Palindrome: The Robert Deed Series

By Rae Stoltenkamp

Haddington, near Edinburgh – it's 1975. Here change is a process slowed by tradition and the luxury of a certain distance from the swift progress of the rest of the world. Robert Deed's 13th birthday approaches. On the cusp of adulthood, this teenager looks beyond a thing and sees inside it. It's a trait shared with his all-seeing mother. No-one knows Robert's strangeness better than his mother Rowena Deed.  In her dreams she sees his future but knows she will not be there to see her son mature.  Pushing aside her sorrow at this knowledge, she instead focuses on giving him the tools he'll need to be a man of worth

 

But this birthday brings more than a coming of age celebration for Robert. He's about to see the glint of Death's scythe in the corner of his eye, even touch the honed edge. Travelling the road towards his future, Robert must solve the murder of his first crush, battle his grief, and exonerate a dear friend. Is he willing and able? Can he truly trust in the so called inner wisdom of his instinct? More importantly, will his world let him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: RaedeneWrites
• Release date: Jul 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393992783

Rae Stoltenkamp

Rae Stoltenkamp was born in South Africa and came to England in 1987 to visit family. She stayed on as an alien and was eventually granted British citizenship because she pledged to teach English to inner city school children. When she’s not writing poetry she writes short stories, novellas and novels. Her dearest hope is to make enough money from her writing so one day she can own a very large dog which takes her for walks, keep a villa in Italy and own more shoes than she can count.

Book preview

Prologue

Interview excerpt: chief suspect Madison Bricot (22 August 1989 at 14:27 hours)

I’m Detective Chief Inspector Robert Deed. You understand we have to tape this interview as part of our on-going investigation?

Do people call you Bob? Because if they did then your name would be a palindrome. I mean ‘deed’ is anyway as it is.

Please state your full name for the tape. A tiny muscle at the side of Detective Chief Inspector Robert Deed’s mouth twitched.

Robert - September 1974

Robert Deed is an insular boy, ripe for bullying. It’s his second week at Knox Academy. Until this point, he’s been home schooled. For the most part the other boys circumvent him. They sense his otherness. But Brian McAvoy feels he needs to lead by example and show his gang how a strange new boy must be dealt with. After all, he’s more of a man than a boy now. Didn’t his dad take him to the pub to celebrate his 13th birthday?

Reading in a corner again Deed. What, too good for the rest of us? McAvoy has his most practised sneer covering his face and looms over Robert who is only fractionally shorter but much leaner. The more muscular boy mistakenly thinks Robert’s leanness is an indication of weakness. Coupled with Robert’s book reading, it’s too much of a red rag to ignore.

Robert, rudely pulled away from the story of how The White Knight became known as Sir Lancelot, looks up at the hulk before him. Though he doesn’t have poor eyesight and never will, he has that same bleary myopic look. He doesn’t speak. This infuriates McAvoy. He pulls an arm back to deliver a meaty punch. Robert’s hand catches McAvoy’s arm and his voice rings with urgency rather than fear. Wait!

The Headmaster appears around the corner. What’s this? Starting fights again eh McAvoy. To my office boy! Now!

Then Robert addresses the Head as an equal. Oh no, it’s no fight Sir. We were re-enacting a section from The Knights of the Round Table.

And the Head listens to what the scrawny new boy has to say as he flips through his giant volume of Arthurian legends, and points out the exact scene. Even, begins reading aloud.

McAvoy, mouth agape, looks on as Robert talks with an assurance he’s never seen from any adult, not even his father.

The Head moves along.

How did you know he was coming? McAvoy wants to accompany the question with a finger jab but remembers the speed of Robert’s reactions.

Robert shrugs. Just did.

In no time at all, McAvoy and the other boys utilise Robert’s skills as an early warning system. Having him around is also a cover for their more nefarious activities. The teachers like Robert, will not entertain the idea he’s part of anything spurious. Moreover, teachers don’t doubt Robert’s account of events. He never lies, merely leaves out certain details.

Rowena Deed I

Robert began his entry into this world at 2am on July 19th 1962. It was a still summer's morning and the air was unusually sultry for Haddington. He waited for his father to be 10 miles away at a Lancet conference in Edinburgh.

With each gripping contraction a vision of another chapter of my son's life was etched out in ripples across my distended abdomen. Even during the agonies of childbirth I laughed inwardly at the timing of my cursed gift. But I couldn't deny the urgent pressure of his tiny hands and feet demanding release from the constraints of my womb. He wanted out so he could begin his extraordinary life.

As the midwife sucked blood into the phial with her syringe to check my sugar levels, my seer's eye read the paragraphs of my tiny son’s future life in the red swirls filling the small glass tube. And I wailed.

The midwife misread the reason for my howl. It's really not that bad Mrs Deed.

I paid little heed to her, locked as I was into visions of a future I could not escape no matter my present or future actions. Running from it this time would not prevent the inevitable.

Coalescing blood droplets and browning stains on the hospital bed linen forecast how my life would end, but not when. With huge effort I ignored the divination on my bed sheets and listened instead to the future tones of my nearly born son's soft Scottish brogue. It would all but disappear as he grew older and spent more time down South. Then this tiny echo of the future was silenced by my tornado yowls from the agony of bringing a life into the world.

In the midst of my blurry pain I saw the midwife, a stick woman with a gaping mouth of noise. And the indifferent doctor became a balloon man floating to the ceiling. As soon as Robert's head appeared between my legs he considered his job done and left the room. If Arthur were here he would be infuriated by the man's lack of patient care.

Then there my boy was, all sticky and scrunched up, his frown already demonstrating his displeasure at the state of the world.

Don't drop him. I didn't say the words out loud, but the nurse’s goo slick glove was holding him aloft by one ankle and I couldn’t help but think of Achilles. Her other hand swung in a wide arc and slapped his bottom hard, leaving an imprint.

I yelped in protest. Robert didn’t scream but I saw his ancient-infant face building to release one. I asked for him to be laid across my chest and got a disconcerted look from the midwife.

She moved to swaddle him. How was it possible that midwifery and obstetrics seemed to have gone back epochs here rather than advanced as I imagined it would? Or perhaps it was just this particular midwife, this particular doctor.

I intervened to stop the swaddling. No, just as he is please. I want him just like that before you tidy him up. At the sound of my voice Robert's face cleared.

The midwife's mouth twisted. I could hear her thoughts, feel her chagrin, clear as day.

No doubt some new-fangled American idea. Well, she's paying for this private room so let her get on with it.

I didn't care. All that mattered was my boy.

Robert's unfocused eyes searched for me.

Hello my bonny boy.

And despite the film across his lenses I felt the intensity of his knowledge as he latched onto me and who I was.

Every mother thinks her baby special. But I knew Robert was more than that and I told him so – my mind to his.

Your destiny is part of a long line of gypsy ancestry you carry in your veins.

Arthur knows none of this. It wasn't so long ago witches were burnt at the stake. Right here in Scotland. Not that I can really call myself one, but blood always leaves a darker stain than water.

Robert – Saturday, 12 July 1975

For his upcoming thirteenth birthday, Robert doesn't want a party. He had one for his tenth. Not many of the local boys came. The ones who did were curious to see how different the Deed house was to theirs. Robert had their respect in the halls at school and the playground but not in their hearts.

Instead he wants a birthday breakfast in the café on The High Street which is round the corner from Dr Deed’s surgery. This is so his father can’t give the excuse of having to rush off. And it’s the haunt of his two favourite people, Luisa and Mr Tomassi.

Robert has come to love the café as much for the rich scent of Italian coffee as for the random décor which Mr T assures him is exactly like that of the coffee shops in his homeland. The café is also only a few doors down from Martins the Bakers where you can get the most amazing American style donuts. Not only this, but his mother has hinted of more to come.

In Robert's imagination the outing his mother has planned becomes more and more outlandish. First he decides it must be an afternoon trip to Edinburgh, then it moves further afield to the Midlands where his parents have friends. Finally he shifts completely into the realms of fantasy: no doubt they will be going all the way to London where his father did the bulk of his medical training.

He scolds himself for this pointless exercise. In a bid to discover what new idea his mother has dreamt up, he visits next door with Mr T under the guise of collecting a promised new crossword. His mother and Mr T share confidences ever since he first introduced himself and demanded everyone call him by the initial of his surname to save problems pronouncing it. So she has doubtless let their Italian neighbour into the finer details of her plans for Robert’s birthday. It's only a few hours on Saturday afternoon so it can't be a major trip can it?

Mr T pushes the iron into the arm holes of his chef's tunic. Si, si. His bushy eyebrows arch high on his forehead.

Robert knows the Italian’s English is not as sketchy as he sometimes makes out so this simple answer is an evasion. He tries a more direct approach. Well, what do you think the surprise is?

Roberto, my boy. How I know this thing? Mr T rattles the iron on the metal rest of the board and avoids looking at Robert directly.

Focusing on the movement of Mr T’s lips and the crinkles around his eyes Robert narrows his own before declaring, "You