‘But?’
‘I think there’s a different lesson. About teamwork.’
Lydia wasn’t a team player, she knew that. That’s why she had settled on PI as her career of choice. It meant working alone almost all of the time. Long hours sitting alone for surveillance. Not speaking to another human being for days at a time. Watching from the outside and not having to join in. Bliss. ‘You think I should get closer to Aiden and the rest?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jason said, his voice serious. ‘But did you notice the heads of the family at the end when they got whacked? They got them when they were alone.’
‘You really know how to ruin film night, you know?’ Lydia reached down and kissed the top of Jason’s cool head. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Lightweight,’ Jason said, and pressed the remote to start The Godfather Part Two.
* * *
The next day Fleet left early for work. Lydia was still in bed when he called. ‘Meet me at the park.’
Burgess Park was their place and Lydia knew she would find Fleet at the Bridge to Nowhere. What she didn’t know was why he had a face like thunder. ‘I thought we should speak outside,’ he said, not moving to kiss her ‘hello’.
‘Sounds serious,’ Lydia.
‘Mark Kendal,’ Fleet said.
Lydia waited, wondering what was coming next.
‘Jesus, Lydia, you were there and you didn’t even tell me.’
Ah. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I asked you straight and you lied to my face.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘CCTV on the street covers the front. We reviewed the footage from the day he died and will be tracing all the customers in and out that day.’
Hell Hawk. ‘Am I going to be brought in?’
Fleet waited a beat, watching her. Then shook his head. ‘So it was you. I wasn’t sure.’
‘I didn’t kill him.’
‘Well that’s something.’ Fleet rubbed a hand over his face. ‘It was a quiet afternoon. Not many customers and nobody at all after four.’
Lydia had been preparing to explain why she hadn’t told Fleet about finding the body, but his words derailed her. ‘You thought I did it?’
‘The CCTV is council-owned and we got it quickly. I watched the lot and there were a couple of weird outages. The screen goes fuzzy for a minute at four forty-six and again eight minutes later.’
‘And you assumed that was me?’
‘Well, I remember something similar happening to the CCTV when that Russian hitman who threatened you died in hospital. I was following a hunch that it was a Crow thing and that made me think of you… A hunch that you just confirmed.’
‘Right,’ Lydia said, stalling for time. ‘Very smart. You really do have excellent investigative instincts.’
Fleet raised an eyebrow in a way that meant flattery was not going to help. ‘That time with the Russian, I’m assuming that was your Uncle Charlie? And I figured you would have told me if it could possibly be… Wait. Is your uncle back?’
‘No. Of course not.’ Lydia tasted feathers at the back of her throat and felt a shiver run up her back, cold talons tapping on bone. She hoped it was just the thought of it and not a premonition.
‘Right. Well that’s what I thought. So, if it’s not Charlie, it had to be the other powerful Crow I know.’
‘You thought I might have killed that man?’
Fleet shrugged. ‘If he attacked you, maybe. Or you had a really good reason. Or you’d just popped by for a friendly chat. I don’t know.’
Lydia didn’t know whether to be horrified or flattered. It was one thing for the good folk of Camberwell to have a healthy respect for her authority as the head of the Crows and quite another for Fleet to be so casual about her ability to murder another human being. Suspected ability. Whatever.
‘Don’t take it the wrong way,’ Fleet said. ‘I just meant that I trust your judgement. If things got violent, there was a good reason.’
‘But you know that I didn’t do it? You believe me?’
‘Of course I believe you,’ Fleet said, but his eyes slid left. Another moment. ‘Would you tell me if you had? Do you trust me?’
‘Of course,’ Lydia said, but she wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth.
Chapter Seventeen
Accessing the Silver Family’s final resting place definitely fell under the heading ‘poor taste’. Worse than that, it was the kind of action that could start a war between the families. Or, at the very least, give Maria a reason to kill Lydia. Of course, Maria already seemed keen on that idea, so it probably wasn’t going to make things any worse than they already were.
Lydia needed a wingman, someone to cause a distraction so that she could slip downstairs in the Temple Church. She had been going to ask Aiden, but she wasn’t sure of his abilities. Or whether she was ready to trust him. Fleet was out for two reasons. First off, if he used his badge to gain access, it might get back to his bosses and she didn’t want to make his work life any more difficult than it already was. And secondly, she was pretty sure he was still angry about the Mark Kendal lying incident. It didn’t seem like the right time to ask for a dodgy favour.
The Silver Family crypt was underneath the main church, but that was all she had been able to find out online. It wasn’t like they advertised how to access it.
Paul Fox was waiting outside the side entrance to the church and he greeted her with his customary, ‘Hello, Little Bird.’
Lydia nodded ‘hello’, not even bothering to tell Paul not to call her ‘Little Bird’. She wasn’t looking forward to going underground and didn’t have the bandwidth for anything else. ‘I don’t know what to expect in there. You might need to distract the priest. Minister? Whatever. I was thinking you could ask about having a wedding and that should get him talking.’
‘Is this your way of saying you’ve been reconsidering my proposal?’ Paul’s tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious.
‘No,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘I think our alliance should remain purely platonic.’
‘I don’t think you mean that,’ Paul said. ‘You’re lying to yourself.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need your help, thank you.’
Paul held up his hands. ‘Truce. I won’t mention it again. Not today, anyway.’
Lydia hesitated. Now they were here, it seemed a shame not to go in together. She pushed her emotions to the side. This was business. And she didn’t want Paul to have the satisfaction of thinking that he had rattled her. ‘Fine. You distract whoever needs distracting and I’ll find the crypt.’
‘I think I should come with you,’ Paul said. ‘You might need a hand.’
‘I don’t see how we can both sneak backstage.’ Lydia stopped. ‘Is it called backstage in a church? That doesn’t sound right.’
‘You’re nervous,’ Paul said.
‘Obviously,’ Lydia said. She could feel the sharp tang of Silver just standing this close to the church. Residue from the sheer number of Silver Family gatherings on the premises, or the effect of the bodies in the crypt below her feet. Which was creepy. Lydia didn’t scare easily, but the prospect of opening a coffin to look at a recently deceased Alejandro Silver was a little daunting. ‘If I don’t need you to run interference, I will welcome your help in the crypt. Happy?’
Paul nodded. ‘Ecstatic.’ He slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked through the door.
Lydia was going to object, but she guessed it would look natural if they were posing as an engaged couple. She tried her best to ignore the warmth of his body against hers, the Fox magic clouding her mind and igniting her nerve-endings.
Sunlight danced through the stained-glass windows and lit up dust motes in the air. Lydia took shallow breaths and concentrated on the incense and wood polish notes. There were a few visitors sitting in separate, silent contemplation, and a group of tourists in the round section of the church, gawping at the Templar effigies on the
floor.
There was a white-robed figure at the chancel end of the building and to his left, a thick wooden door set in an arched doorway. ‘Ready?’ Lydia broke away from Paul and walked up the aisle, looking around as if admiring the architecture. Paul followed her and took her hand. ‘Follow me,’ he whispered close to her ear, his warm breath making her shiver.
Lydia had planned for Paul to approach the minister and engage him in conversation while she slipped through the door, but he seemed hellbent on ignoring that perfectly good set-up. He pulled her straight up the aisle to the chancel. They were close enough that Lydia could see the priest’s white hair and thin-rimmed reading glasses. He was bent over a large book, The Bible, presumably, and didn’t look up as they approached. Paul pulled her by the hand to the doorway and within a matter of seconds they were on the other side. Lydia held her breath, expecting shouting or for it to be yanked open and an irate priest to ask them what the bloody hell they thought they were playing at. Paul was moving through the chamber, which seemed to be a kind of dressing room with old hymnals piled in one corner and a rack of robes.
‘How-?’
Paul shook his head. They passed through another door and found a short stone passage. At the end was a thick external-looking door and to the left was a narrow opening with a stone arch and steps leading down. It looked like something from a castle and at the same time too prosaic and accessible a route to lead to a crypt, but it was definitely the right direction so Lydia started down, holding the rough stone wall to keep her balance as the steps wound tightly downward. As they descended, Lydia felt the air getting cooler, although the chill of the stone beneath her fingertips cooled her blood further.
At the bottom of the stairs another opening led into a small stone room. An incongruously modern door was set into the far wall along with several red and white health and safety notices which warned of everything from toxic fumes to uneven flooring. A channel ran along the stone floor and disappeared under the innocuous pine door.
‘How did you do that? He didn’t seem to see us.’
Paul was examining the lock on the door and he looked sideways at Lydia. ‘Foxes are good at not being noticed if we don’t want to be.’
Lydia reached for her small roll of picks from her inside jacket pocket, but Paul already had a pick and a bump key and was working on the mechanism with an impressive focused calm. Again, she hadn’t seen him move. One moment he had been studying the lock and the next he was halfway to springing it. At once, Lydia appreciated that the Fox’s reputation for stealth wasn’t just a way of avoiding the more overtly prejudiced term of ‘sly’. The man had skills.
Behind the modern door there were more steps down and then a short passage with a low barrel ceiling and a black iron gate. It had a lock but was hanging very slightly open which was somehow immensely creepy, like an unseen presence had just gone through. Behind this was a short flight of stone steps which then opened out into a wide vaulted passage. The air was noticeably cooler and drier down here and there was a stillness that came from being in the presence of the dead. Or it was the psychic residue of grief and religion. Lydia could taste Silver in the back of her throat and in her nasal passages and its cold, clean odour made her shiver.
They moved forward, alert and ready for the sight of tombs or shelves of coffins or whatever it was you found in ancient creepy crypts. The space was impossible to calculate, the short pillars, shadowy recesses which could lead to a new section or passage or just a dead end, confusing the eye. It looked like the start of a labyrinth, a place you could wander for days, lost. The low ceiling was a reminder of the weight of the earth above and Lydia took a deep breath to steady herself.
Paul whistled quietly. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Ahead, Lydia saw something gleaming in the semi-dark. The Silver Family cup was placed in a recess in the stone. Lydia reflexively grabbed Paul’s arm, bracing herself for the onslaught of Silver she had experienced the last time she had encountered the relic. That had been in Alejandro’s office when he had deliberately exposed her to the cup to gauge her reaction. She had lost her lunch on his office carpet.
Strangely, nothing happened. The base level hum of Silver remained constant, even as she moved cautiously closer.
‘Sneaky bastards,’ Paul said. ‘I suppose they swapped it for a replica.’ The Families placed their relics into the British Museum as part of the 1943 truce. The Crow Family had kept their real coins back, so they couldn’t really cast stones.
‘This is one, too,’ Lydia said, close enough, now, to reach out a finger and touch the intricately moulded surface of the cup. ‘It’s a fake.’
Paul shot her a calculating look. ‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve met the real deal before,’ Lydia said. ‘And this is not it.’
They moved further into the crypt, finding a room with large, sealed tombs with ancient engravings, which dated back to the sixteen-hundreds. Down here, away from the elements, they were well preserved and perfectly readable. Another chamber had shelves carved into bare rock, each holding smaller sealed stone caskets. A warehouse of the important dead.
‘Here,’ Paul said from another section. He was temporarily obscured by a pillar. ‘This is the more recent stuff. I’ve found Alejandro’s great-grandparents.’
Lydia joined Paul next to an array of stone tombs. Each was topped with a smooth marble top, the engraving crisp and new. The last two were blank, presumably waiting for their residents to move in. Paul was leaning over another. ‘Here he is,’ Paul said. ‘Alejandro.’
‘What about Maria’s mother?’
‘Not here,’ Paul said. ‘Not that I’ve seen. Perhaps you have to be main bloodline to make it down here. Or she wasn’t considered important enough?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘I blame the patriarchy.’
The tomb was recently sealed with a line of caulking visible underneath the slight overhang of the marble top. Paul produced a chisel and a small hammer from inside his jacket and Lydia eyed him as he got onto the floor to study the seal. ‘Have you done this before?’
‘He’ll be embalmed so there shouldn’t be much odour,’ Paul said. ‘You ready?’
‘Wait,’ Lydia put a hand on his shoulder. Grave desecration. It was a big step. And seeing the fake Silver cup had given her a better idea. She put her hands onto the marble surface and closed her eyes. Nothing.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Feeling for him. I can sense the Family powers.’
Paul seemed to take this information in his stride. ‘Even when we’re dead?’
‘It’s much fainter, but, yeah. Especially if it was strong in life. Alejandro gave off quite the signal.’
Paul leered up at her from his reclined position on the stone floor. ‘Why do I suddenly feel jealous?’
‘Because you’re a weirdo.’ Lydia moved over to another of the caskets and placed her hands on the marble. Instantly, the background level of ‘Silver’ increased, like she had turned the dial on a radio. It was clear and sharp.
As an experiment, she went back to one of the oldest tombs and placed her hands on the stone. It took a few seconds of concentration, but then she felt it. A metallic taste on her tongue. She closed her eyes and felt the Silver sense intensify. She saw the warm glow of a flickering candle, reflected in the polished surface of a silver plate. There was roast meat, spilling its juices across the burnished surface, and the anticipation of a hot meal. A warm fur wrapped around her shoulders. The sound of a crackling fire.
Lydia opened her eyes and returned to the cold chamber. She felt wetness on her face and realised she was crying. She had been warm and safe and she wanted to go back to that place. It took an effort to move her hands from the stone but she managed it. Paul was behind her, his arms encircling her and she allowed herself to lean back, drawing warmth and strength from his presence. The sadness ebbed away as she came fully back to herself and the present. She was leaning back against Paul Fox, his body
warm and solid against hers. She shifted, suddenly embarrassed, and scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands. When she could trust herself to speak she said: ‘Definitely Silvers in there. Doesn’t matter that they’ve been dead for centuries, I can still feel them.’
She walked back to Alejandro’s resting place and tried again. Even with her palms pressed firmly against the marble surface and her eyes shut against distractions and every part of her reaching out in the dark, all she got was a vast emptiness where Silver ought to be. There was nothing. She opened her eyes and found Paul regarding her, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. ‘I would lay money that the body inside here is not a member of the Silver Family.’
Paul tilted his chin up. ‘Fair bet it’s not Alejandro, then?’
‘I would say the chances are absolutely zero.’
Chapter Eighteen
The restaurant was a modern European place just off Carnaby Street in Soho. Fleet said that a proper date ought to be somewhere different to their usual haunts and Lydia didn’t disagree. Eating out in Camberwell was no longer a private affair and she could just imagine the bowing and scraping from whichever pub or restaurant she chose. Charlie had loved all of that, but it made Lydia shrink inside her skin.
Lydia had arrived on time, which was something of a miracle, but Fleet had texted to say he was running late. She crunched a breadstick, admired the colourful op-art mural which took up the entire side wall of the restaurant and tried to get herself into a date frame of mind. Which made her wonder if she had ever been on a proper date. She had had hook-ups and relationships, but never done the romantic date thing. Was that normal for the times or utterly tragic? Lydia couldn’t decide.
At that moment, Paul Fox slid into the seat opposite. It was as if she had conjured her ex just by thinking about her relationship history. She was facing the main body of the restaurant but he had managed to get this close without her seeing his approach. Not for the first time, she wondered about the extent of the Fox Family powers.
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