The Copper Heart

by Sarah Painter

  As she approached the staid green arches of Westminster Bridge, Lydia stopped. She sat on a bench so as not to look too conspicuous and closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses. There was exhaust fumes from the traffic, a waft of spicy fried food which made her stomach rumble, and the scent of perfume. Something very strong with jasmine and patchouli. And then, just when Lydia had decided that she was wasting her time, she got a hit of Family magic. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the clean bright tang of Silver, but a woody musk. Fox.

  ‘Enjoying the sun, Little Bird?’

  Lydia opened her eyes. Her head was already tilted, giving her a full and uncluttered view of Paul Fox. He was wearing his standard uniform of black jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, emphasising his narrow waist and wide shoulders. They had worked together off and on for long enough now, that she had become inured to the animal magnetism which was bundled into the Fox signature. She was still human, though, and the view was pretty magnetic all on its own. ‘Working.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘And you decided to just hang out here on the off chance I would show up?’

  Paul smiled. ‘Close enough.’

  They might have an active truce and a decent working relationship, but Paul Fox still couldn’t answer a straight question with a straight answer.

  He sat next to Lydia on the bench. ‘Should you be out and about?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Lydia said, waving at the crowded street. ‘Maria isn’t going to kill me with this many witnesses.’

  Paul gave her a long look. ‘Somebody took Alejandro out with exactly this audience.’

  The man had a point. Not that Lydia was going to concede it. Although how he knew the details so quickly was an interesting question. She was going to ask Paul if the story had hit the news sites, already, but she decided to save her breath.

  When it became apparent that Lydia wasn’t going to elaborate, Paul shook his head. ‘Please tell me you’re not staying at The Fork, at least.’

  ‘Crows don’t run,’ Lydia said. ‘And I’m the head of the Family, now. I can’t bail.’

  ‘You need a new HQ. Somewhere with better security. Or with more privacy. Too many people know about your current location.’

  ‘Because it’s my place of business,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not closing Crow Investigations.’

  ‘But why not? You’ve got enough to do. I’ve been watching and you haven’t drawn breath since Charlie disappeared. You can’t do it all. Not forever. And it’s not like you need the work, now.’

  Lydia decided to ignore the ‘I’ve been watching’ part, to assume he meant it figuratively. ‘Since when did you start doling out life advice? I’m fine. And I like my work.’

  Paul held up his hands. ‘Just saying.’

  It didn’t matter how much trust had built between her and Paul Fox, she wasn’t about to start sharing and caring. This wasn’t a sleepover and Paul didn’t have enough hair to braid. A memory of running her hand over his buzz cut, the way it felt on her skin, jumped into the front of her mind and she felt colour in her cheeks. Hell Hawk.

  ‘So, what’s the plan, Little Bird? And please don’t tell me you’re going to visit Maria with your condolences. You’re too soft-hearted for your own good.’

  Lydia glared at him. ‘Classified.’

  ‘I’m asking around,’ Paul said. ‘Seeing if anybody knows who might have the balls to take on Alejandro. I can share the whispers with you,’ he paused. ‘If you want.’

  Lydia forced herself to stop glaring. ‘That would be helpful.’ She needed to give him something back. She might not want to start sharing and caring, but she had to do a bit of the former, at least. It was the price of doing business, she told herself. Just business. ‘You know I told you about how Marty died? That he had been frightened to death by something he thought was the ghost of his ex-girlfriend?’

  Paul nodded. ‘I remember.’

  ‘I found out by speaking to Marty’s spirit.’ Lydia decided to leave out the part involving Jason. Or the fact that she could sense Family magic. One revelation at a time. ‘I came here on the off-chance that Alejandro’s would be hanging around.’

  Paul looked at her for a beat. Then he said, ‘That’s a very useful party trick for a detective.’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘I have my skills.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  Lydia broke eye contact and ignored the way her stomach was flipping. She scanned the view, instead, without any real hope. ‘He’s not here, though.’

  Paul stood up. ‘I’ll go and speak to my live and kicking contacts, then. See what I can dig up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lydia said.

  ‘And if you change your mind about moving out, you know where to find me.’

  ‘You’re offering me a place to stay? Don’t think your family would be too pleased if I turned up with my toothbrush.’

  Paul’s stance shifted and he became something feral, dangerous. ‘I’ve told you before,’ he said, voice low. ‘I’m the leader, now. It’s my den, my rules.’

  The frequency of his voice set off a fluttering in her stomach. Lydia took a steadying breath and told herself that it was just a primal fight or flight reaction, nothing more. She forced a nod and then watched him walk away. Within a few steps he seemed to melt into the crowd, disappearing from view. The after-image of something red, moving through dark green undergrowth, flashed across her mind. Being this close to the most powerful Fox in London was possibly not the best idea she had ever had. Still, better the devil you know. And with the Silvers probably amassing contract killers as she sat, it was better to keep her alliance with the Fox Family. However confusing she found it.

  * * *

  Before heading home, Lydia spoke to the people running the booths next to the Westminster Pier. There was one selling tickets for tourist boat trips and another offering dodgy-looking burgers and ice cream cones. It was busy enough that they didn’t want to get into a long conversation, but Lydia thought they were telling the truth when they each denied seeing anything. Lydia was walking away when a skinny young guy with bleached blond hair and a neat black beard, caught up. ‘I saw the ambulance,’ he said. ‘Just up there,’ he indicated back along the wide pavement, away from the bridge.

  Lydia confirmed that the time matched Alejandro’s collapse. ‘Were there a lot of people around?’ Lydia gestured around. ‘Was it this busy or quieter?’

  ‘About the same,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know if he was on his own? Did you see him speaking to anyone before he collapsed?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t really see him. Just the ambo.’

  ‘You work here often?’

  ‘Every day,’ he said.

  Lydia gave him her card and a twenty-pound note, and told him to call if he remembered anything else. He might not have seen anything useful this time, but another pair of eyes was always handy.

  * * *

  Aiden was waiting back at The Fork, a cup of coffee on the table. Lydia slid into the seat opposite him and tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘What now?’

  He looked offended. ‘Charlie liked to be kept up-to-date on everything. I had to keep him informed. We all did.’

  ‘I told you, just keep everything going. I gave you my rules, but everything else you can use your own initiative.’

  Aiden opened his mouth to argue and then seemed to think better of it. He nodded, tight lipped.

  Lydia sighed. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not that simple. People know Charlie isn’t around. If you let people get away with stuff, word is going to spread.’

  Lydia resisted the urge to rub her forehead. ‘What stuff?’

  Aiden went quiet. After a moment he reached for his coffee and Lydia stopped him with a look. ‘Don’t make me ask again.’

  ‘People want to speak to you. They need to see you around, too. Not all the time and not everyone. But there’s a hierarchy. Those at the top need to feel they’ve got special access, s
pecial consideration, or they start to wonder if they really are.’

  ‘Are what?’

  ‘At the top.’

  Lydia hadn’t banked on spending her time massaging egos. She had a new understanding of why Fleet was so stressed and unhappy at his work these days. He had mentioned that managing teams of people sounded important and powerful, and that he would be able to delegate all the dull grunt work and be left with the pick of the tasks, but the reality was that he spent his time at his desk or in interminable meetings, putting out fires. ‘I wish that wasn’t metaphorical,’ he had said. ‘At least I’d be more active.’ Looking at Aiden and considering the prospect of meeting and greeting the crème of Camberwell in order to keep the peace, Lydia felt closer to Fleet than ever. She too would prefer a nice old-fashioned burning building right about now.

  * * *

  Upstairs, Lydia let herself into her flat and headed out onto the roof terrace. She sat on one of the metal bistro chairs and got her phone out ready to make a list. There was nothing like a nice neat ‘to-do’ list to make her feel more in control. And to put off actually doing any of the tasks. Jason materialised in the middle of the terrace, almost making her drop the phone. ‘Feathers!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jason said.

  ‘That’s okay.’ Lydia felt bad for swearing. Jason couldn’t always control where and when he appeared.

  ‘I didn’t know you were out here.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you’d agree to wear a bell?’

  Understandably, Jason ignored that. ‘Any luck at the embankment?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘Nothing. Not even a hint of Silver.’

  ‘It was a long shot,’ Jason said. ‘You’re in one piece, though, so that’s a result.’

  ‘I don’t know why everyone is so worried about me. I’m the head of the Crow Family. I’m basically untouchable.’ Lydia didn’t like everyone being so nervous. It was making her jumpy. ‘Besides, Maria must know I wouldn’t make a move on Alejandro. She might front up for the look of it, but she won’t think I’d be that stupid. Maybe I should just go and see her, clear the air.’

  ‘What? You’re just going to stroll into her office and explain that you didn’t kill her father. Yeah, that’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’ Everyone’s a critic, Lydia thought. First Fleet, then Paul, and now Jason.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ Jason said. ‘Maybe Fleet should do it. She’s not going to kill a cop.’

  ‘I’m not sending Fleet to do my job. I can’t look weak.’

  ‘Better than looking dead.’

  Chapter Four

  Since he had banished his father, Tristan, Paul Fox was the head of the Fox Family, Maria had stepped into Alejandro’s place as the head of the Silvers and, now, Lydia was the head of the Crows. The Family had adjusted pretty quickly, all things considered. Lydia had expected more resistance, but it seemed that her status as Henry Crow’s daughter had gone a long way. Of course, the tricky matter of where, exactly, Charlie had gone, and why he hadn’t said goodbye still had to be resolved. Most, though, seemed to decide that it wasn’t their business. If Charlie had left Lydia in charge and gone into retirement, as per Lydia’s story, then all was well. And if Lydia had killed Charlie in order to take his position, it was probably better not to ask questions.

  John, Maddie’s father, had been one of the few exceptions to put up a bit of a fight. He had cornered Lydia at a pot luck dinner, and asked a few searching questions. ‘What did Charlie say? Why didn’t he talk to anybody else? Why doesn’t he want anybody to get in touch?’

  Lydia had shrugged and done the whole ‘you-know-Charlie-law-unto-himself’ act, but John hadn’t been derailed. He had taken Lydia’s arm and moved them to quiet corner. ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Where is he? I know you know.’

  Eyes wide. ‘I know as much as you, Uncle John.’

  Then, John losing his temper, and forgetting his tone. ‘Stop it. We need to know. If there are going to be repercussions. Will the police be involved? Is he dead? I need – we need – to know.’

  Lydia had snapped into her new role. ‘Pull yourself together, John. Charlie has retired. It’s lovely news after his long years of faithful service to the Family.’

  ‘But…’ John had begun to argue, but Lydia hadn’t let him continue.

  She fixed the old man with a firm stare, pushing a bit of Crow behind it. John had sagged back against the wall, defiance draining from him in an instant.

  ‘He’s got what he deserves,’ Lydia had said. ‘And I don’t want to hear any more about it.’

  * * *

  Now, looking at her coffee and thinking about Alejandro’s body in the mortuary and Maria Silver somewhere in the city, no doubt plotting her revenge on the world, Lydia experienced a confusing mix of sympathy and anger. She also knew she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. She was the head of the Crow Family and if she didn’t act like it, someone would challenge her for the position. And those kinds of challenges often were the ‘last woman standing’ variety. Apart from the possible-death aspect, passing on the reins to a willing successor wasn’t so bad in theory, but only if that successor was up to the job and not batshit crazy. Lydia might not have dreamed of being the head of the Crows as a little girl, but she was damned if she was going to lead her Family into madness and ruin.

  She needed to act like a leader. And, whatever Paul, Jason or Fleet might think, that meant showing no fear. Lydia called the Silver and Silver office and asked for Maria.

  ‘Ms Silver is in court today, can I take a message?’

  ‘Are you expecting her in the office later today?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ the assistant replied. ‘But there are no available appointments.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s not urgent. What’s the case?’

  Having obtained the name, Lydia opened the case list on the Old Bailey website. The name belonged to a Bulgarian HGV driver accused of manslaughter when twelve female immigrants were found suffocated in the back of his lorry, due to a lack of oxygen and space. It was being held in court five and this was the third day of the trial. Lydia guessed that the law didn’t allow for grief and that Maria would have to postpone her feelings until it was completed. Unless she was allowed to sub in a different barrister and it was just her own professional pride that was keeping her working. Maria was a Silver-hearted murderous witch, but on this point Lydia could relate. The show must go on.

  Lydia decided to catch Maria on her way out of court. Outside the Old Bailey had to be one of the safer places for a chat. It wasn’t private enough, but Lydia didn’t have a death wish. No matter what the men in her life seemed to think. Court five was in the new building so Lydia waited outside the Warwick Passage entrance, hoping that the barristers didn’t have a secret exit that wasn’t listed on the visitor guide.

  It was easy to see when the court let out, with a sudden stream of people coming from the public gallery. Once this had petered out, Lydia adjusted her stance against the soot-stained façade of the building and waited thirty minutes until staff members began leaving. There weren’t any in the distinctive barrister’s robes which either meant they were changing inside before leaving for the night, or she was waiting at the wrong place. Not for the first time, Lydia realised the limitations of being a one-woman-band. She added ‘take on an assistant’ to her mental to-do list. There ought to be a line of young Crows looking to be helpful, and money was no longer the pressing concern it had once been. Aiden had made it clear that her new role came with a generous stipend. She had yet to access it, but there would come a time when her hand would be forced. She wasn’t taking on as many paying clients as her time had been swallowed by her new duties.

  Giving up for the evening, Lydia walked to Blackfriars station and caught an over ground train to Denmark Hill to head home. Minutes into the journey and she felt a compulsion for a different destination,
so she got off at London Bridge and changed trains to one heading to Honor Oak Park.

  * * *

  When Lydia had been a child and had yet to realise the extent to which her family was not the same as the other families in their street in Beckenham, her father had taken her to visit her ancestors. As always, he spoke to her as if she was an adult, which meant that she felt valued and respected, if occasionally confused. ‘Not all of them, unfortunately, burial grounds get squeezed around here. Remains are moved. Still. It’s good to pay our respects.’

  Henry Crow had explained that the Camberwell Old Cemetery which was, in fact a couple of miles away from Camberwell proper and closer to East Dulwich, had only been built when St Giles church ran out of room in its graveyard. ‘Too many bodies. The curse of modern life.’

  ‘They moved Grandma?’

  ‘No, lovey. This was years and years ago. And, luckily enough, it didn’t really matter to us. Crows aren’t buried in churches, anyway.’

  ‘We’re atheists?’ Lydia had asked, having just learned the meaning of the word and utterly thrilled to get the chance to use it so quickly.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, no. Just not very Christian.’

  ‘But we’re here?’ Lydia remembered the ironwork gates of the cemetery seeming extremely tall, and the word ‘Camberwell’ picked out in black against a white sky. It was winter in her memory and the metal was freezing to touch.

  They walked past fallen gravestones and up a hill, which felt to Lydia very steep and very long. At the top there was a copse of trees and, on the other side and covered with dark green ivy, a structure which looked, more than anything, like a stone Wendy house. It was only when Lydia got closer, that she realised that the peaked roof of the house was formed from carved gravestones with ancient, crumbling inscriptions, and what she had thought were little windows were recesses for more engraving. The lettering in these was better preserved, as it was protected a little from the elements. She began sounding out the chiselled letters, trying to find words she could read, but when she turned to ask her father a question, she found him standing between two trees, looking in the opposite direction. ‘Over here,’ he said. Lydia held his hand, her finger bones like a tiny bird in his giant palm. Down the slope, beyond granite grave markers and green hedges, the distinctive London skyline hung pale grey, like a ghost of itself, or a mirage in a black-and-white world. ‘Crows’ final roosting, somewhere up high, where we can see the city.’