Текст книги "Deviance"
Автор книги: J. F. Penn
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Chapter 25
Jamie pushed open the door to her tiny office and picked up the mail from the mat, juggling her coffee cup in the other hand. She wanted this space to keep her work separate from her personal life but once again, the two were mingling. Perhaps work was life, she thought. For some people at least. The need to work certainly drove her, and she never wanted to stop. Retirement seemed an outmoded concept from a different time and the day her brain checked out was the day she would stop working. But it was more than the love of the job that kept her going today. After Polly's death, she had lost purpose but there was a glimmer of hope that she might find it again in this community.
The news from Magda this morning had made Jamie determined to dig into the ownership records of the buildings in the Southwark area. Who would stand to gain from the destruction of the studio apartments and who would want the Kitchen closed? Ed was in a stable condition in hospital, but it seemed like the community was being attacked on all fronts.
She opened her laptop and began to search the council databases that held the area's property records. There were layers of holding companies but the trail would be there, Jamie was sure of it. She knew how to investigate into the directors and shareholders of companies from her days in the police and it was only a matter of patience to sift through the levels down to the originators. She sipped her coffee as she searched, copying and pasting lists of names, cross-checking against the Companies database that held the legal records for each UK entity.
After a couple of hours lost in data, Jamie had a broad sense of how many companies were vying for the valuable property in Southwark. Many were registered overseas, but there were names that tied them together. There was a crossover of interest between projects as varied as the Shard construction to Guy's and St Thomas' hospital development and renovation of some of the older warehouses. One name kept coming up: Vera Causa Limited.
Jamie did a quick search and discovered that the Latin words meant True Cause. She began to delve into what she could find about the company, quickly discovering that the shareholding lay in bearer shares. These were physical stock certificates where the owner didn't have to be registered in any way and dividends were disbursed to whoever held the shares. The setup was designed to hide ownership and legislation was currently being debated that would make it illegal. But for now, the owner of these bearer shares could stay hidden. Jamie frowned, taking a last sip of the now-cold coffee.
A sudden commotion and banging from the outer offices broke her concentration.
Jamie emerged from her office to find one of the other tenants shouting at a man in the hallway. The official wore a pinstriped suit, standing with back straight as he taped a notice on the door.
"My contract clearly says that the lease is six months," the tenant exclaimed, waving paperwork at him.
The suit handed a document to the gesticulating man.
"You missed the clause for pest control," he said. "Everyone needs to be out of here within the next two hours and then fumigation will commence. You won't have access for at least a week, but you'll be contacted when the building is available again."
The tenant continued raging, his protestations useless against immoveable bureaucracy.
Jamie ducked back inside her tiny office, packing up what little paperwork she had started to accumulate into her backpack. There was a nagging doubt in her mind about the timing of the pests and no evidence of them that she could see.
Walking downstairs ten minutes later, she stopped to read the notice from the landlord on the way out. The company name at the bottom was one of those that she had tied back to Vera Causa.
The sun was out as she emerged onto the street. The units were away from the main tourist strip along the Thames, but close enough that she could be amongst people quickly. Jamie appreciated anonymity in the middle of a bustling city. Small communities might protect in some ways, but they also curtailed originality and punished nonconformity. The city allowed all to flourish and anyone could find their niche here, but could it be that Vera Causa was trying to make Southwark compliant in some way? A test case, with the rest of the city to follow.
Walking helped her to think, so Jamie emerged onto the riverside near the Anchor pub and turned west. The grey of the Thames was like quicksilver in the sun, the waters high and lapping against the strong pontoons that held it back from the city. Jamie passed a busker in the Southwark Bridge underpass, the jaunty guitar tune bringing a smile to her face. She dropped a couple of coins into his case, nodding a thankyou. The buskers and street entertainment flourished in the city as the sun came out, the summer months bringing tourists from all over the world. And here in Southwark, busking kept artists from the food banks and brought music to the streets. Doubly wonderful, Jamie thought.
A little further on, she reached the Tate Modern. The old power station with its one tall chimney stood proud on the south bank facing the Millennium Bridge, with the classic dome of St Paul's beyond. But today, the crime scene tape held back curious tourists and the gallery was closed until further notice. Most of the structural damage from the masquerade attack had been at the back of the large Turbine Hall, out of sight from the north view, but Jamie knew what it looked like inside.
Images from that night flashed through her brain, the dead and the dying, her frantic search for Blake.
Her breath came fast and she moved to the edge of the pavement, sitting down on a step for a moment as the dizziness passed. A part of her mind witnessed the panic her body felt. Strange, because she had never experienced this in the police, even as part of the homicide team.
Jamie let the waves of anxiety roll over her as she sat looking out at the ever-shifting waters of the Thames. Perhaps it was precisely because she had no team that she was feeling out of control. She certainly missed having backup and resources. She thought of Missinghall and his enthusiasm, the respect she had earned in the police. Had she been too quick to resign? Could she consider going back?
Feeling calmer now, Jamie walked back to her little apartment complex. If she couldn't work at the office, she'd have to make a space in the flat because the job was really too private to work in a public coffee shop.
Her street was tightly packed with close terraced houses, each one up against the next in a racially mixed community. Jamie spotted a few people standing outside her building. She frowned. That was unusual.
As she approached, she saw the same eviction team that had been at the office building. But this time there were a couple of enforcer types with the suits, gorilla men with thick biceps and heavy foreheads. The crowd of tenants from the building had been joined by several of the other street residents. Some were angry and others shook their heads in resignation.
"It's temporary," the suited man was saying, his hands held up apologetically. "But you have to be out before midnight. You should be able to get back in within the next week. We'll notify you all."
"What about compensation?"
"You can't do this –"
"My kids need –"
"Where are we meant to go?"
"The faster you get out and we can start the fumigation process, the faster you can all get back in."
Jamie stood on the edge of the crowd. There was no way this was legal, but it would take a lot of energy to fight the powerful corporation that stood behind the eviction notice. It seemed Vera Causa Limited had a long reach, and this definitely felt like it was turning personal. Years in the police had given Jamie a sense when all was not quite as it should be, and she was getting that vibe on overdrive right now. She needed to find out more on Vera Causa, but she couldn't do it here.
She elbowed her way through the crowd.
"I'm in Flat 9," she said to the man on the door.
He grunted and let her through.
Up in her flat, Jamie grabbed a rucksack and filled it with some clothes, grabbing whatever was clean. Looking around, she realized there wasn't much she actually cared about here. Her life wasn't defined by things anymore, but by memories. She picked up the photo of Polly by her bed, her daughter's laughing face captured in a moment without pain. She smiled. She would have done anything to save Polly, but at least they had experienced happy times together in the short time they had. She wrapped the photo frame in a t-shirt and put it gently in her pack. Vera Causa could take her home and her workplace, but they couldn't take her memories.
Jamie pulled bedsheets out of the cupboard and spread them over the furniture. She was doubtful that they were actually going to fumigate the place but might as well make it look as if she believed the story.
It was getting dark when she emerged outside. The gorilla men stood by the gate and they ticked her name off a list as she confirmed her cellphone number.
"We'll call you as soon as it's all done," one of the men said. "Should be a week at most."
Jamie didn't bother to reply. She headed down the road away from the flat, back towards the center of Southwark.
She had a feeling of being untethered, unsure of what to do next. She could just keep walking. She could get on a train and head to the coast, get on a boat and go to France and on through the continent, or even fly somewhere new. She thought of the freedom she felt dancing tango. South America had always been somewhere she'd wanted to visit. Now she was free to go and the opportunities suddenly seemed endless.
After all, there was no real reason to stay. Was there?
Blake was damaged, and perhaps she had imagined their connection. Establishing her business was an uphill battle and she was only on the edges of the Southwark community right now. They wouldn't even notice she was gone. The thought was freeing but also slightly disconcerting. Jamie knew her independence had kept her from being immersed in a community when she was caring for Polly, and her life was poorer for it now. But the double eviction seemed like a pretty big sign that she wasn't wanted here.
Could she commit to this place when everything seemed to point towards leaving?
Jamie walked down to South Bank and stood looking out at the Thames. The waters ran swiftly towards the ocean, the eddies making patterns in the current. Flotsam and jetsam, pieces of the discarded city, caught on the boats moored in the central channel. They were pinned for a moment, crushed against the metal and then dragged under or whipped around the side by the fast-moving river. Then they drifted on towards the sea.
Jamie exhaled slowly, then pulled out her phone and dialed.
Chapter 26
O answered on the second ring.
"Jamie, are you OK?"
Jamie smiled at the caring note in O's voice. She did have friends here, and right now her friends were hurting too.
"Actually, I've been evicted."
"What the hell is going on?" O's frustration echoed Jamie's own. "Why don't you come over here? You can kip on the couch, if that's alright. Magda's here too."
"Thank you," Jamie said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
O's flat was chaotic. Magda stood in the middle of the living area surrounded by the few canvases that hadn't been destroyed in the fire. She held out one of her crow photographs to Jamie, the edges of one corner burned and curled, the black bubbled up beneath the feathers.
"I think I might have found a new technique," Magda said, her laugh with an edge of mania. She shook her head. "But this is all I have left from ten years in that studio."
O swept out of the kitchen, a large glass of red wine in either hand.
"You have your wonderful mind left, my love." She handed one glass to Magda and the other to Jamie. "And you both have my flat. What's not to like?"
She turned back into the kitchen, emerging with her own large glass and the rest of the bottle.
Jamie couldn't help but smile at O's optimism. In the face of everything they were going through, it seemed she still saw a positive side.
O looked at her watch.
"Quick, turn on the telly. The announcement about the Mayor should be on any minute."
The familiar sounds of the BBC news jingle filled the flat and they watched in silence as the announcement was made. Even O couldn't summon anything positive to say as they watched Dale Cameron step forward to accept the position.
Jamie felt a stone settle in the pit of her stomach, a heavy sense of dread. Riding high on a right-wing ticket of cleaning up the city, Cameron's patrician face was all smiles and promises, but part of her knew that he was entwined in some of the darker corners of government.
"Shit." Magda took a large swig of her wine. "There goes everything we've worked for. That bastard is in the pockets of the building development companies. Southwark will become a rich man's playground now he has a say."
O stood and downed her wine, then began to open another bottle of red. "Surely he won't have the power to change things so substantially?" she said.
Jamie sighed. "He has the mandate of being elected on his policies to clean up the streets, so he'll be able to act pretty fast."
"And with Amanda Masters in hospital …" Magda shook her head. "Maybe we should give up, leave London altogether. We can start again somewhere new. I can find a studio somewhere else."
O put down her glass and hugged Magda close, her pale arms stark against Magda's dark clothes.
"Don't say that," O whispered. "If we leave, they will have won. I won't let you go. This is your place, Magda. Your ravens are here, your people are here. Cross Bones needs you." O looked over at Jamie. "Tell her, please."
Jamie took a sip of her wine.
"It certainly seems as if we're being pushed out – arson, violence, evictions, all targeted at one part of the community." She frowned. "But if we go, then this area will be poorer for losing its diversity. You two are figureheads, leaders of the community. Tomorrow, we should start organizing for protest, contact the press and start taking control of the story."
Jamie's voice was stronger than she felt. A few hours ago she had considered leaving herself, and she knew the power that Cameron had on his side. It wouldn't be easy to go up against him.
O stroked Magda's tattooed arm.
"Sleep helps," she said. "Everything looks better in the morning."
Magda nodded and got up slowly, walking into O's bedroom, leaving O and Jamie to make up a bed on the couch.
"Are you sure this is alright?" O asked, patting the pillow.
"It's amazing," Jamie said. "I … don't have many friends."
O leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"You have us now. Sleep tight."
Jamie lay down and pulled the blankets tight around her. Somehow, despite everything, she felt hope.
***
Jamie woke to the early-morning sun peeking through the curtains. She unfolded herself from O's couch, her body aching from the uncomfortable night, but her mind felt refreshed and clearer now. They could make a plan to mobilize the community and take back what was threatened.
She heard the buzzing of a mobile phone in the next room.
Moments later, the door opened and O stepped out. She wore a plain white t-shirt that ended at the top of her thighs. Her hair was tousled and her face stricken.
"It's Cross Bones," she said. "There are bulldozers on site. They're beginning construction today."
"Bastard," Jamie said. "Cameron must have had this all lined up. And I bet I know which company is involved." She thought of Vera Causa and how much they stood to gain in the area by raising housing prices. That tiny patch of land was worth millions.
Jamie rolled out of bed, quickly pulling on her clothes. Magda emerged from O's room, tucking her black t-shirt into her jeans. Her eyes were puffy as if she'd been crying, but the angles of her face hardened as she made coffee for them all. She texted furiously as the kettle boiled.
"We have a text chain," she explained to Jamie. "Friends of Cross Bones. I'm telling people to get down there ASAP."
Downing their coffee, the three of them headed out into the early morning, through the streets of Southwark down to Cross Bones Graveyard.
Jamie could hear the sounds of trucks and heavy machinery as they neared the square and they quickened their pace. Rounding the corner of Redcross Way, the scale of the project was immediately evident. A whole construction team stood waiting at the gates of Cross Bones. There were two bulldozers ready to demolish what was left standing on the derelict ground and diggers idled on standby to begin excavation.
The building site foreman argued with two people who stood in front of the beribboned gates, their arms wrapped around the railings. Jamie recognized one of them – Meg from the Kitchen, her dreadlocks bouncing as she gesticulated at the graveyard.
"You can't come in here," Meg shouted. "This is sacred ground."
"We have the permits," the foreman said. "It's all been cleared by the Mayor. You have to leave or we're calling security to forcibly remove you."
O ran forward to help, Magda following behind.
"Please," O said. "You can't do this."
As O and Magda argued for more time to present their case to the council, Jamie took up a place next to Meg, winding her arms through the gate railings. The metal was cold, and Jamie shivered a little. Clouds gathered overhead, grey skies threatened rain and storms were forecast for later today. Jamie only hoped they would have reached a reprieve by then.
More people from the community arrived. One by one, they stood silently against the railings, backs to the graveyard, hands touching the fence behind them as if part of the structure. Some brought bike chains and padlocks, attaching themselves physically to the barrier.
The air of rebellion was palpable and Jamie found herself thrilled to be a part of it. As a police officer she had only ever been on the other side, viewing protestors as standing in the way of law and order. But now she had a very different perspective. If the graveyard fell to developers, it would be an end to old Southwark. The enrichment of corporations at the expense of the lively, diverse community. But they had this one chance to stop it.
More and more people arrived as O and Magda kept the foreman talking. Soon, the whole length of the side road was lined with people protecting the graveyard, living flesh and blood standing guard over the bones of those who came before.
"Shit," the foreman finally shouted, spinning away from the two women in frustration. He turned to his team. "Bill, get security down here to move this lot on. We have to break ground today. Until then, time out, everyone."
The workmen turned off the vehicle engines and stood in a huddle away from the site, smoking and drinking coffee. A gentle rain began to patter down and the protestors pulled out raincoats and umbrellas, the colorful arcs echoing the multihued ribbons on the gates. Some shared their shelter and soon people were chattering in groups, the tension broken for now. But Jamie watched the foreman on the phone, wary of who he was speaking to. She knew all too well how the upper echelons of power could skirt round regulations.
A couple of guys from a local independent cafe brought down a tray of red velvet cake and took orders for hot drinks. They had elegantly waxed mustaches and wore black and white striped aprons, part of their funky branding. Jamie couldn't help but smile – only in London could protestors get a hand-delivered double shot vanilla latte.
A young man with a guitar began to sing. At first the protestors and workmen watched him with bemused expressions, but as he sang more bawdy songs, they began to laugh. He played tunes that people knew and some protestors began to sing along. Even a couple of the workmen joined in, and for a moment, Jamie wondered if this might be resolved peaceably, that somehow, the community could save this plot.
Then two white vans turned into Redcross Way, parking next to one of the bulldozers.
The doors slid open and five big men emerged from each.
They were all dressed in security uniforms, impeccably dressed, but Jamie didn't think they would mind getting a little messed up. In fact, they looked like they would welcome it. If she had still been in the police, she wouldn't be scared of this lot. There was a hierarchy of authority and the police trumped security, but here, these men held the higher ground and she saw how much they relished it.
The young man stopped playing his guitar and went to stand against the fence, his hands wound protectively around his instrument. Around her, Jamie sensed the unease of the protestors.
She reached for her phone, turning towards the gate, and quickly called the local police station, reporting trouble. Then she texted Missinghall, advising him to get people down here. It was all she could think of to do.
The rain began to fall harder now, spattering the dirt of the graveyard into murky puddles. The foreman stepped towards the gates, a swagger in his step now he had security backup. He held a golf umbrella above his head with the words of the company emblazoned on it.
Vera Causa.
O and Magda walked forward to represent the protestors, ready to go into verbal battle again.
"We have the correct permits," the foreman said, his voice icy calm now. He thrust the appropriate paperwork at them. "You all need to leave immediately so we can start our work. If you don't, you'll be removed by security."
The big men walked down the line of protestors, their eyes fixing on each face, the promise of violence in their posture and clenched fists. They didn't touch anyone but their message was clear.
Jamie watched one tower over an old lady in a moth-eaten fur coat, a remnant of Southwark's past. She lifted her chin at him in defiance and clutched the railings even harder at his sneer. The people of Southwark were indeed a hardy bunch and Jamie wondered where the woman's strength came from.
"We're exercising our right to protest peaceably," O said, her voice strong. Magda stood at her side, her face stony. "You can't use force to remove us. We've called the press and we'll report our story and stop this development."
The foreman shrugged and signaled to the workmen.
Two of them got back into the bulldozers and started the engines, revving them hard. The other workmen began to gather their equipment, ready to move into the graveyard.
The protestors looked at each other, shaking their heads, not knowing what to do.
"Hold still," Magda shouted above the din. "They're trying to intimidate us. They won't touch us."
As the rain hammered down, the security men spread themselves down the line opposite those huddled against the fence. At a signal from their leader, they took a slow, deliberate step forward.
