouth and expected a struggle like many had given him before but fear gripped her. He spun Geraldine around so that she could see the whites of his eyes from beyond the mask. And witness the burning flames that began to rise from within them. When she convinced him she understood, he removed his hand.