Metropolitan Dreams (Cityscape Book 1)

by Mark A. King

  “How am I supposed to know? I told you what happened already.”

  The station exit faced a number of streets with smaller roads or walkways nearby. Iona counted six in total.

  She scanned the main streets. On both sides of Queen Victoria Street there were only intermittent cars passing by.

  On Cannon Street, a few tourists headed towards St Paul’s.

  Which left the four smaller options.

  “You take that one, Raf.” Iona pointed like an air-steward giving a safety demo. “You take that one, Cal. I’ll cover the other two. Meet back here in five minutes. Don’t just stand there. Get to it!”

  Five minutes isn’t long. But Maria’s mobility is compromised, and five minutes might be enough. Beyond that she’d be lost, again. Alone and in danger once more.

  Iona watched Raf and Cal run down their pathways, franticly searching as they went.

  Iona spilt her time between the two streets she’d allocated herself. Nothing. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, and her shoulders tightened when she saw how many other streets and paths Maria could have taken.

  Reconvening, Iona, Raf, and Cal hunched over, gathering their breath and slumping in acknowledgement that their search had proved fruitless, another five minutes had been wasted.

  Cal was first to break the silence. “You don’t think she could still be in the station do you? Or on a train heading away from the station?”

  “Shit!” In the rush to find Maria Mathan, Iona hadn’t considered it. But the idea made sense. She started to sprint for the station again.

  “Hey! Hang on a minute,” Raf said.

  Iona paused. “What?”

  “If she headed for a train, then we’ve already lost her.” Raf dug into his pockets and retrieved his phone. “Is it just worth checking, quickly, where that kid Archie is? Maybe he’s seen her? Maybe she’ll head to the same place he might.”

  Iona realised that when chasing young adults, you needed to think like them, act like them. “Okay, Raf. But just another minute. If you can’t find him, or he’s not nearby, then we’ll split up and head onto the train network.”

  Raf prodded the phone, his thumbs whirling and jabbing at a speed Iona could barely register.

  “What’s this all about?” Cal asked Iona.

  She looked at him. Who was he? Did he deserve answers? What did she have to lose? “We’re trying to find a girl who went missing,” she said.

  “Why not leave it to the uniformed police?”

  She grimaced. It was a reasonable question. “It’s not that simple. Let’s just say that we think she’s in danger and we think we can find her more quickly. What were you doing here? Don’t say you were just passing by and decided to investigate some noises in a storage room. I don’t buy it.” It felt better to be back in control and on the right side of the questions.

  Iona watched Cal. He was shifting weight between his feet, his eyes searching the scene. He’s hiding something. He’s working out how much he can tell me, just like I was a minute ago.

  “I have my own motivations,” Cal said. “I was involved in a train incident. I’ve been trying to get answers.“

  “Incident is an interesting choice of word, Cal. It normally implies the possibility of a criminal act, of some kind. So, why don’t you leave it with the police?”

  “It’s not that simple. Let’s just say, I think we can do it more quickly.”

  “We?”

  Cal bit his lip. “I meant I. Sorry.”

  Raf went from tapping to pinch-zooming on his device. “I’ve got a signal. It’s nearby. Just give me a minute.”

  “Maybe I could help you, Cal. I don’t work for one of the mainstream police divisions. I work for the CCPU—I’m not exactly acting in an official capacity myself.”

  Cal’s eyes open wide. “You work where?”

  “Cyber Crime Prevention Unit. Most of my work is focused on anti-hacking. Tasks like counter-terrorism and organised crime disruption. More recently I’ve been involved with prevention of human trafficking and modern slavery.”

  Cal grabbed her by the arm. “Are you winding me up? I don’t suppose you know the reporter, Danielle Greene, do you?”

  “Greene? Yeah, I know her. She used to be a right pain in the arse. She’s got these wild ideas. Call them conspiracy theories. Call them unfounded vendettas. But lately even I’m starting to think she might be on to something.”

  “She told me about the big story she was working on. That a police unit might be corrupt. A unit that has the power to launder money, destroy online evidence, and make things happen for criminal gangs. The unit she mentioned was yours, Iona. The head—”

  “Armitage?”

  “Yes. She lost her husband recently, is that right?" Cal asked.

  “Yeah, the case I’m working on deals with organised criminal networks. I’ve been trying to crack it for years, but gotten nowhere. Verity Armitage has hardly been supportive since the suicide of her husband, but that’s natural, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so. But Danielle is one hundred percent convinced the problems might be stemming from within CCPU, the place you work.”

  Used to work. Until Armitage suspended me and send one of her loyal troops to keep watch over me. And this Cal character seemed to be supporting what Jimmy Kinsella had said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s any of this got to do with you?” Iona asked.

  “You see, that’s how I’m involved in all this. I was the one who was driving the train that hit Gerry Armitage. Danielle Greene thinks my role in hid death might be a way in, to talk to your director in person. She might be right. But as time passes, I am starting to remember more about the incident. Gerry Armitage had something in his hands. It might be the evidence you need. Perhaps you and Danielle could work on this together?”

  “We already are, Cal, and that’s something I never thought I’d say. But right now, all I care about is this girl, Maria Mathan.”

  “The signal is coming from that way.” Raf pointed towards the Thames. “I’m not saying it’s the boy—Archie. He might have lost the phone I gave him. Even if it’s him, there’s only a slim chance he’s seen Maria. But it’s a lead. He’s only a few hundred yards away, on a side-street leading to the riverbank. Worth chasing, don’t you think?”

  Iona and Cal nodded.

  Raf sprinted ahead, towards the signal, with Iona and Cal only feet behind him.

  In the distance, Iona saw Archie. When the scrawny kid saw them, his mouth gaped and his eyes widened. Then the boy darted away full pelt in the opposite direction.

  There are three of us. But he’s fast. He’s desperate, and we’ll struggle to catch him.

  That’s it, keep going, he’s fast, but he has no stamina. He’s tiring. We’re catching him.

  Archie was trapped. He’d run into an alleyway. The kid looked at the wall, and when he realised it was too high and sheer to climb, he slumped and shrugged. “What do you want?”

  “Have you seen the girl?” Iona asked.

  Archie grimaced. When he talked his lips thinned and his teeth showed. “What is it about the bloody girl? Doesn’t anyone else matter?”

  “Did you see the girl?” Raf shouted.

  Archie stepped back and held his hands up. “Yeah. I saw your precious girl. She was at Mansion House station.”

  “We know that, we saw her there with some creepy guy,” Cal said. “What happened after the station? Where did she go?”

  Archie ground his foot on the paving and waved a clenched fist at Cal. “He might have been creepy. But he was just about the only one who ever did anything for me, the only one who gave a crap.” He tugged at his matted hair. “I—I might have killed him. I was trying to save the beloved girl. And now he’s gone.”

  Archie was trembling with some strong emotion. Iona didn’t know if it was anger, fear, or frustration. She eased towards him but as she neared he flinched. “Leave me alone!” he shouted.

  “We just need to know where
you last saw her, Archie. We’re supposed to take you somewhere safe. You are entitled to shelter and help, of course. We can get help for you.”

  “I don’t want shelter. Been there. Done that. I don’t want your help.”

  Being a decent cop meant applying common sense and pragmatism over rigid rules. If we try to take Archie in, he’ll run. Even if we can get him to social services, they can’t imprison him, he’ll just walk away. Besides, my position is, at best, murky. “What do you want, Archie?”

  “To be left alone. Not everyone can be helped, old lady.”

  Iona looked at his sunken eyes and his scratching, restless fingers. She wondered if he coped with homelessness by using substances, legal or not. Helena, the manager at the shelter, had said it was a way of getting through life on the streets for many. “There is nothing you can do for me. You’re too late to help anyone. Danny, the guy I was with, is gone—he might be a horrible, nasty man, but he’s looked after me. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” Archie looked at Iona for reassurance, but she didn’t give it to him. “It’s too late to save him or the girl. You can’t save them anymore than you can save me. They’re in the Thames. By Queenhithe. They fell a long way. The water is deep and cold and the currents and tides will finish the job if the fall didn’t. They’ll both be dead by now.”

  Robbie

  Robbie Hawke had always wanted to be someone. Hero, villain, dad, husband, manager, big name, whatever—it didn’t really matter. Being admired and respected was what he wanted.

  “Did anyone ever tell you look like a fucking pigeon, Robbie?” Ryan Thistle, his new employer, said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, bird-boy. Grey hair. Colourful collar. You even have that clicking neck thing going on when you walk.”

  People like Ryan would have paid in school. A smack on the nose. A kick in the bollocks. Maybe an accidental trip down the stairs. People didn’t fuck with Robbie back then.

  “I guess, because of my name, people always used to call me Hawk.”

  “Fuck right off, Robbie. You’re nothing but a dirty pigeon. A hawk is something special. You’re just the same two-bit scumbag that I see on every street corner. Stop dicking me around and tell me what you’re going to do now to get paid. What you have to do to stay alive.”

  “Kill the witnesses.”

  “And?”

  “Get the phone back.”

  “There’s a good lad, Pigeon. Not so hard is it?”

  Robbie rubbed his jaw, hoping the tension would ease. Ryan Thistle better watch his back. “No, Boss. It’s not hard. You tell me what to do and I do it.”

  Ryan nodded. “Shopkeeper.”

  “Yes.”

  “Find the missing girl. Get rid of her and get the phone. It’s very important to me and my employer. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who else?” Thistle asked.

  “Leo Jeffers.”

  “That goes without saying. He needs to vanish before he gets called in by some copper who is beyond our reach. And finally, Robbie?”

  “Charlie. My ex.”

  Ryan stared at him, eyes narrowed and focused. “Is this going to be a problem for you, Pigeon?”

  Robbie covered his neck tattoos with his hands. “No. No problem at all, sir.”

  Ryan slapped a large paw down on Robbie’s shoulder. “You know, I was once like you. And my boss, Jimmy Kinsella, was like I am now. It feels better being the boss, bird-boy. You work hard. You impress me and you’ll get what you want. You’ll go far, Pigeon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robbie said. That tosser is going to get what’s coming to him. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  Robbie followed the shop-owner from the newsagents’ as he wound his way home. Did customers still go to his newsagents’ after everything that had happened there? Did the shop-owner have ghoulish tourists visit? Frigging ghost tours were everywhere these days. The shopkeeper probably had had no choice but to return to work, but it would be his downfall.

  The guy was maybe in his sixties. He looked paranoid, checking over his shoulder the entire time as he walked. Who wouldn’t be after what he’d been through? But Robbie knew normality was more powerful than giving in to fear; even drug-addled losers like Leo Jeffers instinctively wanted to survive, no matter what that existence meant for them.

  Robbie knew how to use the shadows, the shop doorways, the movement of pedestrians and commuters to mask his presence. As the shop-owner approached the residential neighbourhoods, Robbie didn’t try to disguise his presence. The hunched man increased his speed and crossed the road several times. As the shopkeeper glanced back, Robbie winked at him. What was the point in hiding it? One small concession, give the guy the decency of knowing the end is coming. Robbie’s chest expanded, filled as much with the air of confidence and strength as nitrogen and oxygen. It felt good to be strong, confident, and cocky. The powerful had the luxury of being arrogant, there were few consequences for them. Not so long ago, Robbie was like the shopkeeper, but not anymore.

  The man stopped and turned sharply. Robbie held his breath and felt his pulse quicken. What the hell is he doing? That wasn’t fear in the old guy’s face, but a snarl of anger. The old man reached into the pocket of his anorak. He flung out his arm and waved a small pen-knife in Robbie’s direction. “Leave me alone, or I’ll use it, I swear.”

  As comical as it was, Robbie had vague admiration for the old geezer. He clearly didn’t want to go through the same thing again, and this was his comic-book-hero stand against the nasty villains of the world. Cute, really.

  Robbie darted forward. The guy jabbed the small silver blade at him, but Robbie ducked sideways, swivelled, and swiped the knife away. It clattered to on to the pavement.

  I can’t do it here. Too open—it’s only a matter of time before someone notices us.

  “Nice try, coffin-dodger,” Robbie said. “You know why I’m here.”

  “I—” the shopkeeper hunched, his fists grasped at his chest. He looked at Robbie with the fear of a man knowing he needed help but couldn’t call for it. He slumped onto his knees mouthing the word help silently, repetitively.

  Hawks don’t listen to the pleas of dying rodents.

  Robbie bent down. “Easiest five grand I ever made.” He rested his leg against the kneeling, gasping, desperately pleading man and pushed him on to the ground. When the man started to choke, Robbie thought about leaving. But there was something in the colour of the old man’s dying face, the tone of his skin, that Robbie couldn’t help but find beautiful. The vein-blue tinge—the transforming colours were as eye-pleasing as a twilight sky.

  Robbie leaned back against a wall, keeping watch for passers-by. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. He could just say he stumbled across the old guy, and he’d attempted to help him, fake the concerned-citizen act. Robbie took the sudden death as a sign—from God, from fate, from fortune cookies, any force greater than himself—that he was doing what he was born to do. He had never felt so alive as when watching the final, glorious sunset of a life.

  Enjoy the view.

  The greatest show on Earth was happening, and Robbie had a front-row seat.

  Ryan Thistle shook his head. “Don’t be a fucking mug, Pigeon. I don’t want to know the details. It could implicate me. I just want to know the job’s done.”

  “Yes, sir. The job’s finished. The shop will be looking for new tenants soon.”

  Ryan smiled. His teeth would make a shark envious. He handed Robbie a bundle wrapped in a supermarket plastic-bag. “That’s five pence you owe me.”

  Robbie went to open the bag and count the money. He’d only ever seen that sort of cash on the telly before.

  “Don’t be an idiot, bird-boy. Opening it in public is just thick. Don’t you trust me? It’s all there. I’m a man of my word. Next one is worth double. I want my ex-employee gone. He’s been trouble since the start. I don’t want it coming back on me. No loose ends.”
r />   Robbie nodded.

  Leo Jeffers was a harder target. Not because Robbie felt pity or a sense of guilt for his old friend, but because Leo would be watching for Robbie to avoid him at all costs, given the fact that Robbie had beaten him to a pulp the last time they’d met.

  But Leo was a junkie, an addict, a creature of predictability. His behaviour would not be dictated by thought, but driven by need.

  Robbie checked the local dealers. They were only too keen to talk after Robbie told them he was working for Ryan Thistle. They didn’t want any part of it. Leo was just another customer to them. Plenty more where he came from.

  Leo had been sleeping in the middle of a roundabout. Smart choice. Out of the way of passers-by, open enough to see people coming. Leo would be so jacked-up, the noise of the traffic probably wouldn’t bother him.

  Robbie approached the island in the traffic. From a distance it was large, covered in foliage, and almost the last place anyone would think of sleeping rough.

  Leo didn’t see Robbie coming. He was awake, eyes wide, but not in fear—not yet—that would come. Leo was in a place of tranquillity, acceptance, and detachment. He cocked his head, almost as if he recognised Robbie but couldn’t figure from where.

  Robbie held out his hand. “Here, let me help you, Leo.” Robbie pulled him to his feet. Leo’s legs bowed; he was barely able to support himself. He stank of piss. Bloody Theo, he should have listened. I saved him once, but there’s no saving him now. “Remember me, Leo? We’re friends. I saved you once, remember? Back at school when you were a nobody, getting beaten and bullied.”

  “Robbbieeee.” Leo smiled. “Robbie. Robbie. Robbie.” He smiled wider, as if remembering his name and having the coherency to say it were major achievements. Leo’s arm came around Robbie’s, and Robbie held him round the hips. Keep him steady. Walk him towards the edge.

  “That’s right, Leo. It’s me, your good friend—your only friend—Robbie. I’m here to save you again. Want to see the pretty lights, Leo?”

  Leo nodded.

  “Come this way, Leo. Not far,” Robbie said, dragging him towards the edge of the roundabout. “See, Leo. I promised you lights. Aren’t they pretty?”