The Copper Heart

by Sarah Painter

  ‘Oh, right?’ Jason shook the can and applied a towering spiral of cream to the mug.

  ‘Maria has a decent motive to off Alejandro. He made her head of the Family but it’s possible people weren’t really treating her like the new boss. She might have figured that he needed to be out of the picture for the world to really see her as the new power. And I assume she’s the heir to all his cash, too.’

  Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘You think she would kill her own flesh and blood?’

  ‘I did worse.’

  Jason was silent as he added mini marshmallows to the cream. Lydia didn’t blame him, there was no argument. She had consigned her father’s little brother to a fate worse than death. Caged. Experimented on. Tortured, maybe. Who knew what horrors he was enduring? Jason slid open a drawer and removed a packet of chocolate flakes, sticking one into the mound of cream and sugar. ‘Enjoy,’ he said, pushing the mug toward Lydia.

  * * *

  Tapping a pencil on her notebook, she tried to marshal her thoughts. The woman asking questions at Westminster Pier certainly sounded like Maria. The question was, did this make it more or less likely that she had offed Alejandro herself?

  Lydia put herself in Maria’s shoes. It was an uncomfortable fit and didn’t really help. Maria might investigate if she believed someone had hurt her father, but she might also ask questions if she had done the deed. Either to check that she had adequately covered her tracks and that there were no pesky witnesses who might need incentivising to keep quiet, or to give the impression of investigating Alejandro’s death in order to appear innocent and clueless. Lydia opened her eyes, startled into laughter by the idea of an innocent Maria Silver. The woman had been born with a black shrivelled heart.

  Jason had appeared while her eyes were shut and was sitting on the sofa, quietly tapping away on his ever-present laptop. He glanced at her. ‘You’re in a good mood.’

  ‘I saw Emma,’ Lydia said, deciding not to explain her attempts to get inside the mind of Maria Silver.

  ‘That’s good,’ Jason nodded. ‘You don’t want to get too isolated. It’s lonely at the top.’

  ‘So I am discovering,’ Lydia replied.

  If Maria had killed her own father, she would definitely need it to look like natural causes. Not only to keep herself out of prison, but to stop retribution from other Family members. The more Lydia thought about it, the more convinced she became. Maria had shown homicidal tendencies in the past, had tried to have Lydia kidnapped and, most likely, killed. She had certainly threatened to end Lydia on more than one occasion. She was more than capable.

  Lydia called Fleet and asked him to meet her in the pub. ‘Crazy day, here,’ Fleet replied. ‘Is seven all right?’

  When he walked in, Lydia was waiting at her favourite table in the corner, a pint of Fleet’s preferred beer and a bag of salted peanuts in his place.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Fleet said, after kissing her hello and sitting down.

  ‘What?’

  He gestured to the drink and snack. ‘You want something.’

  ‘I always want something when you’re around.’ Lydia was attempting a flirtatious tone but Fleet just frowned at her in confusion. So much for using her womanly wiles. ‘If I wanted to kill somebody and make it look natural, would a brain aneurysm be a good cover?’

  Fleet had his glass halfway to his mouth and he raised it in a small salute. ‘There it is.’

  Lydia clinked her glass against his, but refused to be distracted. ‘Is there a poison that would cause an aneurysm?’

  ‘An undetectable poison?’ Fleet said, after taking a sip of his pint. ‘No. Not that I have heard of, anyway. We did think of that before marking it as a non-suspicious death, you know? At the Met we pride ourselves on that kind of due diligence.’

  Lydia ignored the sarcasm. ‘How well do you know the pathologist? Could he have been convinced to provide a false report?’

  ‘I don’t really know him, but that would be difficult to do. It’s not one person’s word, there are lab techs and an assistant pathologist involved.’

  ‘Not impossible, though?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘Chain of evidence is a big deal for a reason. Mistakes happen, but less often when every stage is documented.’

  ‘But it’s hypothetically possible?’

  ‘Very hypothetically.’

  ‘I guess you would need access? Or the ability to bribe somebody with access?’

  ‘At the very least.’ Fleet put his glass on the table. ‘First principles. Maybe the most likely explanation is the truth. Alejandro died, sadly, before his time. A previously-undiagnosed weakness leading to an aneurysm. I know you think you all have some kind of extra-special power which protects you, but it has its limits.’

  ‘Don’t lump me in with the Silvers,’ Lydia said sharply.

  ‘But you take my point,’ Fleet said.

  Lydia drained half her glass to avoid answering.

  Another beat. ‘Do you want to speak to the pathologist?’

  ‘Yes, please. I was going to rock up to the mortuary, but I thought an official intro would be more successful. I’m sorry to ask…’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Fleet said. ‘I know you’re sick of me saying this, but I’m on your side. Whatever you need, you can come to me.’

  ‘I’m not sick of you saying it. Not at all.’ Lydia leaned in and kissed him. Partly because she wanted to and partly because she wanted to avoid continuing the conversation. She wasn’t sick of Fleet telling her that she could trust him. She just wished she could believe it.

  Chapter Ten

  Alejandro’s funeral must have taken a team of people and deep pockets to organise, but no matter the planning and money which had been thrown at the event, they hadn’t been able to control the weather. The day dawned warm and bright, the meteorological version of a massive ‘fuck you’ to what ought to have been black and raining.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Fleet was wearing a black suit and tie and Lydia was hit by how inappropriately attractive he was, even in funeral garb. It was distracting. She was wearing the basic black dress she put on when pretending to work in an office or posh hotel, which sat below the knee. She had a less-basic black version which sat far higher for those occasions when she needed to pick someone up. It had been a long time since she’d done honey-pot work and was glad that hadn’t been off the hanger in a while. Lydia twisted her hair at the nape of her neck and fixed it with pins, matching a sensible hairstyle to the outfit. She wasn’t going to have anybody saying that Crows weren’t showing proper respect to the occasion.

  ‘She suspects it wasn’t natural causes and that means she probably suspects my Family. All the more reason to follow tradition. I can’t be seen to snub the Silvers by not attending the funeral. And I need to speak to Maria, let her know I’m investigating and I’m her best chance of getting justice for her father. That way, she might not try to kill me.’ Lydia tugged at the dress, checking that she looked properly sombre and demure.

  Fleet was watching her in the mirror. ‘That’s not what I meant. Are you sure about this?’ He gestured to them, framed together.

  The boring dress was good. It might help to balance out the fact that she was walking in on the arm of DCI Fleet. Could risk be balanced that way? ‘I’m sure,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m not hiding.’

  ‘And that’s fine,’ Fleet said evenly. ‘I agree, you know I do. But is this the best occasion to step out together officially?’

  ‘Step out?’ Lydia paused in the act of searching for her black court shoes. ‘How old are you, again?’

  He flashed a smile which made her stomach flip. ‘You want to come here and say that?’

  ‘Not if we’re going to make the funeral on time,’ Lydia said, not without regret. ‘And that probably would start a war.’

  * * *

  The traffic on Chancery Lane was halted by leather-clad motorcycle riders, parking across the busy lanes and crossing their arms, ignoring the cacophony of hor
ns – a blaring sound which cut off abruptly as people caught sight of the funeral procession. It was led by a shining black carriage, its windows etched with silver filigree, pulled by four black horses with silver plumes and livery. The coachman had matching black and silver clothes and a top hat and the top of the carriage was covered in white flowers. Lydia wasn’t one for pomp, but she had to admit it was quite beautiful.

  Crawling behind the carriage were several Rolls Royce limousines in black and grey and behind those, more flashy cars including a Maserati and two Bentleys. ‘Bloody hell,’ Fleet said, indicating one of the cars. ‘That goes for quarter of a million.’

  The procession was heading to the distinctive round structure of Temple Church, which was intrinsically linked to the legal profession. It had been built by the Knights Templar, the original bankers, but the Inns of Court had moved in during the fifteen hundreds and it had been the lawyers’ local one-stop for births, deaths and marriages ever since.

  Having been able to duck down side streets, Lydia and Fleet arrived ahead of the procession. Once they stepped away from the bustle of Fleet Street, the courtyards and chambers of the temple area swallowed them. There were lots of people arriving at the church for the service, clad in smart black clothes and looking suitably solemn. Several people were in their justice robes or barristers’ outfits, clearly fitting in the service in the midst of a busy day lawyering.

  Fleet slipped his arm from around Lydia’s waist and gave her a serious look. ‘Last chance to back out. You don’t need to prove anything to me.’

  ‘I know that,’ Lydia said. She felt a stab of uncertainty. ‘Would you rather we kept things quiet? Are you worried about who will see us here?’

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ Fleet said, taking her hand.

  ‘That’s all right, then-,’ Lydia broke off as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd milling outside the church. ‘Wait. Is that-?’

  ‘Chief of the Met? Yep.’

  ‘Feathers,’ Lydia breathed. She tried to slip her hand out of Fleet’s and take a step to the side. There was expecting Fleet to go public and then there was making him parade his relationship with the head of the Crow Family in front of the boss of all his bosses.

  Fleet squeezed her hand. ‘I’m not hiding.’

  They walked up to the crowd, past a couple of barristers in black court robes with bright white collars, who were carrying briefcases and navy bags with embroidered initials which looked like PE bags from primary school. Fleet spotted somebody he knew and they made small talk for a few minutes before going inside. He introduced Lydia by her first name and his acquaintance as ‘Nathan from five-a-side’, as if Lydia ought to know who he was talking about. She made a mental note to pay better attention to Fleet’s life. They were in a committed relationship now, and she should act a bit more like a proper girlfriend. Probably.

  Black marble columns reaching up to the vaulted ceiling, wooden pews lining the central aisle and a magnificent stained-glass window at the far end. So far, so-churchy, but the stone effigies on the floor of the round part of the church, like knights had decided to take a nap and then been ossified where they lay, added an eerie quality.

  Neat lines of choristers dressed in white robes waited while the mourners took their seats before opening their mouths and releasing the kind of pure sound which makes every hair on the body lift. Lydia could understand why the church went in for that kind of thing. It was close to magic, and in the days before movies and the internet or even electronically amplified music, those clear voices echoing in the great vaulted space must have seemed other-worldly.

  Alejandro’s coffin was carried down the centre aisle on the shoulders of Silver Family members. Lydia had prepared herself for being around so many and she took shallow breaths through her nose, tasting the clean tang of metal in the back of her throat. Maria let the coffin reach its destination before making her entrance. She walked down the aisle alone wearing a sharp black dress with a pencil skirt and long sleeves, and high heels. She had swapped the enormous black sunglasses Lydia had seen her wearing as she got out of the car for an antique-looking black lace shawl which was draped over her head in the traditional Spanish style.

  The church was packed, with many people standing in the round part of the structure, unable to find a seat. Lydia scanned the mourners, looking for any surprises. She found herself subconsciously looking for Charlie, as if Mr Smith and his department would have released him for the occasion. As the choir’s singing and the sound of suppressed sobbing worked on her emotions, Lydia found herself blinking back tears of her own. She wouldn’t allow them to fall. They weren’t for Alejandro or his daughter so it would be disrespectful, but she had to produce her coin discreetly in one hand and squeeze it tightly, her other hand held in Fleet’s.

  Filing out into the sunshine, Fleet asked if they were going to the wake. It was in a hotel just behind the church and the mourners were streaming through the narrow streets and courts, no doubt anticipating a rejuvenating beverage and, for some, the chance to conduct a little business, cement some important relationships. A man was dead, but it would take more than that to stop the wheels of commerce and law from turning.

  Lydia knew she had no right to the moral high ground on that front. She was still conducting her business, after all. Was only in attendance as she had to be. She represented the Crow Family and respect had to be given and, just as importantly, be seen to be given. The hotel restaurant had been booked out and there were many good-looking waiting staff weaving through the crowd with trays of drinks and canapés. There was a great deal of pale marble, gold mirrors and glittering chandeliers, as well as teal velvet seating. If you ignored all the sombre clothing, it could have been a PR event or a wedding reception. A line of well-wishers waited to pay their respects to Maria, who was still veiled in black lace and flanked by men in suits with earpieces. Lydia had to hand it to Maria, she knew how to play her part.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to Fleet, who had just picked up two glasses of whisky from a tray and was holding one out. She knocked back the drink. ‘I think we’ve done our duty.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ A man who was twice the width of Fleet and looked stuffed into his suit was suddenly barring Lydia’s way. ‘Ms Silver would like a word.’

  More performance. Lydia would play along. She put her glass down on the nearest table and then she and Fleet walked past the line of people waiting to pay their respects, following the man mountain.

  ‘We are sorry for your loss,’ Fleet said when they arrived in front of the bereaved.

  Maria nodded. She held out her hand to Fleet. ‘DCI Fleet. Have you tried the canapés? They are divine.’

  On cue, a security guard led Fleet away. Up close, Maria’s eyes were hollow. Lydia felt a clutch of sympathy, while keeping her eyes on the security still standing nearby. Large men who looked like they were barely containing their urge to stomp Lydia out of existence. Lydia wondered where Maria had hired them. You could pay for violence easily enough, but not emotion. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Lydia said.

  Maria tilted her head. There was a loaded silence before she asked: ‘Are you?’

  The question sounded genuine and Lydia paused to give it the consideration it was due. ‘I’m sorry your father is no longer with us. I preferred dealing with him.’

  Maria’s smile was like a skull. All teeth. ‘Pretending to be candid. Is that your new thing? I should have you beaten to death.’

  Her intonation didn’t change for the threat and it was all the more chilling. Maria wasn’t bluffing. Lydia didn’t break eye contact. ‘I am here to pay my respects on behalf of the Crow Family. In recognition of the old alliance which existed between our families. And on a personal level, for the courtesy always extended to me by your father. Courtesy which seems sadly lacking today.’ Lydia spread her hands, palm up. ‘Which is, of course, perfectly understandable given the depth of your grief.’

  At that moment Maria didn’t look upset. Just furio
us. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t grieving in her own way. Lydia could relate. When she thought she had lost her own father she had wanted to burn the entire world.

  ‘You think this,’ she waved a hand, ‘makes you look trustworthy? You think I don’t know that you have been plotting against me and my Family?’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Do you know how my father died?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘Brain aneurysm.’

  ‘That’s what they say.’

  ‘You don’t believe it?’

  Maria held her gaze. ‘Do you?’

  Lydia didn’t answer. She could see the lines of tension around Maria’s mouth and a flash of sadness broke through the anger in her eyes, making her seem more human than usual. One of her security staff stepped up and whispered in Maria’s ear. Her gaze flicked behind Lydia and she nodded once. ‘Bring him next.’

  Lydia wasn’t sure if she was being dismissed, as Maria was still staring over her shoulder.

  ‘Look at them all lining up,’ Maria said eventually. ‘Everyone wants a favour, now. I’ve been head of the firm for months, nobody said shit, but now… Now they want me.’

  ‘Change can be slow,’ Lydia said. ‘And people can be very old fashioned.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Maria said, snapping her eyes to Lydia and seeming to collect herself. ‘A lot of these old men didn’t believe I was in charge. They have no choice, now. He’s gone.’

  Lydia nodded. She had another unexpected clutch of empathy. She felt the wind whipping around her face as she climbed The Shard, playing the stupid games to prove she was a worthy successor to Charlie.

  ‘I think our Families should continue to work together,’ Maria said. ‘Whatever my personal feelings, I must acknowledge that, historically, there has been a mutually beneficial relationship.’

  Maria was definitely a lawyer. Fifty words where five would suffice. ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Lydia said. ‘For my part, I vow that I will find out the truth of your father’s death.’