The Copper Heart

by Sarah Painter

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Alejandro Silver is dead.’

  Chapter Two

  Lydia walked to St Thomas’ Hospital by Westminster Bridge. The day had developed from the unpromising grey start to a pleasant late afternoon, with a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. The iconic sights of Big Ben, the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament looked like a tourist postcard in the sunshine, but Lydia’s mind was distracted. How could Alejandro Silver be dead?

  St Thomas’ sat on the opposite bank to parliament and Lydia imagined the ambulance that would have rushed across the bridge, siren blaring, hours earlier, carrying the stricken head of the Silver Family. That was how she still thought of him. Alejandro might have told Charlie that his daughter, Maria, was the new head of the family now that he was heading into politics, but nobody had believed it. Least of all Lydia.

  Fleet was waiting for Lydia at the main entrance of the hospital. He led the way to the north wing and down to the lower ground floor, filling her in on the details as they walked. ‘He collapsed in the street, that’s all we’ve got so far. It seems as if he was en-route to the house for a vote on a new clause on a finance bill. Didn’t sound especially significant, but we’re looking into it.’

  ‘Was he attacked?’

  ‘Not that I have heard,’ Fleet didn’t look at her, was scanning the list of departments on the wall.

  ‘Where did it happen, exactly?’

  ‘Victoria Embankment, not far from that floating pub.’

  ‘The decommissioned ferry?’ Lydia was momentarily distracted. She had always thought it was odd that people would choose to go to eat and drink on the water without going anywhere. It seemed like all the downsides of being on a boat with none of the benefits. It was something different, though, something novel. For tourists and corporate events, presumably.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. Concerned passer-by called an ambulance then stayed with him until paramedics arrived. It took six minutes, which is good going, but by the time they got him to the hospital, he was gone.’

  They took a right out of the lift and, finally, saw the discreet sign for the mortuary. Hospitals never shouted about this department and Lydia couldn’t blame them. It was evidence of their failure. The limits of their power. Nobody liked to be reminded of that.

  ‘Did he speak to the good Samaritan?’ If Alejandro had been conscious, perhaps he would have handily explained exactly what had happened before he expired.

  ‘I’ll find out,’ Fleet said.

  ‘Is Maria here?’ Lydia wasn’t looking forward to a reunion with Alejandro’s daughter. They had history and none of it was good.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m not even sure if she knows, yet. She’s in court.’ He looked at his watch. ‘They’ll finish soon, though. Judges don’t work late.’

  ‘Don’t they need to wait for her to see him before the post-mortem? Isn’t this a bit fast?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fleet looked uncomfortable. ‘These things usually take a little longer, but I’m assuming it suits the CPS to fast track it through. I mean, it’s high profile and there is a good chance it wasn’t natural.’

  Something was definitely off about Fleet’s manner. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He still didn’t meet her gaze. ‘I’m not on this. Officially. A friend told me because they know I’m connected to you.’

  ‘Right…’

  ‘I’ve asked to be assigned, but they haven’t returned my call.’

  There was clearly something else going on there, something that was bothering Fleet, but there wasn’t time to get into it.

  Inside the first door to the mortuary was a small waiting area and another door, this one with a keypad and an intercom. Fleet pressed the button and identified himself. There was a buzz and they were inside a short corridor with several closed doors leading off and double doors at the end with another keypad lock. Lydia steeled herself for the mortuary itself, remembering the clinical whiteness and horrifying steel tables from her last visit to one. She could smell bleach, formaldehyde and other things that she didn’t want to think about too closely.

  A man wearing a surgical cap and gown and carrying a mask, pushed through the double doors. ‘What can I do for you DCI?’

  ‘We’re here to observe the Silver post-mortem.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m the lead pathologist and this is the first I’m hearing about it.’

  Fleet had already got his credentials out and he flashed them at the doctor who looked unimpressed. ‘I’ve not had notice that you were coming,’ he repeated.

  ‘Why is it an issue? I just want to get your initial impressions ahead of the formal report. I won’t quote you anywhere, but I’m sure you know this is a high-priority case.’

  ‘He’s high profile, I am aware. We’ve had to shuffle the schedule to accommodate the requested turnaround time.’ He looked at his watch in a meaningful manner. ‘I really need to get started.’

  ‘I’m not going to hold you up,’ Fleet said. He paused. ‘But I’m not going anywhere. I can wait while you phone my gaffer. It’s up to you.’

  Lydia watched the doctor wrestle with his desire to pull rank over Fleet and the equally pressing desire to get moving and get home in time for dinner. The second urge seemed to win out.

  ‘I’m about to start,’ he said. ‘You can go into the viewing room, but nowhere else. I may be able to spare a few minutes after, depending on how long it takes. And I will put this interruption into my notes, too. This isn’t a bloody circus.’

  ‘I appreciate your cooperation, sir,’ Fleet said smoothly.

  The doctor opened a single door, revealing a square room with what passed for comfortable seating in an NHS hospital and a large window in one wall with sliding shutters which were currently open. There was a table in one corner holding a vase of plastic flowers and someone had gone to town with a lemon-scented air freshener.

  ‘I wonder if they have done the formal identification yet.’

  Lydia made a non-committal sound in reply. Truthfully, she wasn’t paying close attention to Fleet. The pathologist had appeared through the double doors which she now saw led into the examination room she was looking at through the glass viewing window. He looped his mask around his ears and approached the table in the middle of the room.

  ‘You okay?’ Fleet touched her arm, but she couldn’t look away from the viewing window. The body of Alejandro Silver was lying on the metal table. His dark hair was swept back from a lightly lined forehead, his short beard was neatly clipped and there were a few silver-grey hairs at his temples. In life, he had looked young and vigorous for his age. In death, he looked… dead. That was the nature of it. There was something unmistakable and alien about a person once their spark had gone out. What did they used to call it? Soul case? Alejandro’s soul case was unmarked, at least from where Lydia was standing. And he had a white sheet covering his lower half.

  Lydia reached out her senses, but they felt choked by the artificial lemon scent. She thought she could taste a little hint of Silver magic, but it was an after-image. Nothing like the raw power she had felt from Alejandro in life. In fact, it was so faint it could almost be her imagination, something she expected to feel. She closed her eyes and produced her Crow Family coin, gripping it to help her focus. The sense of Silver remained elusive, seeming to disappear the harder she tried to grasp it. Lydia wondered if it was because there was a solid wall and double-glazed glass between them. Or, perhaps, Alejandro’s ‘Silver’ essence had dissipated now that he was dead. She had sensed ‘Fox’ from the deceased Marty, but his ghost had been in attendance. She had a good look around the room, just in case Alejandro’s spirit was hanging about, watching the proceedings, but didn’t really expect to see anything. If Alejandro’s spirit had been present, Lydia was pretty sure she would be tasting Silver at the back of her throat.

  A door on the far wall opened and a small figure, also gowned, walked in. His mask was pulled do
wn around his neck and he looked surprised to see visitors through the window.

  The pathologist walked to the wall and a speaker set in the corner crackled into life. ‘This is my technician,’ the pathologist said, through the speaker system. ‘And he’s late.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the technician muttered. ‘There was a queue at Pret.’

  Lydia’s stomach turned over at the thought of food.

  The pathologist turned away from the window and got to work. He switched on a recording device and began to examine the skin surface from the head down, making his observations out loud. There was no bruising or broken skin, no signs of trauma. Lydia was conducting her own examination, reaching out her senses for Alejandro’s ghost, trying to see if there was any kind of supernatural signature. Once she was sure there wasn’t anything she could detect, she touched Fleet’s sleeve and shook her head. ‘I’m going to wait outside.’

  * * *

  An hour later, Fleet met Lydia on Westminster Bridge, next to one of the ornate Gothic triple-lanterned lampposts. ‘When you said “outside” you really meant it.’

  ‘Hospitals,’ Lydia shrugged. Given the choice, who in their right mind would sit inside a linoleum palace of pain, when they could be outside, looking at the slow water of the river, instead? The sky was tinged with lavender and a few lights had flickered into life, but Lydia couldn’t see the sinking sun. It was hidden behind clouds and pollution. ‘What’s the verdict?’

  ‘Inconclusive,’ Fleet replied. ‘Pathologist didn’t find any evidence of trauma and preliminary exam shows cause of death as heart failure. Which is usually a coroner’s way of saying “I don’t know, yet. Go away officer and let me finish my job in peace.” He’ll finish up tomorrow, but we’ll be waiting a bit longer for lab results.’

  Lydia was leaning on the green-painted iron balustrade, keeping her gaze on the wide expanse of the Thames. She had been mulling over the ramifications of Alejandro’s death ever since she heard the news, and was no closer to working out what she needed to do. Two Crows had been killed in Wandsworth prison and now this, the head of the Silver Family. She had suspected that representatives from a mysterious company, JRB, were intent on causing rifts between the four magical Families of London, which would put them – whoever they were – at the top of the list of suspects for this latest outrage. If that was the case, Lydia needed to know their endgame. ‘Who would benefit from a war between the Families?’

  ‘It’s not necessarily murder,’ Fleet said. ‘No signs of trauma, no defensive wounds. It could be natural causes. He wasn’t old old, and was in good shape, but it’s not unheard of.’

  ‘Please,’ Lydia said, impatiently. ‘Alejandro Silver was hale and hearty. Alarmingly so.’

  ‘You were frightened of him?’

  ‘I had a healthy respect for his power,’ Lydia said witheringly.

  ‘Well, I’m glad. I sometimes wonder if you have a realistic view of the danger you keep courting.’

  ‘I don’t court danger,’ Lydia said. ‘All I want is a quiet life.’

  Fleet pulled a ‘yeah, right’ face and Lydia went up on tiptoes to kiss him. Cool air on her skin, the sounds of the city all around, and Fleet’s warm lips on hers. For a few seconds she could forget that she was supposed to be in charge of the Crow Family business or that Maria Silver was probably, at this very moment, sharpening a sword ready to plunge it directly into Lydia’s soft parts at the next available opportunity. Probably one of her Family heirlooms. The Silvers were the kind of people who had antique weaponry on their office walls.

  Lydia blinked and realised that Fleet was no longer kissing her. His face was still close, though, and his gaze was searching. ‘I lost you, there. Do I need to brush up on my technique?’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Sorry. No. Your technique is on point, as always.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘Maria Silver is going to blame me for Alejandro’s death.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I need to find out who did this, and fast. I need to be able to prove to Maria that it wasn’t the Crows.’

  ‘Any point in me telling you that you don’t need to get involved, that the police will investigate?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Fleet nodded. ‘Thought as much.’

  * * *

  Back at The Fork, Lydia found Jason sitting on the sofa with his laptop. She ignored the whisky bottle and got a beer from the fridge, instead.

  Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Still on that health kick?’

  ‘My body is a temple,’ Lydia said, popping the cap and taking a long swig.

  He was still looking at her and his expression was unnervingly sympathetic. ‘What?’

  ‘You might want something stronger.’

  ‘I know about Alejandro, I’ve just come from the mortuary.’

  ‘Wait. What?’ Jason frowned. ‘What about Alejandro?’

  ‘He’s dead.’ Too late, Lydia remembered that Jason’s wife (of one day) had been a member of the Silver Family. Back in the 1980s, but still. ‘Sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘He collapsed by the Thames this morning. I assumed you’d seen it on the news or…’ Lydia trailed off, realising that he clearly hadn’t. Couldn’t have, in fact, as it hadn’t been reported, yet. ‘Never mind. What’s your thing?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Jason shook his head. ‘The broadband is down. Alejandro Silver died?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lydia sat next to him on the sofa. ‘It’s a problem.’

  Jason’s eyes were wide and he was vibrating slightly. ‘Maria is going to blame you. She’s going to flip… I mean, she’s going to –’

  Go on a Crow-killing spree. Lydia straightened her spine. ‘We’ll find out who did it. Deliver their head on a plate. Easy.’

  ‘Or prove it was natural causes. Could it have been natural?’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘Anything’s possible, I suppose.’ Alejandro had looked peaceful in death, something she didn’t associate with the man. She had expected him to go down swinging and coldly furious, even while suffering a heart attack. His cool, measured voice rang in her mind as she imagined him telling a myocardial infarction that it didn’t have an appointment. ‘There wasn’t anything obvious in the post-mortem. Nothing obvious the pathologist shared, anyway, and I’m no expert. I just had to stop myself from throwing up. Now we have to wait for the blood and tissue tests.’

  ‘You saw him?’

  Lydia grimaced. ‘He looked fine. I mean, he looked dead, but wasn’t cut up or covered in bruises.’

  ‘Poisoning, then, maybe. Like those Russians in Salisbury.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Lydia said. If it was a nerve agent like Novichok she had just been exposed to it. ‘Although you’re right. They do love their poisonings.’ Had he pissed off the Russians? Or maybe he had been an agent or a double agent all along. Lydia shook her head gently. The business with her overly friendly spook, Mr Smith, had put spy nonsense into her mind. This was more likely to be a political move. Or something to do with his role as head of the Silvers. A bit of good old English corruption.

  ‘He’s only just left the law firm. Could it be a disgruntled ex-prisoner? Someone he helped to put away?’

  ‘That’s a good shout,’ Lydia said. ‘He was a criminal barrister, I think. Before he stepped into corporate law. It was a while ago, but that would give time for somebody dangerous to have served their time.’

  ‘And if they’ve been nursing a grudge…’ Jason turned his palm upwards.

  Lydia was quiet, thinking it over.

  ‘Do you need me to ask him?’

  She grasped his offer immediately. ‘I didn’t see his spirit at the hospital, but I could go to where he collapsed. See if there’s anything hanging around. Although,’ a thought occurred. ‘I think he died in the ambulance. Could his spirit have got caught in that?’

  Jason shrugged. ‘Well, if you get a whiff of Silver, I’m happy to hitch a ride and play twenty questions. I mean, it could be the quickest way to sol
ve his murder.

  Chapter Three

  Fleet had arrived at The Fork later that night and was gone at dawn. He kissed her before he left. ‘Sorry. Don’t wake up.’

  ‘Too late.’ Lydia had kissed him back, half-hoping to delay him for a more thorough awakening and half-wanting him to head out the door so that she could get on with her own day. She needed to hunt for Alejandro’s spirit and should really have got started the previous evening, but had been exhausted; her muscles complaining about their early-morning free-climb. Even the prospect of Maria Silver hadn’t been enough to make her get the tube to the embankment.

  ‘Stay safe today, okay?’ Fleet said, one hand on her bedroom door.

  ‘You, too,’ Lydia said.

  He hesitated. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as the coroner’s full report comes in.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  Fleet was clearly working up to saying something else. ‘What?’ Lydia prompted.

  ‘It’s not just Maria you need to worry about,’ Fleet said. ‘Until we know who hit Alejandro, we can’t be sure they aren’t going after all the major players. That includes you, now.’

  Well that was a cheery thought.

  * * *

  The embankment was lined with tour coaches and people thronged the pavement. It was a sunny spring day and the great white wheel of the London Eye was just across the Thames, turning slowly. Like the floating restaurant, Lydia didn’t see why anybody would voluntarily sign up for an hour inside the Eye. Heights were bad enough, even without being locked up inside a glass bubble with a group of farting, sweating, talking tourists.

  Lydia wasn’t sure of the exact spot where Alejandro had collapsed and there was no handy crime-scene tape marking out the area, so she just walked slowly up and down the stretch. At one point she ended up at Cleopatra’s Needle and realised she had gone too far, walking back she could see Big Ben in the distance and the Whitehall Gardens on her right. On her left, the river flowed slowly, unchanged and unconcerned. It had seen more death and destruction than Lydia could even imagine, and held the secrets of countless unlucky Londoners in its murky depths. A couple were standing next to one of the orange lifebuoys for a picture.