Deviance. London Psychic Book 3 (20 page)

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.

Jamie saw the menace in their eyes, but she didn't believe they would be able to touch the protestors. They were relying on brute intimidation, waiting for the crowd to crack. And it looked like it was beginning to work.
 

One middle-aged man stepped away from the fence, raising his hands in surrender.
 

"I'm sorry, O," he called out as he walked away. "I didn't sign up for this."

His defection caused a wave in the group and more began to drop away, heads down against the rain as they retreated. But a core group remained, clustering in front of the main gate, their resolve hardening.

The foreman's phone rang. He answered it and smiled.

He signaled to the head of security and Jamie didn't like what she saw in his eyes. They couldn't touch the protestors – unless someone was protecting them, unless someone would be able to spin this story and stop the police from getting here or preventing charges. It had to be Dale Cameron.
 

The security men surged forward at the signal and pulled the protestors forcibly from the gates, dragging them kicking and screaming, pushing and shoving hard enough to hurt but not injure too much.
 

One woman ended up face down in the mud still clutching ribbons from the gate. A security guard stepped on her hand and she screamed. The man smiled and pressed his boot harder.
 

Jamie moved to help and the man turned to grab her, his meaty fist high. She ducked under and used a knife hand to jab into his throat. He gasped, clutching his neck, his eyes surprised at her retaliation.
 

Jamie bent to help the woman up, then turned to see two more of the security men walking towards her.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you," one of the men said.
 

"I'm a former police officer," Jamie snarled at them, standing her ground. "You're all in a lot of trouble for this."
 

The men laughed. They lunged at the same time and Jamie realized this was no time to fight. There was no way she could come out of this well. Not here, not against these men. She put up her hands and took a step back but the men were already fired up.
 

They bundled her to the floor, dragging her hands up behind her back, grinding her face into the muddy tarmac.
 

"Now you stay down," the man whispered, forcing her hands up higher until Jamie felt her shoulders crunch. She let out a whimper and the man relaxed his grip, clearly delighted by her acquiescence.

A roar came from one of the bulldozers. It began to move towards the gates, revving its engine to scare the last protestors out of the way.
 

It was moving too fast for such a small area, but the man driving was encouraged by the cheers of his co-workers. The rain obscured his vision, hammering down on his windshield as he drove inexorably towards the gates.

Suddenly, Jamie saw O twist out of the grip of one of the security guards and run towards the gates. Magda turned too late to grab her and for a split second, Jamie saw O standing in front of the bulldozer, her body the final obstacle. But the bulldozer didn't stop.

The crunch of metal against gates.
 

The thud of the vehicle against a body.
 

Magda's scream.

It all came at once.
 

The man holding Jamie down released her and she sprang up, running towards the front of the bulldozer. The other workmen were shouting now and the vehicle reversed away. Jamie caught a glimpse of the driver's stricken face. This had all gone too far.

"Call an ambulance," the foreman shouted.
 

A little group gathered around a fallen figure. O lay against the gate, hands clutched at her belly, eyelids fluttering over a startled gaze. Magda wept by her side, her arms cradling her lover.
 

"Olivia," she whispered. "Stay with me."

As the rain spattered the ground around them, Jamie heard sirens coming closer. O had stopped the developers today, but at what cost?

***

Jamie leaned her head back against the wall behind her.
 

Somehow, she had been spared again. In the midst of death and destruction, she walked unharmed. Even though she had begged whatever god there might be to take her instead of her daughter. Even though she had been in the burning caves and near the explosion at the Tate. Did she have some kind of gift like Blake? Or could it be called a curse to watch those you love hurt while you continued to breathe?

Magda sat in silence next to her, staring ahead, her hands clasped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. This waiting was driving them both crazy.

"I'll get us some more coffee," Jamie said. Magda nodded without meeting her eyes.
 

Jamie walked through the corridors to the hospital coffee shop, navigating by the multicolored department signs. Sterile white walls with the occasional poster encouraging hand sanitation could have been any hospital anywhere. London's complexity disappeared within these walls, individuals reduced to injured body parts.

O lay in surgery with multiple internal injuries from the crush of the bulldozer. The expression on the doctor's face when they had taken her in made Magda weep afresh.
 

The building work had stopped after the accident, but Jamie knew that it would start again. If not tomorrow, then perhaps the next day or the next. The leaders of the community had been taken out and the rest would now weaken and give up. It was inevitable. The last few days had been about breaking them so they would give up without a fight. Or at least only a pitiful one.
 

Jamie bought two double shot coffees, some chocolate bars and bananas and headed back to Magda.

"Here you go," Jamie said when she arrived back to find her friend in exactly the same position. "She'll likely be hours yet, so you need to keep your strength up."

"I can't lose her," Magda whispered, turning to Jamie with haunted eyes. "It took me so many years to find someone who accepts all of me."

Jamie took her hand.
 

"She's not going to die." Jamie put all her hope into her voice, claiming the words as truth as if somehow it would protect O. "She didn't die at the hands of the skin collector, she made it through that and she
will
live now."

Magda nodded. "Yes, you're right. She's a survivor."

"And we have to think positive," Jamie said. "Send her your strength."

Magda took a sip of her coffee.
 

"The company that wants to develop Cross Bones," she said. "They'll try again, won't they?"

Jamie nodded.
 

"They have the permits. It's only a matter of time." She paused, thinking of Vera Causa and how entwined they were with the property market in Southwark. Perhaps there was a way. "I do have an inkling of who might be behind it all, though. Perhaps I might be able to find evidence against them. It might help us keep the protest going, get some media attention at least."

"They've taken so much in the last few days, Jamie. If you can find out anything, it might help us keep the community together."

Jamie nodded. She looked at her watch. It was after nine p.m.
 

"I'll go now. I have a few leads to follow up. Text me or call if you hear anything."

Jamie headed out into the evening, her mind made up.
 

She had the address of the Vera Causa offices from the research she had done in the last few days. It was time to go to the source and see what she could find.
 

Getting onto her bike, she rode through the familiar streets, considering what she was about to do. Breaking and entering wasn't new to her – she had broken into a Hoxton studio during the Neville investigation, but Vera Causa was cloaked with secrets. Would she rouse a more powerful force by entering their domain?

She drove along the street where the office was situated. The area was split between residential buildings and new office space. The Vera Causa address was nothing special and there was no sign on the door, no way to know whether this was really the right place. But at least the lights were off.
 

Jamie parked a little way from the building and then walked back, hands in her pockets. She passed a pub at the head of the street. A couple of smokers stood outside with pints, engrossed in a political argument. The office was at the quieter end, so Jamie walked straight up to the door. Deliberate action was less obvious than hesitancy.
Confidence inspired confidence
, she thought, echoes of her police training resonating even in this less-than-legal situation.