Lydia caught up with her mum in the kitchen and helped her bring in mugs of tea and a plate of sliced fruit cake. ‘Switch that off,’ her mother said, nodding at the television. ‘Guests.’
Henry Crow smiled conspiratorially at Fleet and hit the mute button.
‘So, you’re a detective, Ignatius?’ Lydia’s mother offered Fleet some cake.
‘Call me Fleet,’ Fleet said. He chatted with her parents about his work and his upbringing before the conversation moved onto roadworks and urban regeneration, and Henry and Susan’s recent discovery of cruises as the ultimate holiday.
‘The food was incredible and you’re away from everything.’
‘Do you want a walk before we head back?’ Lydia asked her dad.
Susan Crow looked at the rain-soaked window and took the hint. She kissed Lydia goodbye and hugged Fleet. ‘You two must come for dinner next time. I’ll do a roast.’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’ Fleet picked up Lydia’s jacket and held it out to her.
At the pavement, Fleet said: ‘I’ll wait in the car. Give you time to catch up with your dad.’
Lydia was going to agree, but she stamped on the instinct. ‘Come with us.’
Henry raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
‘That’s all right,’ Fleet said, ‘you go ahead.’ He took the car keys and got into the passenger side to wait.
Walking with Henry Crow through the kind of drizzling rain which didn’t seem to be falling from the sky but, nonetheless, soaked through clothes with a tenacious inevitability, Lydia tried to work out where to begin. She started with her topmost worry, the fear that her presence would make him ill again. ‘I’m sorry to be here in person. I know we need to be careful, but I wanted to see you.’
Henry shook his head. ‘It’s a precaution. We don’t know anything for sure. It could be that your man has fixed the problem permanently. Besides,’ Henry tilted his head. ‘You’re an adult, now. I don’t have to hide. That should make a difference.’
‘You’re joining the life again?’
‘No,’ her dad smiled sadly. ‘Your mother would kill me. But I’ve given all this a lot of thought. It’s about balance, right? If seeing you powers me up, I just need to make sure I siphon some away every time we meet.’ Henry looked around the deserted street and then clapped his hands loudly. When he brought them apart his coin appeared between them, hanging in thin air entirely motionless. He let it hang there for a few seconds and Lydia could see the strain on his face. Then he clapped his hands together again and the coin was gone.
She swallowed hard. ‘Is that going to work?’
‘I hope so,’ Henry said, visibly paler than he had been a minute before. ‘What’s the alternative? That I never see my only daughter? Just telephone calls for the rest of my life.’
‘There are worse fates,’ Lydia said and they resumed their sedate pace along the pavement.
‘Well, it’s my decision. You have nothing to feel guilty about. None of this is your fault.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Lydia said, thinking about Charlie. She still didn’t know what her father suspected about that, let alone his opinion.
‘I wanted you to have a choice,’ Henry said. ‘And you did. I was groomed to take over after your grandfather. He was a bastard and liked to pit us kids against each other. Said the competition between me and Charlie would make us stronger. But what I really learned, was the stuff he never said. I learned by watching and I know one thing for sure. You can’t lead the family on your own. And you can’t let people stew over grudges. You’ve got to keep everyone together.’
They walked a little further and Lydia tried to formulate a way to tell her father everything that had happened. Charlie. The deal she made with Mr Smith which he didn’t seem keen to let drop. Alejandro’s faked death. The fact that Maria Silver was still after her blood. Mark Kendal, killed on her watch. Ash.
‘Talk to me,’ her father said. ‘There’s one big question in your mind. What is it?’
Lydia spoke without thinking. ‘What if I’m not good for the Family? Bringing people together isn’t my strong suit.’
‘You seem to be working on it,’ Henry said. ‘Bringing your man around here is a start.’
‘You don’t disapprove?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think. He’ll be a tough sell to the rest of the Family, but they’ll come round.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Lydia said.
‘Make them. You’re the boss.’
‘I’m not sure I ought to be,’ Lydia said.
‘Don’t mistake bad things happening for bad leadership. Bad things happen all the time, especially in our line of business. That’s not on you.’
More than anything, Lydia wanted to believe him. ‘But two people have died.’
‘You think things would have been better under Charlie?’
‘No, but-’
‘Only take responsibility for what you can control. Unless you pulled the trigger yourself, you didn’t kill anyone. Besides,’ Henry said. ‘Death isn’t the worst thing.’
* * *
Lydia settled into the passenger seat, enjoying the new sense of calm that had enveloped her the moment her parents had welcomed Fleet. He had offered to drive back and it was nice to know that she could close her eyes, put her feet up on the dash and enjoy the release of tension. Beckenham was only half an hour’s drive, but she hadn’t realised how much she had needed to get out of Camberwell, even for a few hours. Maybe her parents were onto something with the cruise idea. ‘Maybe not a cruise, but I could consider a holiday,’ she said out loud.
Fleet stopped at traffic lights and looked across with a fondness that made Lydia’s breath catch in her chest. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
At Denmark Hill, Fleet slowed to navigate some roadworks close to Kings College Hospital. He was musing on something Henry had said to him while Lydia had been in the kitchen. ‘I think he was quoting poetry. And then he said something about angels.’
‘Oh, you know,’ Lydia said, delighted that her father had been waxing lyrical on his favourite poet. ‘The famous Blake quote from when he had that vision on Peckham Rye?’
‘No,’ Fleet gestured for a woman on a bicycle to finish crossing in front of the car, before moving off. ‘Vision, huh?’
‘Yeah, Dad always said it wasn’t angels, but Crows. Even though that would be black wings so I couldn’t really see it. I mean, Blake says he saw ‘bright angelic wings bespangling every bough like stars’. It doesn’t track.’
‘You don’t see much bespangling these days,’ Fleet glanced at her, smiling. Then his expression changed and he yanked the steering wheel to the right. In that moment, time seemed to slow. Lydia seemed to have plenty of time to see the side window shatter and then the car was spinning, the street scene outside blurring into something incomprehensible. The tyres were screeching on the wet road and someone was swearing loudly.
A loud crunching sound and then the car wasn’t moving any longer. They were facing the wrong way down the road, a people-carrier was stopped so close to them that Lydia could see the woman gripping the steering wheel with shock in her eyes. There was a small child in the front seat, crying. The woman’s mouth was opening and closing and Lydia wondered what she was saying. Further away, the sounds of brakes being slammed. It seemed very quiet, suddenly, and Lydia wasn’t sure if her hearing had been damaged. Fleet was holding his shoulder, slumped over and eyes closed, blood on his face. For a single, heart-stopping second, Lydia thought he was dead, but then his eyes opened and he looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’ His voice was groggy and his eyes were trying to shut again.
‘I’m not hurt.’ Lydia couldn’t feel any pain at all, even as she moved to unclip her seatbelt. Probably the adrenaline, but she filed worrying about her own possible injuries to ‘later’. Fleet looked bad. She reached across and unclipped his seat belt. ‘We need to get out.’
‘No,’ Fleet said
. ‘We don’t know if they’re still out there.’ He was more alert, now, and peering through the windscreen.
‘Who is out where? We need to get out.’ Maybe she had seen too many films, but Lydia had the distinct impression that they needed to vacate the crashed vehicle before it turned into a fiery ball of death.
‘Whoever just shot me,’ Fleet said, and then he passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lydia had never felt a fear like it. She could hear voices, car doors slamming, and feel the rush of air as someone pulled open the passenger side door, but she was focused on Fleet. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, and his eyes fluttered like he was going to pass out. She put her hands on his face. ‘Fleet, stay awake.’
He didn’t comply. The moment he passed out, his hand fell away from his shoulder and blood gushed out, soaking his shirt and jacket in seconds. Lydia pressed her own hand to it to staunch the flow, but blood was leaking between her fingers. She needed a pad of material. Clean material. And she needed to lie Fleet back so that she could tilt up his chin if he needed resuscitation. She could climb on top of him, maybe hit the recline lever to get the seat back, but what if he had other injuries and she made them worse?
It felt like hours, trying to make simple decisions. Which should she prioritise? Should she go around to the other side of the car and try to drag him out? There could be a shooter waiting for her to do exactly that, waiting for the opportunity to finish the job. And always there, threatening to overwhelm her, was the fear. Don’t let him die. Don’t let him die. Don’t let him die.
A flash of fluorescent yellow through the driver side window and another blast of air, as the door opened. Lydia felt a rush of relief. The professionals had arrived.
* * *
Lydia didn’t want to leave Fleet’s side, but she was persuaded into the adjoining bay in A&E while the trauma surgeon assessed Fleet’s shoulder wound. The nurse who accomplished this feat was even shorter than Lydia but she had the kind of authority Lydia could only dream of and she was powerless to resist. ‘I need to check you over, hen, and the faster you let me do my job, the sooner you can see your pal.’
Lydia knew when she was beaten and allowed the Scottish powerhouse in navy scrubs to run down a checklist of questions while she palpated Lydia’s abdomen, took her blood pressure, shone a light into her eyes and asked her to look left and right. The last bit was the worst and Lydia bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself squeaking with the sudden sharp pains.
The nurse nodded and made a mark on the chart. ‘Soft tissue damage in the neck and shoulder, very common in a car accident, I’m afraid.’
‘We didn’t hit anything,’ Lydia said.
‘It’s the sudden stop. You’ll be needing to take it easy for a few days.’
A police officer popped her head around the curtain. ‘Sorry. I can come back.’
‘I’m done here,’ the nurse said. To Lydia she added: ‘No alcohol tonight, Ibuprofen for the pain, ice the area if you get any swelling, and come straight back in if you experience any nausea or dizziness.’
Lydia sat up and swung her legs off the examination table.
‘I need to ask you some questions,’ the officer said. ‘If you’re up to it.’
‘Fire away,’ Lydia said and then winced. Poor choice of words. Part of her brain, the tiniest portion which wasn’t fully taken up with fear for Fleet, had been running over the incident. She hadn’t seen a shooter and, while she was far from an expert, she thought it must have come from somewhere high up.
‘This is a firearm incident and is being taken extremely seriously. The Emergency Response Team are conducting a thorough search of the area and I must insist that you do not leave this part of the building without speaking to either myself or another officer.’
‘Have you found anything?’
‘We are in the very early stages of our investigation, but I want to assure you that your safety is a priority. We believe an individual fired on your car from an upper floor or roof of a building nearby. Can you think of any reason why your vehicle would have been a target?’
Lydia widened her eyes slightly. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
* * *
Fleet was propped up on white pillows, face turned away from the door. His arm was strapped across his chest and covered in bandages. Lydia could see an intravenous line into the back of his hand but nothing else, which she took as a good sign.
He turned his head as she approached.
‘Hey you,’ Lydia said.
‘No grapes?’
Lydia was too tense to attempt a smile. ‘What have they said? Shouldn’t you be lying down?’
‘I’m just waiting for this to be taken out,’ he indicated the IV. ‘And the discharge paperwork. Can you take me home?’
‘Of course,’ Lydia said and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘It seems a bit quick.’
‘It was barely a graze. Nothing important got damaged.’
‘How is the pain?’
He gave her a loopy smile. ‘Great right now. But I’m not gonna lie, it’s going to suck when the opiates wear off.’ He was slurring very slightly and Lydia wondered what they had given him. ‘I’m warning you now, I’m going to be pathetic.’
That did make Lydia smile. ‘You saved my life. You get to be as feeble as you like.’
Fleet gazed at her fondly. ‘I love you.’
At that moment a man with a clipboard appeared, he nodded at Lydia and then told Fleet that he would have to wait for the final sign off, but that he could take his IV out if Fleet wanted.
‘I do want,’ Fleet said, nodding with the exaggerated care of the slightly high. ‘Thank you.’
Lydia took the opportunity to head outside. The police were still very much in evidence, so she changed plan and went to the vending machine in the corridor instead. It was quiet, and once an elderly man being pushed in a wheelchair by an orderly had disappeared around the corner, Lydia used a burner phone to call the number she had for Mr Smith. A woman answered with ‘Elias Electrics, how can I help you?’ Bloody secret service. ‘I need to see Mr Smith urgently. This is Lydia Crow.’
‘There is nobody here with that name,’ the woman said.
‘Just pass on the message,’ Lydia said and finished the call. Then she went back inside to collect Fleet.
* * *
Lydia’s car had been taken by the police so she called a taxi to get her and Fleet back to The Fork. ‘My flat is nicer,’ Fleet said, and Lydia was relieved. He must be feeling more like himself if he was complaining about her domestic standards.
‘Feel free to go home,’ Lydia said. ‘But if you want the Lydia Crow nursing experience, you’re going to have to deal with my unwashed bedding.’
Fleet raised an eyebrow. ‘Nursing, eh? Sounds good.’
‘Don’t get excited,’ Lydia said, paying the driver.
* * *
She had just settled Fleet into her bed when her burner phone rang. She closed the bedroom door and moved into the living room to answer it. ‘You want a meeting?’ Mr Smith asked.
‘I want you to come to The Fork and explain yourself,’ Lydia said. ‘Someone just tried to kill me.’
‘I don’t think that’s such a-’
‘Fleet was shot,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not leaving him alone.’
A short silence. ‘Ten minutes.’
* * *
Good as his word, Mr Smith texted the burner phone nine minutes later to say he was outside the cafe. Lydia asked Jason to keep an eye on Fleet, who had already dozed off.
‘They wouldn’t have let him out if he wasn’t okay,’ Jason said. ‘But of course I’ll watch him.’
The sky had darkened in the short time they had been back and the streetlights were illuminated, casting an orange glow on the wet pavement. Mr Smith was standing outside his Mercedes, hands folded. ‘I understand DCI Fleet wasn’t seriously injured.’
Lydia ignored that. ‘What do you know? Is this about Alejand
ro and Operation Bergamot? Why am I being targeted?’
‘The first part of the operation failed, but the back-up portion yielded promising results. Alejandro offered information on a bill that was coming to Parliament before it was made public. He also offered his vote and a seat on the lucrative advisory position that would open up as a result of that bill being passed. It was intended to gather evidence of corruption by a particular individual and to discover the identity of that individual’s managing associate or associates.’
‘You can speak in English, you know,’ Lydia said, irritated out of silence. ‘You got him to dangle something juicy in front of his shady contact and stuck him with a wire.’
Mr Smith inclined his head. ‘Quite so.’
Lydia waited for him to elaborate. She didn’t want to have to prompt him, but Mr Smith had been being an enigmatic dick for far longer than Lydia. She was never going to win the conversational battle. ‘Just tell me,’ she said, pushing a little bit of Crow behind her words, just for fun.
Mr Smith’s nostrils flared, like he could smell something bad. ‘There’s no need for that. I’m here to help. Mr Silver’s contact was a conduit to a person who conducts business through many aliases and runs their funds through shell corporations.’
‘Including our old pals, JRB?’
Mr Smith nodded. ‘We didn’t get anything useful recorded and Mr Silver made it clear that he would not be testifying in open court. He did discover some details about the contract which had been taken out on Ms Gormley, details we were able to cross-reference to be fairly certain that the job was carried out by the person at the centre of Operation Bergamot.’
‘The person? I thought this was about political corruption or terrorism or arms dealing.’
‘It’s about all of those things, but there is an individual who has been making trouble internationally. Hence the multi-organisation operation and Interpol. I was brought in as an expert on the Families,’ he inclined his head slightly, ‘but that was only after Alejandro was linked.’
The Copper Heart Page 18
