The Divinities Read online

  THE DIVINITIES

  A CRANE AND DRAKE NOVEL

  THE DIVINITIES

  A CRANE AND DRAKE NOVEL

  PARKER BILAL

  THE INDIGO PRESS

  50 Albemarle Street

  London W1S 4BD

  www.theindigopress.com

  The Indigo Press Publishing Limited Reg. No. 10995574

  Registered Office: Wellesley House, Duke of Wellington Avenue

  Royal Arsenal, London SE18 6SS

  COPYRIGHT © JAMAL MAHJOUB 2019

  Jamal Mahjoub asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by The Indigo Press

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 978-1-911648-02-4

  ISBN 978-1-9996833-7-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers

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  Author photo by Romain Slocombe

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  Tamil Nadu, India

  The streets that Balboa walked were his own private ocean, and Balboa was drowning.

  August Wilson

  ‘The Best Blues Singer in the World’

  CHAPTER 1

  Cal Drake swayed, struggling a little to control the stream of piss that he was aiming at the dark, shadowy corner, while resting a hand on the wall to steady himself. His head buzzed and his stomach fizzed with acidic burn. It was gone four in the morning after a long night’s boozing.

  When he had finished he shook himself and zipped up before stepping back towards the car, an old BMW 3 Series, and the cup of coffee he had carefully placed on the roof. The Styrofoam had an evil chemical smell to it, the contents watery. Still, at this moment in time it was better than anything he’d ever tasted. He tossed his woollen hat through the open window onto the front seat, set the cup carefully back on the roof and took a bite out of his burger. The grease had seeped through the paper like glue. Swimming in fried onions and melted orange cheese, it was the kind of sustenance you didn’t want to think too hard about. He took a deep breath and began to chew. A choice meal at a poncey restaurant in Park Lane couldn’t have tasted better. Not that he had much chance of ever making that particular comparison.

  The sleet had eased off finally, leaving the streets slick with a wet, icy sheen. His breath came out in gushes of steam. Poker night. The Thursday night game was a regular fixture organized by an old army mate. He squinted at his watch, trying to focus. Where was he actually? Somewhere off the High Road in Balham. It was hardly worth going home. He might as well drive back to Raven Hill and get an hour’s sleep on the backseat before the day began. The prospect of what lay ahead of him only made his spirits sink further and he took another bite out of his burger, swilling it down with the scalding hot coffee.

  The shout came from behind him. Over his shoulder, Drake saw a woman standing in the middle of the brightly lit forecourt of the Texaco station, alongside a silver Audi A3. Nice. She wasn’t too bad herself. Classy. She seemed to glow in the cold, artificial light. What she was doing around here at this time of the morning was anybody’s guess. The car and the clothes said businesswoman, estate agent, maybe, on her way down to an early meeting. Failing that, a high-end working girl on her way home from a wealthy client.

  All of this flashed through Drake’s mind in a split second. His chewing slowed as his eyes settled on the scooter racing towards him. The kid clutching the handlebars wore a balaclava pulled tight over his face. Despite the fact that it was still dark, the one riding pillion had on Ray-Bans, probably knock-offs by the way they sat lopsided on his nose. It was this one who was holding the woman’s phone. As the scooter came off the forecourt the rider had a choice. Left or right. He made the wrong call.

  A tall, green wheelie bin with its flap down was parked on the kerb. Stepping into the road, Drake lifted as he swung, turning the way a dancer might spin his partner into the air, the bin gaining momentum before he launched it hard along the road.

  The bin torpedoed straight into the front wheel of the scooter, knocking it sideways and sending bike and passengers skidding along the road. The engine gave a high-pitched whine in protest. Drake walked into the middle of the road. He could see now that they were just kids in their teens. Ray-Ban lay face up, gasping for air. He watched as Drake stepped over him to retrieve the phone, struggling to right himself.

  ‘Stay,’ said Drake. The kid stayed.

  The driver had hurt his arm. He was on his knees swearing, clutching his elbow. When he saw Drake he tried to get up, managing to rise onto one knee. A flick-knife appeared from inside the bomber jacket. It snapped open with a sharp mechanical click to expose a short, nasty blade.

  ‘You don’t want to do that.’

  With a growl the boy got his feet under him and charged.

  Drake wasn’t in the same shape he had been in the army. Soft living and poor diet had contributed to the decline, but he still had the moves. He turned into the charge, deflecting the half-hearted thrust and using the boy’s own momentum to flip him over. He landed heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He was still holding onto the knife. Drake planted his boot on his wrist and the boy squealed. The knife clattered along the ground as Drake kicked it away.

  ‘It’s against the law to attack an officer of the law.’

  ‘You wot? That’s police brutality!’

  ‘Get a life,’ muttered Drake.

  He turned as the woman came rushing over. At close quarters it became clear that she was older than she had first appeared. Clearly she’d made an effort some hours ago to look younger, but with dawn fast approaching the magic was wearing off.

  ‘Oh my god, how can I thank you?’ She was going through her bag. ‘Please, take this.’ Drake glanced at the fifty pound note she was holding out. His first instinct was to turn it down. But there was something about her, the way she looked at him. Not a call girl. She was more scared of him than of the kids who had just tried to rob her. The way she was standing just out of reach, as if he might be contagious or something. He plucked the note from her outstretched fingers and turned away. The kids were scrambling to their feet, trying to get the scooter up, pushing it along to get the thing started again.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call the police or something?’

  ‘Waste of time,’ said Drake. ‘Nothing that would ever stick.’

  She was looking at him in a strange way, watching him tuck the note into his pocket as if she was considering asking for it back.

  ‘Have a nice day,’ he said, over his shoulder.

  The coffee had cooled down to the point where it tasted like washing-up liquid. He drank it all the same. His head was still buzzing. The burger had congealed into an indescribable mass. He wrapped it up again and looked for somewhere to throw it.

  The sound of a helicopter closing in overhead made him freeze involuntarily. He looked up as the searchlight drew near. He could hear the high whoop of sirens approaching as the phone in his pocket began to buzz.

  CHAPTER 2

  Drake had no idea what Magnolia Quays was,
let alone where. It turned out to be a development tucked into a bend on the river off the York Road in Battersea, just north of Wandsworth Bridge. As he drew closer he could see that the area had succumbed to the same wave of change that seemed to be transforming every nook and cranny of this city. Where there used to be old warehouses and storage facilities now there was plywood fencing. Cranes, scaffolding and the muddy tracks of large vehicles fishtailing across the road.

  It was warm for the time of year. The sky was smeared with a greasy layer of low cloud that sealed the town in. People dreamed of clear, cold nights, pure white flakes of snow tumbling from a starry sky. Something that might turn back the clocks to a time when fairy tales were still believable. Back to an age when black and white was a description of your television set.

  Drake had known this river all his life. It had grace if not beauty. Dirty and tired, shuffling along as best it could, like everyone else. People spoke of rivers as timeless, as if they were eternal, but this one was constantly changing. Every day, every minute. The movement of the water, the flow, the height, the slow shifting sediment surging beneath its surface. It carried time like a bad memory. A river was about change, but it was also about the things you could never forget.

  DC Kelly Marsh was sheltering by the entrance to the building site. A lanky, awkward-looking figure with jet-black hair cut in a punky, aggressive style. She greeted Drake with a sniff. ‘You look worse than I feel.’

  ‘And good morning to you, too. Seen Milo?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s around somewhere.’

  Drake felt the rain running down his neck and pulled up the hood of his parka. ‘So what have we got?’

  ‘The usual. Looks like a couple of kids got in overnight and managed to bury themselves alive.’ Kelly pointed across the open space of the building site.

  Drake glanced back the way he had come. ‘How easy is it to get in?’

  ‘Well, it’s not Fort Knox, that much I can tell you.’

  Drake ran an eye along the perimeter fence. It wasn’t as hard as it looked. Nothing kids like more than a challenge. There was always a spot that had been overlooked. A lamp post that could be climbed, a weakness in the fence.

  ‘Did you take a look?’ he asked.

  ‘Negative. Thought I’d wait for you.’

  ‘Okay, let’s give it a whirl.’

  They wandered from the entrance towards the centre of the site where a deep square hole had been excavated.

  ‘What is that?’

  Kelly shrugged. ‘My guess is a car park, or maybe one of those underground pools everyone is crazy about?’

  He stared at her. ‘People do that?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the things people are willing to pay for.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  On the rim of the hole a dumper truck was parked, its loader bed cranked all the way up on a gleaming hydraulic shaft. The cab door hung open. Drake peered inside. The upholstery was slick with rain. The green paintwork and the interior of the cab were all shiny, which would do a nice job of messing up the forensic work. So far this looked like a case of accidental death. Nothing more sinister than a couple of kids getting into more trouble than they bargained for.

  They walked to the edge and looked down into the pit. It was about thirty metres across and five or six deep. A muddy hole, pooling with iridescent water. The glints of colour seemed out of place against all that grey. Right now the centrepiece of this montage was an untidy pyramid of grey rock, industrial gravel, small limestone chips used for mixing into cement or laying on forecourts. Again, nothing out of place on a construction site.

  ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ Drake muttered.

  For starters, there was the hand sticking up out of the mound of rock as if reaching for the sky. The hand was attached to a grey figure, buried up to its chest. One of two. They faced each other and appeared to be clinging to one another.

  ‘I thought you said they were kids.’

  Kelly tilted her head. ‘That’s what the uniforms said.’

  Drake led the way down the muddy ramp, trying not to slip. ‘Never repeat what they tell you unless you’re sure.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Drake would have looked to see if she was taking the piss, but he didn’t want to risk slipping, so kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him. When they reached the bottom it was possible to get the measure of what it must have been like. Looking up at the battered steel slide perched on the rim above, it wasn’t hard to imagine the horror of seeing that rock falling. A weird game that had gone wrong?

  Drake was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. The hand didn’t look like a child’s. And there was something about the shape of the victims’ heads. It was hard to be sure from this angle. He circled around the base of the mound. The heads were covered in a layer of rock dust that had been turned to the same grey mass by the rain. He put a foot up and felt the rock start to slide beneath him.

  ‘You sure you want to do that, sir?’

  Drake paused to look at her, then lifted his other boot. Stones scattered left and right and he felt himself slide back. Maybe she had a point. He waited for it to stop.

  ‘We should really call this in.’

  ‘We’re not calling it in till we know what it is.’ Drake tried another step and felt himself sliding again as the mountain shifted beneath him. Kelly took a step back.

  ‘Forensics are not going to thank you for contaminating it.’

  ‘Thank you, DC Marsh.’ Drake took two more steps quickly and prayed he didn’t lose his balance. ‘We’re assessing the situation.’

  ‘Right, sir.’ She sounded unconvinced.

  He stopped for a break halfway up. ‘What do you see here, DC Marsh?’

  ‘A lot of stones, sir.’

  ‘Opportunity, is the answer to that one.’

  ‘Right.’ But there was now an element of interest in her voice. ‘You think they’ll let us keep it?’

  ‘First on the scene counts for a lot.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Kelly left the rest of it unsaid. She didn’t have to spell it out.

  ‘Let’s live in hope.’

  ‘Right.’

  Drake didn’t need reminding of what was at stake. He knew how easy it would be to fuck it up. But he could feel something here. Something like his old self. He wanted to hold on to that. If it all went pear-shaped then they would be put back on liaison work, talking to teachers, community leaders and shopkeepers whose windows had been kicked in, trying to persuade kids that there was some purpose to life. The way he looked at it, he had nothing to lose.

  Now that he was level with the top of the mound, Drake could see that the victims’ heads were covered. Hoodies, he had thought when looking down from above, but up close he could see where the cloth had been torn away by the force of the rockfall. Not kids in sweatshirts. Rough canvas hoods. A man and a woman. Both had been badly battered by the rockfall. Coated in grey dust, they might have been carved out of stone. The man looked as though he was toiling at sea, caught in a wave, trying to rise up, to get free. But he wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘We’re calling it,’ said Drake, without looking up.

  ‘Sure?’

  He was staring at what looked like a scrap of duct tape hanging from the man’s wrist. ‘Something here doesn’t feel right.’ Drake straightened up, fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and called Wheeler. The superintendent sounded as though he might have been asleep. He listened while Drake explained the situation.

  ‘So, what are you saying. That they were tortured?’ Wheeler asked.

  ‘It’s hard to say at this point.’

  ‘Why are you on this and not Major Crimes?’

  ‘It was called as a break in.’ It was starting to rain again and Drake pulled his hood up. What worried him was that Wheeler didn’t sound convinced. ‘The caretaker who found the bodies thought some kids had got onto the site and had an accident.’

>   By rights the case should have been handed to Homicide and Major Crimes Command.

  ‘So that makes you first officer on the scene.’ There was a long silence. Drake cleared his voice.

  ‘I’m qualified to handle it, sir. You know I am.’

  ‘Are you sure about this, Cal?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘It’s been nearly two years, guv.’ Drake took a deep breath. Two years of dealing with drunks and derelicts, kids stabbing one another, husbands battering wives and enough overdoses to fill the stands at Stamford Bridge. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘I’ll have to go out on a limb for you.’

  ‘I know that, sir.’

  There was a long silence down the line. Wheeler was chewing it over. ‘HMCC is snowed under with work. That much I do know. They would be happy to pass on this one. But it means we have to bring it in, and fast.’

  ‘’Preciate it, guv.’

  ‘Our reputation’s on the line, Cal. If this goes belly up they’re going to hang us out to dry.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’ Drake surveyed the mound of stone, the muddy site. The heavy drops spattering into the watery pools.

  ‘Forty-eight hours, Cal. After that I’ll have DCI Pryce breathing down my neck asking why his lot didn’t get the case.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Okay, you know the drill. Call in forensics and set up a crime scene.’

  ‘As good as done, sir.’

  ‘Don’t make me regret this, Cal.’

  ‘No, sir, I won’t.’

  ‘So?’ Kelly was holding her hands up for an answer. ‘What’d he say?’

  ‘Forty-eight hours, then it’s going to be taken away.’

  ‘Shit! Well, at least that’s something.’

  ‘Call it in to forensics. Ask for Archie Narayan at the Coroner’s Office.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  Drake squatted down to get a better look. Drops fell onto the battered faces. There was something undeniably, painfully human about the suffering conveyed in these two figures. The rain was clearing the man’s face. He was not young. Perhaps in his late fifties, maybe older. Oriental features. Before he tucked his phone away, Drake took a couple of pictures.