The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  ‘I have accompanied my uncle on visits to local businesses, he likes to keep an eye on people in the community and helps them out when there is trouble.’

  ‘How did it make you feel?’

  ‘What relevance does that have?’

  ‘Indulge me.’

  Lydia disliked talking about her feelings almost as much as she hated talking about her Family, but at least it wasn’t expressly forbidden. ‘I felt proud.’ Lydia had selected one of the feelings from the complicated mass. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole story. Seeing Charlie’s reception first-hand had been impressive and unsettling. People were clearly grateful to him, but frightened, too.

  Mr Smith smiled, as if guessing the words she was leaving out. He held his hand out to shake. ‘Thank you, Lydia. Until next time.’

  She clasped his hand and shook it briefly. She was braced for the power surge, but it still made her stumble. Material whipping in the wind, salt on her lips, and the creaking of wood. Gold flashing in the sun, blinding her. Lydia closed her eyes and breathed through her nose until the smell of the sea retreated and she no longer felt as if she was rocking.

  ‘We’re going to have so much fun.’ Mr Smith looked positively gleeful and Lydia turned away, using all of her energy not to stagger as she made it to the door.

  Hell Hawk.

  Later that day, Lydia was watching the husband of a client. It was her only remaining open case, aside from the background checks, not that she would admit as much to Charlie. She was grateful for the well-placed cafe and its generous window, but her backside was numb from the high stool she had been perched upon for longer than it was designed for. She understood the market and didn’t begrudge the cafe their choice of uncomfortable seats which didn’t encourage the punter to linger past their welcome, but it was hard on an honest P.I. going about her business.

  Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Lydia had drained her coffee long ago and was just wondering whether to add a sandwich to her next refill, when she caught a familiar gleam. She gripped the table edge and watched Fleet’s reflection in the window as he slipped onto the stool next to hers.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘I’m working,’ Lydia kept her gaze on the shop opposite. It was just for show, though. Purple elephants could have come tap-dancing out of the front door and she wouldn’t have seen them. ‘Speaking of, how did I not see you coming?’

  ‘There’s an entrance at the back.’

  ‘Thought I would do a runner?’

  ‘Something like that, maybe.’

  She caught the flash of his smile in the glass and it was too much. The pain was circling above and she knew it would land at any moment. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘You told me about this place,’ Fleet jerked his chin across the road. ‘Ongoing job, right?’

  Well that was another reason not to be in a relationship. All that caring and sharing was unbecoming to a P.I. ‘I’m not ready for this.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Friendly chit chat. It’s too soon.’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ Fleet said. ‘I’m not either. I don’t want to be your friend.’

  Lydia pushed her cup away and pulled her jacket from where it was bundled up by the window. She wanted to say ‘well, that’s all that’s on offer’ but, suddenly, couldn’t trust herself to speak. She slipped from the stool, turning away.

  ‘Lyds,’ Fleet’s hand was on her arm and the heat of it was startling. There was the sound of rushing water in her ears.

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. Her feet were stuck, her entire body frozen in place. She had to leave, but she couldn’t move.

  ‘Look at me,’ Fleet said. ‘I messed up. I know that. I should have handled things differently. I don’t know how… I don’t know what, but I know I should have done something. But I’m on your side. I’m always on your side.’

  ‘I can’t do this,’ Lydia managed. Fleet was on his feet, now, he was pulling her arm, pulling her towards him. For a moment she let herself go, let his arms go around her and her body rest against his. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward. It was sheer muscle memory, blind habit, but part of her wanted to do it anyway. It would be so easy to kiss him and for all the thinking to stop.

  ‘What can I do to make it up to you?’ His breath was on her face.

  She opened her eyes and looked into his, so close and so beautiful. The thinking was loud and insistent. Lydia knew she couldn’t trust herself for a moment longer. She moved back a step and his hands released her instantly. He would never try to restrain her against her will. Not unless it was part of his job.

  With that thought, the bitterness was back, acrid in her mouth and mind. ‘You can’t,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I can leave my job.’

  The words hung in the air between them. Lydia could see that he was serious and that shocked her into silence for a long moment. ‘I’m not asking you to do that.’

  ‘I know. But you feel like I chose my job, my position, over you.’

  ‘Because you did.’

  ‘It’s not that clear cut and you know it.’ Fleet reached for her hand, pulling her back to him. ‘I will do it, though. I choose you.’

  Lydia was shaking her head before she realised she was saying ‘no’. ‘You love your work. You can’t give up your career for me. It’s too much pressure, it would break us.’

  ‘But you’re saying we’re broken, anyway, so-’

  ‘So it’s impossible. Some things can’t be fixed. That’s just how it is.’ Lydia pulled her hand back and turned to leave. Her eyes were prickling with tears and she needed to get away. Blinking, she wrenched the front door open, but Fleet was behind her. ‘You’re working,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave.’

  She didn’t trust herself to say anything else, so just nodded and returned to her position by the window. Which gave her the perfect view of DCI Fleet walking away.

  Chapter Seven

  Another day, another cafe. On the Saturday, Lydia found herself sitting in the window of a Costa, waiting for Jayne Davies to leave her position behind the counter at ‘Jayne’s Floral Delights’, the florist opposite. She was discovering that surveillance on behalf of somebody else was nowhere near as satisfying as when she was carrying out work for her own business. The past hour had dragged by, not helped by the fact that she kept half-expecting, half-hoping, Fleet to walk in and try to talk to her, again. She both yearned for it and dreaded it.

  She dragged her attention back to the view of the street, people streaming past, intent on their phones. Charlie had indicated that Jayne’s contribution to the local welfare fund was way down and he wanted to confirm her story about falling profits. All she needed was a moment alone with Dylan, Jayne Davies’ step-son and Saturday helper. Although she hadn’t seen anybody walk into the florist in the time she had been watching, which suggested they were telling the truth about hard times in the flower-selling business.

  Lydia didn’t feel good about doing this job, but she had to show willing in some capacity. This was the tip of the iceberg when it came to the Family business, she knew, and it seemed like a small ask. Besides, it was this or letting him know more about her Crow powers and that was a can of worms she would like to leave closed tight for as long as humanly possible. Plus, the welfare fund was a genuinely good thing for the people of Camberwell, and Lydia was probably a more welcome visitor than Uncle Charlie. She took a hit from her Americano and pushed down the bad feelings. Her situation contained more rocks and hard places than ever before and working out a path between them was giving her a permanent tension headache. She took a flask from the inside pocket of her jacket and added a generous glug to the coffee. That was better.

  Finally, Jayne Davies appeared out the front of the shop. She walked down the road at a purposeful pace and Lydia assumed she was going for her usual lunchtime routine - a browse in the Italian deli followed by a filled ciabatta at one of their tiny tables in the back. She watched as Jayne walked p
ast the greengrocers with its inviting displays outside on the pavement. Lydia had gone into the place once, drawn in almost against her will by the Pearl mojo inside. She had avoided that stretch of pavement ever since and she wondered, now, whether Charlie had included the Pearls in his community programme.

  Lydia stepped into the florist, past a huge display of funereal wreaths and up to the counter where a bored-looking boy-man was slouching over his phone. ‘Dylan?’ Lydia said, making it a question, even though she knew the answer.

  ‘Yeah?’ He dragged his eyes from his phone briefly, clocked that Lydia wasn’t anybody he knew, and returned his gaze to the screen.

  ‘How’s business?’ The place was empty on a Saturday lunchtime, so bets were on that it wasn’t good, and that Jayne hadn’t been lying, but still. Good to be thorough. A good result here might get Charlie off her back for a few days. Maybe.

  Dylan took his own sweet time before dragging his attention back to her. Lydia’s fingers itched to produce her coin. She would enjoy seeing Dylan’s eyes widen in fear as he realised who he was casually ignoring, but she also knew the punishment was too great for the crime. With great power comes great responsibility as Sun Tzu said. Or was it Spiderman?

  ‘What?’ He said eventually, a small frown creasing his dozy features. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No,’ Lydia said, forcing a pretend smile. ‘Just making conversation. I’m in the market for a wreath. Or a bunch of flowers. I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Example wreaths are over there,’ Dylan indicated the display, ‘or we can create a seasonal spray. What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Retirement,’ Lydia said. ‘And it’s a rush job, I need it for Monday morning.’

  Dylan shook his head. ‘Not likely. We’re slammed.’

  Lydia looked around at the empty shop. ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dylan turned his phone toward Lydia and she saw that he hadn’t been chatting with friends or browsing Insta, as she had assumed, but he was looking at a customer management database. He only flashed the screen in her direction so Lydia didn’t have time to take in any details. ‘Online orders, innit?’

  ‘Right,’ Lydia said.

  ‘We could get something for later in the week. Maybe Wednesday?’

  ‘What?’ Lydia had momentarily forgotten that she was meant to be in the market for flowers. ‘No, that’s okay. That’ll be too late. I’ll pick some up in the supermarket.’

  Dylan was already engrossed in his phone again.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  Dylan looked up, eyes still blank. If his was the face of a criminal mastermind Lydia would be extremely surprised.

  ‘Can you recommend a good accountant? I run my own business and mine is crap.’

  ‘We use Weston’s. They’re okay, I think.’

  Lydia knew the firm, they were on Camberwell Grove. She had run surveillance on one of their staff for a separate case a while back. A personal matter, though, nothing to do with the professionalism of the accountancy practice. She thanked Dylan, who had already dropped his chin, his face bathed in the blue light from his phone.

  Back at her flat, Lydia was feeling optimistic. She could do this. She could learn small parts of the Family Business, nothing too serious or very illegal. She could make nice with her Uncle Charlie. She could cope with him ordering her food and she could smile and look attentive. Maybe not all the time and she would have to drink plenty of whisky, but she would manage.

  Sitting at her desk, Lydia unscrewed the brand-new bottle of whisky and poured until her Sherlock Holmes mug was more than half full. Then she tipped the bottle again until it was up to the rim. It was medicinal, she told herself. It was cold in the room, the high ceilings working against the single radiator which was clanking and hissing underneath the window. It had been cold in her bed, too. She missed Fleet and she hated that she missed him. She drank from her mug, letting the alcohol warm where her thoughts could not. She would survive this, she knew. She just had to keep her business going, focus on work, keep Mr Smith happy without letting anything important slip, and keep Charlie happy without losing her soul. Simple.

  She looked up Jayne’s Floral Delights and browsed the website for a few minutes. It certainly offered online ordering and seemed slick enough to be successful. The photographs of the bouquets were modern and arty and looked entirely different to the style of floristry she had seen in the shop. It was no guarantee they were selling, of course, but it might mean Charlie would want further investigation. She made some notes for Charlie, trying not to think about the implications. What if she did confirm that they were doing good business? Would that mean that Jayne was lying to Charlie about her profits? And if so, what would the repercussions be? It couldn’t be really bad, surely. This wasn’t the Bad Old Days. The Crows were legit, now.

  When she had been training in Aberdeen, her mentor had told her that she couldn’t think too much about the knock-on effects of her investigations. ‘We’re paid to do a job and as long as we do it well, we get to sleep at night.’ Lydia had never found it that simple, though. She was meddling in lives, she knew, unpicking knots that sometimes would be better left tangled.

  Next, she tapped a message to her best friend, Emma, apologising for not being around. She cited work and said she hoped Emma was well. Part of Lydia longed to pitch up at her friend’s house, to sit on her comfy sofa and unburden herself. But old habits die hard. Lydia was not the touchy-feely sharing type and never had been. She preferred distraction and pushing those squashy icky emotions down deep inside until they couldn’t make her feel anything.

  Lydia clicked around in her files, willing herself to get dragged into busy-ness. Anything to stop thoughts of Fleet and everything she had lost. She ought to take on some new clients, phone back some of the possibilities which had come in via email or had left telephone messages, but her mind kept jumping around the Families and the events of the last few months. After a few more minutes, she pushed her chair back from the desk and tilted her head back, shutting her eyes and looking inward. There was a tightness in her chest and she wanted, more than anything in this particular moment, to drain the whisky bottle and crawl back to bed. Instead, she made herself take several counted breaths and then turned her mind to the facts. Tristan Fox had seen an opportunity to set her up and had jumped at it. Was that just his dislike of her being friendly with Paul? An old-world concern about mixing their Family blood? Basic prejudice? Or had he been encouraged by somebody else? The old alliance between Crows and Silvers was on shaky ground, Maria Silver’s actions had seen to that, and maybe somebody saw that as an opportunity. Break up alliances one by one, isolate each Family… But why? To weaken them? To break the truce? Lydia shivered at the thought.

  Despite herself she felt a surge of gratitude toward Paul Fox. She might not be able to trust him, again, but he appeared to be trying to mend their shaky alliance and that had to count for something. She still couldn’t quite believe he had sent Tristan to another continent, though. She allowed herself to imagine it was true, just for a moment, and the surge of relief was overwhelming. She hadn’t realised how frightened she still was of Tristan and, by extension, Paul’s brothers. She ought to include Paul in that group, but the part of her who had fallen for him all those years ago persisted and he was separate in her heart and mind. Which was a different kind of terror.

  There was something else on her mind, something which had occurred to her while she had waited for Mr Smith. She went to see her flatmate to discuss the matter.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Lydia leaned on the door frame, watching Jason’s hands fly over the laptop keyboard. He was completely absorbed and took a moment before he looked at her.

  ‘I’m learning about encryption and rootkits.’

  ‘You look happier,’ Lydia said, choosing not to engage with the tech-speak. The subject she wanted to discuss was a delicate one and she didn’t know how best to raise it. Jason had been so content since she had passed
on her old laptop, it felt cruel to drag things up.

  Jason smiled. ‘I am.’

  She took a breath. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t find out about your last day. And about Amy. I told you I would look into it and I didn’t get very far.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Jason said, his face clouding. ‘I appreciate you trying.’

  ‘Thing is,’ Lydia crossed the carpet and sat on the bed next to Jason. ‘I asked Fleet for help with it before, but I’ve got a new contact, now. One who works higher up in intelligence. He might be able to find something out for us. If you still want to know.’

  Jason’s outline was shimmering, very slightly, and Lydia put a hand on his forearm to still him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m kind of scared. And we’ve found a way to get me out of the flat, now. With you.’

  ‘That’s kind of what I thought,’ Lydia said. ‘But I just wanted to check. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about it.’

  He nodded his thanks. ‘I’ll let you know if I change my mind, but right now it’s nice to live in the moment. I can feel a future for the first time since I died.’ He laughed. ‘That’s a weird sentence.’

  ‘It’s a wonderful sentence,’ Lydia said, meaning every word. ‘I’m so happy you are happy.’

  And it didn’t hurt that he was doing all of her corporate background checks. Money was rolling into the business bank account like never before as she had always limited the number of cases she took like that as they made her want to cry with boredom. ‘And I’m so glad we are working together,’ she added. ‘You are a brilliant partner.’

  Jason’s smile got even wider and she patted his arm before leaving him to it. Time was money, after all.

  Back in her office, Lydia stood next to the radiator for a moment trying to warm up. She eyed the whisky bottle which was, unaccountably, already half-empty. She hadn’t yet eaten lunch but she didn’t feel remotely buzzed. Her tolerance for alcohol had always been extremely high, but this was ridiculous. Perhaps it was something she should keep an eye on. Immediately, Lydia dismissed the thought. Bigger fish. Besides, if she never got drunk, she couldn’t have a problem. That was the rule, right?