Dead Lands

by Lloyd Otis

  She hailed a taxi and both of them carried their small bags inside for a potential overnight stay at a hotel, in case they needed to stop over. While Kearns spoke with the driver Breck pulled out his notepad which contained the address of the B&B that Jacob Simpson gave them. Breck hoped for his sake that it wouldn’t be a waste of their time.

  He stared out of the window taking in the sights like a tourist, and along the journey the driver began to talk about his life. He came from Uganda, one of the many booted out by Idi Amin, and complained about how hard it was to make a living in Callaghan’s Britain. Discussing it seemed to be his therapy, not anyone else’s, and about ten minutes into the journey Kearns signalled for him to stop the taxi.

  Breck became curious. ‘Why have we stopped here, Pat?’

  ‘I used to live there,’ she said so Breck stretched his neck out. Kearns pointed. ‘The house with the green door.’ Breck could sense that the place held a lot of memories for her, good and bad. ‘Let’s take a detour on our way to the B&B.’

  She instructed the driver. ‘Two roads down on the left, then straight down and turn right at the end of that road. Then left again.’

  The taxi moved away and followed the route. It reached its destination then slowed down waiting for Kearns to confirm.

  ‘Stop here.’

  She popped a stick of gum into her mouth, stepped out of the taxi and stared at the house. Breck felt obliged to leave the taxi and join her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ She nodded but Breck sensed her vulnerability which surprised him a little. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Maybe I do. There was a domestic situation inside that house many years ago and a colleague and I went to investigate.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kearns wondered how best to answer the question and zoned out. She separated it into what did happen and what should’ve happened. The time had come to face the past because that day tied into what they were facing now.

  ‘You said you and a colleague went to investigate.’

  Yes, and met a man that scared me that day though I didn’t admit it at the time. One of the worst.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His name was Larry Sands.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He committed a murder by slicing an innocent woman’s throat. Then I believe he fled to Europe because his trail went cold.’ Kearns spat out her chewing gum. It had lost its taste. ‘He’s still out there though, I know he is.’

  The door of the house opened, neither expected that, and a wasted teen staggered out. Breck tugged her arm and as sympathetic as he was to Kearns’ past, he realised that they needed to get going.

  ‘Let’s be on our way, Pat. Memories can sometimes weigh us down.’

  They returned to the taxi and went straight to see Lance Pringle, the owner of the B&B. Breck instructed the taxi driver to stay out of sight around the corner, in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

  Pringle’s Bed & Breakfast had a lick of fresh orange paint splashed along the window sills, with little else to point to any evidence of a refurbishment. Breck pressed the doorbell with Kearns beside him and a woman greeted them with a face like death.

  ‘We’re here to see the owner.’ She stared at Breck so he added another line for clarity, ‘Mr Lance Pringle?’

  ‘Me speak no English,’ she said. ‘No English.’

  ‘Let us in or it’ll be a long day for you,’ Kearns warned and after the woman stepped aside to let them in, she remarked, ‘It’s a good thing she can understand it.’

  A sheet of dust lined the surface of the reception desk along with a few unopened letters and several moths rested on the curtains.

  The woman who let them in slipped away into an adjacent room so Breck pushed his ear up to the door and kept it there for a while.

  ‘What can you hear?’ Kearns asked him.

  ‘It’s not clear. I think she’s speaking to someone.’

  He heard her return so stepped back. The woman said nothing when she emerged and just carried on with her cleaning duties, so he pressed the desk bell, hoping that Pringle himself would greet them. By chance he saw figure flash by the window and alerted Kearns. Breck then bolted out of the B&B to see Pringle already in his white BMW attempting to start it.

  He yanked open the door and Lance Pringle pulled a screwdriver from his pocket. He jabbed it forward and Breck tried to swing out of the way. Too late. It pierced his skin. Breck cursed then tightened his fist and threw a punch that smashed the bridge of Pringle’s nose. Pringle groaned and held his face long enough for Kearns to reach the other side of his car and drag him out. She pinned him up against it.

  ‘Cuff his hands behind his bloody back,’ Breck barked.

  ‘Who are you lot?’

  ‘SCU,’ Kearns informed him while applying the cuffs.

  ‘Where are your uniforms then?’

  ‘It’s dress down day, mister.’

  ‘I want my solicitor.’

  Breck stayed on the other side of the BMW, easier that way. ‘OK, let’s do this out in the open shall we? Where is Alexander Troy?’ Pringle turned his head away. Kearns gave him a clip around the ear. ‘He’s the man Jacob Simpson sent your way. That’s the only information we’ve come for.’

  Pringle’s brain clicked into gear. He didn’t need this hassle, especially today. He had an important meeting to attend later and couldn’t afford to be delayed by anyone. His life depended on it. Screw Simpson.

  ‘Troy never came.’

  That reply confused Breck. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘He never came because he was never going to. I owed Simpson a favour and he warned me you lot would be on your way down. He wanted me to make something up regarding Troy’s whereabouts but I can’t afford to be locked up right now. This has got nothing to do with me, honest.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ Breck scowled, failing to pick up on Kearns’ silence. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Pat, just going to check inside.’

  Kearns kept Pringle pinned against the car while Breck returned to the B&B. He checked every room, opened drawers and moved furniture around, but found nothing. Maybe Pringle had told them the truth. If so, why had Simpson sent them here and what he was protecting?

  Breck returned to Kearns and Pringle with an option. He could bring the B&B owner to the nearest station and interrogate him but in doing so, would waste even more time.

  ‘Where were you going when I caught you trying to make a run for it?’

  The sun caught Pringle’s eyes making him squint. ‘I have a bit of business outside of town. I’m a business man, that’s what I am.’

  ‘You’ll need to do better than that.’

  ‘It’s nothing illegal, honest. I’ve just got to meet a few associates, pay off a debt. Being late would be bad for my health if you know what I mean?’

  Breck had enough. Pringle and his activities were a job for the local constabulary not them. He lashed out by kicking an overflowing wheelie bin, the nearest thing to him, and the rubbish spewed everywhere. Breck gave it a couple more kicks, imagining it to be Jacob Simpson’s head as Kearns looked on.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to her. ‘Release this idiot, we need to catch the train back to London.’

  Kearns let Pringle go and the B&B owner wasted little time in getting as far away from them as possible.

  ‘Instead of rushing back to London let’s go to the hotel instead,’ she suggested. ‘It’s already booked. We’ll clear our heads and be fresh for when we head back.’

  Kearns’ suggestion made perfect sense and sounded better than anything Breck’s muddled mind could manage, but he didn’t want to. For him, there was still much more to do and not enough time to do it in. Breck declined the offer and went to find their waiting taxi.

  THIRTY NINE

  London

  After arriving back in London with Kearns, Breck excused himself and made an unofficial visit. Ralph Jenkins, a fit man in his early si
xties, raked up the leaves in his front garden with a purpose. He wore sturdy wellington boots and a body warmer while whistling Tom Jones’ Green, Green, Grass of Home. By the time Breck reached him, he happened to be midway through the chorus.

  ‘Who are ya and what ya doin’ sneakin’ up on me?’

  ‘Sorry Mr Jenkins, it’s not intentional. I wonder if I can have a few minutes of your time.’

  ‘If ya sellin’ then I’m not buyin’ from ya.’

  ‘No, I’m not selling. I’m here to ask you about the night of November 1976 when you scared off an attacker.’

  Ralph stood still for a while and gripped the rake even tighter.

  ‘Wot about it? Ya not him are ya?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Come on, who are ya?’

  ‘It was my girlfriend that was attacked.’

  Breck felt a tightness in his chest when the words crept out. Ralph lightened his grip on the rake and expressed sympathy.

  ‘I’m sorry, thought ya were a weirdo. Can’t be too careful round ’ere.’

  ‘I know that you gave a statement to the police at the time but if there’s anything that you can remember which wasn’t mentioned, it would be a great help.’

  Ralph propped the rake against the wall of his home and walked around to the back. Breck couldn’t be sure if his action was a rebuke or an invitation but followed all the same.

  Ralph sat on a deckchair right outside of his garden shed. From the pocket of his body warmer, he took out tobacco and began to chew. Breck watched Ralph battle with himself. What did he want to get off his chest? He started to tap his knee about eight chews in then began to speak.

  ‘I woz on me way home from work, retired now though I am. Anyways, mindin’ me own business when I saw a man and woman in the distance, tusslin’. Never knew wot to make of it. Thought it woz just a couple arguin’. Put me head down and waited for me bus. Then he dragged the woman by her wrists, well I sed to meself summink’s not right ’ere.’ Breck’s fists clenched instinctively. ‘He woz pullin’ her towards the bushes but the woman’s screams shook me. I just knew summink woz wrong. I ran over. A jog to some but it woz a run to me. Anyways, I ran over and started shoutin’ all sorts. He came out, lookin’ all bothered and I didn’t know whether he…’ Ralph appeared to be vexed. ‘I know it woz ya girlfriend so I don’t wanna cause offence.’

  ‘I’ve come to hear what you have to say so please continue, Mr Jenkins.’

  ‘When he came out of the bushes I didn’t know wot he had done to her, so I clenched me fists, went up to him. Ralph imitated the moment. ‘He woz panickin’, I could see that. Then he ran away. Ya girlfriend had her clothes on but woz out cold. I sed in me statement, the man I saw had shoulder length hair.’ The recollection affected Ralph a little and he took a few moments for himself. ‘As he ran past me I swear I saw summink.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Didn’t wanna say at the time in case I got it wrong but I fink he had a tattoo on his neck. A triangle.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, it’s like I sed back then. I called the police and waited with her until they arrived.’

  ‘Mr Jenkins, thank you so much.’

  Ralph rose up and shook Breck’s hand. ‘How’s she doin’, ya girlfriend?’

  ‘Struggling a bit with it all still.’

  Ralph rubbed the base of his chin. ‘I take it ya haven’t caught the bastard then otherwise ya wouldn’t be ’ere.’ Breck neither confirmed nor denied it. ‘No one bothers me ’ere and I’d like to keep it that way. This is not official police business so how about this, if ya forget ya came then I’ll forget ya visited.’

  That sounded like a deal that Breck was happy to agree to.

  FORTY

  Breck’s focus now shifted towards Jacob Simpson. The squad car sped from the yard with a back-up vehicle following close behind. Despite Kearns trying to delay him, Breck needed answers from Simpson now. He didn’t like being duped.

  They arrived at their destination and waited at the east entrance of the Riverdale Shopping Centre, where market traders sold bed linen, batteries and cleaning products, fruit and vegetables. Along with imported toys which would do well to last a quarter into their warranty. A consistent stream of people passed by and Breck held his radio close, ordering the other car to cover the back entrance. The voice on the other end snapped the line into life but interference disrupted the signal. An irate Breck slammed the radio against the car’s interior.

  ‘Come on, Beatrice,’ he breathed, ‘bloody answer.’

  Kearns cracked her knuckles to ease her nerves hoping that Simpson wouldn’t divulge their little secret. Beatrice’s voice soon became audible.

  ‘He’s walking your way now, heading towards the exit!’

  Breck and Kearns jumped out. Not wanting to arouse any suspicion they browsed at the closest thing while Simpson walked with a swagger towards them. He never saw Breck, who he headed towards as Kearns switched her position behind him. He had no chance when Breck sprang into life and blocked his path. Simpson tried to double back but Breck grabbed him and buried a fist into his left ribcage then stomach in quick succession. It knocked the wind out of him.

  ‘You lied to me. I’d like to ask you a few questions so if I were you I wouldn’t cause a fuss.’

  There was little danger of that as Simpson remained doubled up in pain and on his knees. Kearns handcuffed him then led him away to the van in front of a crowd of people that had stopped to gawp. They acted as if they had witnessed the Second Coming. The arrest had been straight forward and with everyone back in their vehicles Beatrice offered Breck a ‘well done’ smile.

  The journey to the station took just a few minutes. With no sympathy on display they handled Simpson with strong hands and his brittle body gave the impression it may break.

  Beatrice led him to the interview room and then exchanged places with Kearns who paced up and down outside. It was all good and well arresting Simpson but Breck hadn’t let her in on what had been going on in his head. Had he begun to mistrust her? He joined Kearns outside and peered into the interview room.

  ‘Apart from leading us up a garden path, what else have we got on him?’

  ‘Nothing much! He had a large amount of money on him which he’ll claim he won at bingo or on the pools.

  ‘Clarke and Troy must have plotted with him to send us down to Yorkshire so that should be good enough. Let’s get this started.’

  Kearns swung open the door to find Simpson slouched in the chair. She went through the legalities as he tried his best to appear disinterested and in a petulant act, threw the hood of his jogging top over his head. It infuriated Breck because he didn’t like being messed about and he pulled it straight back off.

  ‘You can be out of here in tick if you cooperate,’ he advised but Jacob Simpson stared straight at him in defiance. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not one to be lost for words.’ Still he refused to speak. Breck sat down. ‘Jacob, your reason for being here is quite simple so let’s get straight to the point. You lied to us.’

  ‘To us?’ Simpson laughed. ‘No, I might have lied to you, man.’

  Kearns fumed. What was Simpson playing at? If she had a gun nearby she’d shoot him.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing, just having a bit of fun. You should remember that everything has a price brother.’

  Breck now understood the reason behind his misinformation. Money. Simpson not being paid created the problem, but unbeknown to him it was yet another lie. Simpson wouldn’t tell him the part Kearns played in the whole saga. Breck turned to his partner and lowered his voice to a whisper.

  ‘Do you believe he did this because of money?’

  ‘Pay him and he’ll do whatever you need him to do. If you don’t pay him then he’ll throw his toys out of the pram. But something else is going on here. I think he told us the truth about Troy travelling down to Pringle’s B&B but let me have a few minutes with
him. He owes me a few favours.’

  Breck agreed. He needed to go to the gents anyway, and Kearns waited for the door to close before she spoke to Simpson in private.

  ‘You’ll tell Detective Inspector Breck that Pringle lied us. Troy did go and see him but he moved to an unknown destination.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  ‘Do you really want me to answer that, love?’

  Simpson shook his head. ‘Hey, why hit me with the ashtray when you came over to my place. I’ve still got the mark. That weren’t cool.’

  ‘It had to look convincing, so get over it. Now back to business. You’ll say afterwards that you think Troy won’t return to London for the time being.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘You don’t need to get it, just do as I’ve said.’

  Breck re-entered the room and gave Kearns a quizzical stare, so she shook her head knowing he would assume Simpson had refused to cooperate. Breck returned to his seat.

  ‘I want to know where Alexander Troy is.’ Jacob Simpson stuck two fingers up which made Breck chuckle for a while before he erased his grin. ‘Let me make it clear. If you make this difficult for me I’ll push out word on the street that you’ve been helping us to catch all of your lovely non-law-abiding friends.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare, you stinking lot still need me, man.’

  Simpson had a point but Breck wasn’t planning to let him know that and the detective sat motionless with a haggard frown, letting the seconds tick by. ‘By the time I’ve finished bad mouthing you, they’ll be scraping your body off Peckham High Street.’

  That did it. Simpson began to scream obscenities but his throat soon dried and his tongue became a heavy weight. Breck’s words preyed on his mind and destabilised him, so much so, that he hardly noticed Kearns.

  ‘You lot make me sick. You’re nothing.’

  ‘No, I’d say we’re something because we have you here and you can’t leave. Now, we’ve had a few murders which appear to involve one key suspect. Troy. We know you’ve got a seat at the table with all your contacts, so we want to know what the guests are eating.’