Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  ‘No we won’t sir. The press conference for the investigation will be underway soon. I’ll be there after this meeting.’

  Rose delivered a sharp and decisive nod, and Bashir wondered if his officers ever felt about him the way he felt about Rose. He wanted to escape but knew it was far from over.

  ‘Next on the agenda is the march. Tell me how the preparations for it are going,’ Rose demanded. ‘If the mayor rings me again I’m putting him straight through to you! I’m fed up with discussing it.’

  Bashir exhaled a measured breath. It was going to be a long day.

  TWENTY SIX

  Scoop-hungry journalists occupied the press room and three rows of four chairs were separated by a TV camera positioned in the middle. It pointed straight towards the main table at the front. A solemn-looking Breck entered alongside Gabriella Maskell, with Kearns and Beatrice behind them. Gabriella paused when she saw the enlarged photo of Janet on the wall and Kearns could see the effect. She urged her to move on. A couple of uniforms stood just outside of the camera’s scope and Bashir, happy to survive his meeting with Rose, observed from afar, at the entrance to the room. Breck waited until the simmering whispers died down and a blanket of silence fell. He cleared his throat then began.

  ‘We are still appealing for help regarding the murder of Janet Maskell, a fifty-three-year-old finance director from the Cransham area.’ Everyone zoomed in on him which was strange. It made him tense. After having second thoughts Breck decided to scrap his planned script. He sometimes worked better that way. ‘We want to keep our streets as safe as possible and need the public to be our eyes and ears.’

  A journalist raised a hand.

  ‘Vic Gera of the Cransham Gazette here. What can you divulge about the exact type of injuries the victim sustained?’

  ‘She suffered appalling injuries but I won’t specify the exact type. We’re requesting for witnesses to contact us. We don’t want members of the public to be looking over their shoulders all the time, so we need to stop whoever’s out there from doing this again. I urge anyone with information to contact us.’

  ‘Was the victim married? Did she have any family?’ Gera liked the sound of his own voice and his Latin features enabled him to live long in the memory - along with the overdose of hair that perched on top of his head.

  ‘I’m sure you know the answer to that already but for those of you that don’t, the answer is no. She wasn’t married, nor was she a mother but she had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Is the boyfriend a suspect?’

  ‘At this stage no.’

  Breck scoped around for anyone else with a question then took a moment and glanced at Gabriella. He feared she wouldn’t be able to hold it together for much longer due to the trembling which started in her hands. It now reverberated throughout her whole body. She’d break soon and Breck needed to bring her into the conversation without delay.

  ‘To help with our appeal I’d like to now introduce Ms Gabriella Maskell, sister of Janet.’

  Gabriella forced her head upwards, allowing her puffy eyes to catch the full glare of the lights. They made her squint and she hated being in the room.

  ‘Ms Maskell, how has this tragedy affected you?’ a voice called out.

  ‘I just want justice.’ Gabriella squeezed the ball of crumpled tissue in her hand. Her voice wavered. ‘I want it… for my sister so… if anyone knows anything please get in touch.’

  That was it. She couldn’t manage anymore. Gabriella broke down and Breck turned to Beatrice, giving her the signal to switch on the large OHP monitor.

  A blurred photo took everyone’s attention away from Gabriella and caused most people more than five yards from it to strain their eyes. Beatrice sharpened the focus to fix the issue.

  ‘This is the man we want to question and he’s using the alias of Alexander Troy. He’s a blond Caucasian male, 6’1 tall and dangerous. Members of the public are advised not to approach. If you see him contact us. I repeat, do not approach.’

  Bashir turned purple with rage. He had no idea Breck planned to show Troy’s face to the press, let alone the whole country, and when an officer led Gabriella away, the ticking wall clock became the most prominent sound.

  Vic Gera raised his hand again.

  ‘Is it true that the secretive SCU tend to operate outside the law, and are you doing so now with regards to this case?’

  The question stunned Breck. It was clear that Gera wanted to make a name for himself and Breck promised to make a mental note of the mischief maker.

  ‘It’s not how we operate here. Next question.’

  Breck shot a glance over to Bashir and the volcanic look on his face suggested something was wrong but what? He’d find out soon.

  Breck went through the paces and answered other questions until the press conference came to a close, and while a few journalists milled about and others left, Breck went in search of his boss outside.

  ‘Is there a problem, sir?’

  ‘Yes, there is. Who told you to push out the photo of Alexander Troy? I didn’t authorise it.’

  ‘I didn’t know I had to get authorisation as the SIO, sir?’

  ‘You are supposed to run anything that might compromise the case past me.’

  ‘Not sure how showing the face of our prime suspect compromises the case.’

  Bashir glared at him but Breck hadn’t yet overstepped the mark. Bashir had to ‘sell’ his argument. ‘It sends out the wrong message to the other Troy that went to Norway. I want him to know he hasn’t gotten away with anything.’

  ‘Sir, with all due respect he’s a POI in this. The evidence points to the man whose face I’ve just put up on the screen.’

  ‘I know that Patricia feels the same way I do about who you should be spending time on apprehending so don’t get smart with me.’

  Breck hadn’t seen Bashir on edge like this before. He didn’t like it one bit. It reminded him why he had sought a way out of the SCU by way of a new job, and while Bashir stood in front of him, there were a million things Breck could have replied with but saw no point.

  ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

  Bashir’s eyes illuminated like a beacon but Breck’s decision not to meet fire with fire worked in his favour.

  ‘One last thing. The Front’s march is still going ahead and the whole country will be watching us. Leave is cancelled for most officers except your lot.’ Bashir lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘The reason I’ve not called you into helping with it is because you’ve still got what is fast becoming a high-profile murder investigation to solve. I want results.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. You can go.’

  Breck broke away shaking his head and cursing. Meanwhile, the Detective Superintendent stormed to his office and reached for his cigarettes. He opened the packet like his life depended on it. Deep down Bashir wished that he could do things his way and conduct proper policing. As it stood, losing his pension remained at the forefront of his mind and he found it hard to stomach. Let alone allow one of his brightest detectives to swim up a false stream. He lit up then locked the door and continued to puff the life out of the cigarette but couldn’t remain still. He grabbed the phone and dialled a number which answered after two rings.

  ‘Hello it’s me. It’s about that thing we discussed before, hold on, yes I know we’re not supposed to talk about it again but I’m uneasy with it.’ Bashir stopped a bit so he wouldn’t muddle his words. ‘All I’m saying is let my guy in on this. He might be able to...’ Bashir stopped again, angered this time. ‘Of course I’m not stupid. As I said when I spoke to Rose, I can assure you that no one else knows.’

  Another lie. Kearns knew. He believed she had a right to. Bashir detested being spoken to like a little child and it appeared that the conversation would end an old friendship when a revelation was made. Bashir took a few moments to absorb it.

  ‘What do you mean it’ll be shut down? They’re willing to take that risk. No support? Does Rose
know?’

  A stark warning to Bashir filtered through the receiver before the line died and he knew then that he had done all he could.

  The Detective Superintendent had a heavy heart and knew that he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t just ashamed at what he had become a part of, he was afraid too.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Breck walked past a junior SCU officer guarding the communal door that led to the new crime scene and after he stepped into the Cransham flat, it wasn’t long before Kearns stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘You’re late this morning.’

  ‘Sorry, got held up.’

  A look of concern engulfed her face, followed by a stark warning. ‘It’s not pretty so prepare yourself.’

  ‘I always try to.’

  Kearns moved aside while Breck went in to observe the marked areas. The speckles of blood. A cheque book and a clump of the victim’s hair. He then took a closer look at the body of the teenage girl propped against the wall. She had been left in a similar way to Janet Maskell. Her pink matted hair glued itself to her face by dried blood and the most poignant thing were her eyes. Left wide open as if trying to say something and point Breck in the right direction.

  Kearns stood close by and opened her notepad to relay the information she already had.

  ‘Just waiting for confirmation on her identity. Her bag’s missing. In the meantime, this is what I’ve found.’ She unveiled a clear plastic wallet from underneath the notepad.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A blank cheque.’

  ‘Why are you showing me a blank cheque?’

  ‘I’m showing it to you because it’s written out to a Mr Alexander Troy. There’s also a missing cheque page from the cheque book on the floor. The numbers on both correspond. This cheque page was torn from it.’

  Breck restrained his surprise. ‘So it confirms that our prime suspect is implicated in yet another crime. Why did he leave it behind?’

  ‘He could’ve been in a rush but that’s not all. Look at the name of the account holder.’

  ‘Breck squinted so Kearns held the blank cheque closer. He couldn’t believe it.

  ‘This is going to be a real problem.’

  Kearns witnessed the concern on Breck’s face. ‘I know what you’re thinking but just consider this. Our POI might have slipped back into the country from his jaunt in Norway – if he ever went.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘It’s a set up by our POI to send you in the wrong direction.’

  Breck noticed that Kearns said ‘you’ and not ‘us’ but kept his thought to himself.

  ‘When we get official confirmation of the victim’s identity, send an officer over to notify her next of kin.’

  ‘And we know who that is don’t we?’ Kearns said it with dread while Breck sucked in both cheeks and ran through a few scenarios, trying to figure out Troy’s plan.

  Kearns’ eyes were busy scanning the area near his feet.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘I couldn’t find a murder weapon but traces of cocaine were found on the floor,’ she commented.

  ‘I don’t believe the drugs belonged to anyone other than the victim. There’s no cellophane this time, so is it a different killer?’ Breck questioned. He crouched in front of the victim and felt his own heart sink at the sad sight in front of him. A minute afterwards, Frank Cullen padded in. He greeted Kearns first.

  ‘Pat.’

  ‘Frank.’

  ‘Arlo.’

  ‘Hello Frank.’

  Frank lifted each side of his trouser outseams then crouched alongside Breck. It didn’t take him long to assess the damage.

  ‘No cellophane this time eh?’

  ‘I just said that before you walked in.’

  ‘Do you think it could be a different killer then?’

  ‘I just asked that question too more or less.’

  ‘Have you two finished?’ Kearns wanted Frank to get on with it.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘At the area of the head we have a severe wound that appears to have cracked the skull. That’s my guess. There’s ligature marks around the throat too. Most disturbing though, one of the fingers on the right hand is missing.’

  ‘Why is that most disturbing?’ Kearns asked.

  ‘I believe it was done for no other reason than to punish her. Maybe the killer had been scratched. Anyway, we’ll see what Bart says. I hear he’s a few minutes away.’

  ‘How long do you think she’s been left like this?’

  ‘Not long but I’d say several hours at least.’

  Frank rose to his feet. Breck followed then turned to Kearns.

  ‘Make sure she’s checked for traces of semen please.’

  ‘You think she was raped?’

  His eyes ran to one corner of the room. ‘Well her cut down studded shorts are over there.’ Then he brought them back to where he stood. ‘And her T-shirt is over here. Let’s just make sure we’re thorough with this because whoever did it is nothing more than an animal in need of putting down. Fast track everything.’

  ‘I’ll do the paperwork again, shall I?’

  Breck didn’t care who did the paperwork. He just wanted to catch the bastard that did this. He left the flat and inhaled the air outside, glad to be away from such a macabre environment. He sought sanctuary inside the Allegro.

  There were now two dead bodies, connected by the name of Alexander Troy and Breck remained on course to unwittingly deliver Kearns’ long awaited personal retribution. The knock on the window by his partner grabbed his attention. Kearns had something to say so Breck wound it down by a quarter.

  ‘We can now officially confirm her identity and it’s as we feared. She’s Geraldine Van Bruen, daughter of Wade Van Bruen.’

  Breck held his head in his hands and mumbled words along the lines of, ‘Oh shit.’

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Ray Riley couldn’t peel his eyes away from the voluptuous stripper dancing in front of him. He became hypnotised and aroused at the same time while she tossed a mane of hair from side-to-side. His visit to the club was made under the guise of ‘a lead to follow’ for his armed robbery investigation. No one questioned him because he led it. Riley had a habit he needed to feed and he knew how to navigate the club enough to stay out of the view of its security camera.

  In the backroom, Simon the assistant manager, placed his feet upon the desk and began to draw pictures. His mind was on the next concert that he wanted to go to with Geraldine and he loved showing her the punk life. He reached halfway through drawing a space-aged Fender Stratocaster when he saw a figure beyond the glass door. He crapped himself, dropped the pencil and removed his feet from the desk.

  The door burst open and Ray Riley entered with the girl that danced for him.

  ‘Get out. Me and Delilah need some private time.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yes now Simon, or you can watch if you want. You might learn something.’

  Delilah giggled and it wound Simon up knowing she’d be untouchable as long as she remained Riley’s plaything. It wouldn’t be long before she started throwing her weight around either. Even demand preferential treatment.

  A vexed Simon took himself out of the room and glanced back to find they hadn’t even bothered to wait for him to leave. Riley had unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper by the time Delilah dropped to her knees, pushed a hand inside then pulled him out.

  *

  The brakes screamed when Breck took a sharp corner. It forced Kearns to hang on to the car’s interior but she didn’t say a word.

  ‘I do understand what you said, Pat, about Geraldine’s murder being a set up and the other Troy sneaking back. Me being sent in the wrong direction and all that. I get it, but I’ve got to follow my instinct on this.’

  Kearns had tried. Breck would be difficult to control now but what would she do if he got in her way? Would she stop him herself – do wha
t she needed to? Breck shifted the car down into second gear.

  ‘One of the officers found out from her neighbour that Geraldine’s boyfriend works in a strip club around here somewhere.’

  ‘There it is.’

  Breck brought the car to a halt outside the Starlight Club. He had heard about it from Riley but never paid any attention. Never had any desire to visit. He pulled out a pair of knuckle dusters from the glove compartment and slipped it inside his coat.

  ‘Come on, let’s see if the boyfriend is one we should be taking a closer look at. You never know.’

  Breck and Kearns went over to the club’s entrance and were met by a bouncer. Breck showed his ID. ‘I’m looking for Simon Wensthorp, the assistant manager.’

  The bouncer twitched and Breck guessed that he must have had a brush with the law in the past somewhere.

  ‘I don’t want no trouble. He’s inside.’

  ‘Behave yourself and you won’t get none.’

  The bouncer let them through and the SCU officers walked into the seedy club. A few middle-aged men were scattered about, a drugged-up DJ, and a young lad who sat at the bar. His black trousers, shirt, and waistcoat, didn’t match his punk hairstyle so Breck closed in on him.

  ‘Do you work here?’

  The lad turned around. ‘Yeah, I’m the assistant manager.’

  ‘How old are you, twelve?’

  ‘I’m nineteen and as I said, I’m the assistant manager.’

  ‘Simon Wensthrop, we’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I’m DI Breck and I’d like to know where have you been for the last several hours?’

  ‘I’ve been here working the night shift. Started from eleven yesterday. I agreed to do ‘extra hours’ that’s why I’m still here.’