The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  Lydia sucked in another breath. Every part of her body wanted to be asleep but she forced herself to breathe, to stay with the conversation. Another moment and she would go to bed. Or just pass out on the floor. That sounded nice.

  Jason had been talking rapidly, expending nervous energy and Lydia understood the need. After he wound down, he took a step closer and asked: ‘Did you really just give them your coin?’

  Lydia straightened up. If Jason hadn’t been a ghost she would have said he looked pale. Since he was, it felt like a redundant observation. He looked more dead than usual, though.

  ‘No,’ she produced her coin, after a moment of effort. Her finger tips burned as she held it, as if her coin was angry. ‘I tricked them.’

  Jason looked gratifyingly impressed and Lydia quickly pocketed the coin again. She sagged against her desk, exhaustion sweeping through her body.

  ‘So, that was the Pearls.’ Jason was trying for jokey, but his feet were still hovering an inch above the floor. ‘Not sure I’m a fan.’

  ‘I don’t suppose we’re on their Christmas list, either.’

  ‘They all looked about a hundred and fifty years old. It was creepy.’

  ‘That’s how I spotted Lucy.’

  Jason frowned. ‘Lucy Bunyan was there?’

  ‘You didn’t see her? At the back? She was behind the king’s ridiculous chair.’

  ‘You’re refusing to say ‘throne’ aren’t you?’

  ‘Damn straight,’ Lydia forced a smile. ‘Didn’t you hear me call it in? That’s why I was waiting for the police.’

  Jason shook his head. ‘Everything is dark after we got upstairs. We were running. I mean, you were running. And there was this noise like the earth was breaking apart and I just, sort of, blacked out.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘I’m a wuss.’

  Lydia checked her phone. Fleet would call as soon as it was safe.

  ‘So, the police arrived?’ Jason was speaking hesitantly. ‘They’re going in, now, and they will rescue Lucy?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’ Lydia wished she had been able to grab Lucy herself, like an action hero from a film. If she was a big dude with a gun, she could have thrown Lucy Bunyan over one shoulder and muscled her way out. Of course, there had been the Pearl magic which would have rooted her in place, stopped her gun hand from moving, and then she and Jason would be deader than dead.

  ‘What do we do?’ Jason blinked at her, his feet still hovering above the floor and his edges shimmering in distress.

  Lydia swallowed. ‘We wait and we hope.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  If Lydia had been smart she would have gone back to the Pearls and given them fair warning that Fleet and an armed response unit were going to burst through their front door and rescue Lucy Bunyan. She could have given them the chance to release Lucy, to maybe amend her memories and have her turn up somewhere neutral. In return for this favour, the king might have agreed an alliance between the Crows and the Pearls. It would have been, how would Charlie put it, ‘a real world’ solution. And one which would have elevated the Crows’ power and position, secured their future.

  Lydia wasn’t clever. At least, not in the way Charlie wanted. She wasn’t going to risk harm to Lucy Bunyan in order to curry favour with the Pearls. Not when a kidnapping charge was up for grabs. What if the king decided to dispose of the evidence by spiriting Lucy away or putting her six feet under? Charlie might believe that collateral damage was an acceptable cost of business, but Lydia did not.

  Lydia paced the floor, gripping her phone in one hand and her coin the other. Like it was a charm that could ensure Lucy’s safe return. What if the king had heard Lydia’s threat and decided to do something violent, just to spite Lydia? To teach her a lesson. Lydia had fully convinced herself that she had signed the girl’s death warrant when Fleet rang.

  ‘We’ve got her,’ he said. ‘She’s fine. Unharmed, thank God.’

  Lydia crumpled to the floor, overwhelmed with relief.

  ‘Nobody hurt our end, either.’ Fleet sounded elated and Lydia knew that this moment was the culmination of many long days and sleepless nights for him. She knew how relieved he would be that Lucy was alive, because he was a good person, but also because the pressure from his boss would have been pushing down with unbearable weight. This was a result.

  ‘Her dad’s on his way to the hospital. She’s being checked out, just a precaution. But she really does seem healthy. Bit confused, but physically well.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Lydia said. She straightened up from her crouching position. ‘Happy ending.’

  ‘Thanks to you,’ Fleet said.

  There was a pause, and Lydia heard the background sounds quieten. He had moved away from whoever he was standing near. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. ‘You want me to keep your name out of this?’

  ‘That would be best.’ Lydia’s mind was whirling, now. Had the Pearl King released Lucy Bunyan because of Lydia’s visit? Had they been that impressed by Lydia’s show of power?

  ‘You won’t want to give a statement.’

  It wasn’t a question and Lydia didn’t answer.

  ‘Will do,’ Fleet said, raising his voice, his tone turning clipped and professional.

  Lydia was about to end the call, but Fleet continued, his voice quiet. ‘Bit odd, though. The place was just like you described, except there was nobody there. We bust through the door and searched the whole place. Found Lucy in an upstairs bedroom fast asleep and not another soul in the building.’

  ‘Did you see the tree? In the hallway?’

  ‘I saw a lot of rubble. Nice place, but looks like it’s in the middle of a major refurb.’

  Lydia swallowed. ‘You went down to the basement?’

  ‘I saw the swimming pool and the gym. And a bloody great hole in the wall. They must be planning an extension down there.’

  ‘What about the party room? The private nightclub place?’

  ‘Funny thing about that, Lyds,’ Fleet said. ‘There wasn’t one.’

  The next day, Lydia went downstairs to find some free breakfast. Angel came out from behind the counter, looking unusually anxious. ‘Have you seen Charlie?’

  ‘Not today,’ Lydia replied. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s not answering his phone,’ Angel said. She pulled her dreads back into a ponytail as she spoke, wrapping an elastic tie to secure it.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Angel’s eyes slid left. ‘Just wanted to ask him about opening hours.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I thought he left operating matters to you.’

  ‘He does, I just…’

  ‘Angel,’ Lydia said, tiredness eroding her patience. Her eyes ached. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘I’m supposed to check in with him every day and he always answers.’

  ‘You deliver him a report on me every day,’ Lydia said, just for the sake of clarity and, if she was honest, to let Angel know that she was done pretending that everything was fine.

  Angel’s face went blank and Lydia produced her coin. ‘It’s unusual for him not to answer then?’

  Angel nodded.

  ‘But there’s more to it. You’re worried about Charlie because you’ve noticed he’s become a bit erratic.’ That was an understatement.

  Angel looked like she didn’t want to answer but she glanced at the coin held up between Lydia’s thumb and forefinger and nodded again.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Aiden was here,’ Angel said, sounding aggrieved rather than worried. ‘Said he had to pick something up for Charlie and then he took some of my good knives.’

  Lydia’s scalp tingled. ‘What else?’

  Angel really did not want to answer. Lydia felt her resistance and pushed it away like it weighted nothing at all. In a previous life, this would have pleased Lydia. It was evidence that she was stronger, her Crow abilities becoming more finely honed, but in this life it made her feel grubby.

  ‘I heard him on the phone,’ An
gel said. ‘As he was leaving. I think he was talking to Charlie and it didn’t sound good.’

  ‘Charlie’s in trouble?’

  Angel shook her head. ‘Someone else is.’

  ‘Connected with the Crow murders in Wandsworth?’

  Angel winced. ‘I reckon.’

  ‘Hell Hawk,’ Lydia swore under her breath. She still felt exhausted from her encounter with the Pearl King, but Charlie’s behaviour was spiralling with no concern for her need for rest and recuperation.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Angel said, her eyes sliding left.

  ‘I won’t ask again,’ Lydia said, spinning her coin in the air and watching Angel’s eyes widen in fear.

  ‘He mentioned the arches.’ Angel looked like she was trying not to cry and Lydia felt like hell.

  ‘Close the cafe and go home,’ Lydia said. ‘Better yet, take a holiday out of London.’

  ‘I can’t-’

  Lydia cut across her. ‘Charlie is off the rails. We both know it. If you wait to see just how far off, it might be too late. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.’

  Lydia left Angel blinking and a little dazed and headed to the railway arches on Camberwell Station Road. By some miracle, she squeezed the Audi into a space right outside the row of shuttered arches underneath the railway line. There was a lot of graffiti, mostly gang tags, and a few arches had brown metal shutters and rusted padlocks that looked as if they hadn’t been touched in a decade or two. There was a place with fresh blue metal shutters and a poorly-painted sign advertising auto repairs and another one, further down the row, with a corrugated red garage door and no sign. Lydia walked back up the street, reaching out for ‘Crow’ with her senses. Every impression – the pavement under her feet, the pinkish sky as the sun set above the railway, the smell of cooking oil and diesel – were sharp and distinct. There it was. As she neared the blue auto shop again, the taste of feathers in the back of her throat. Crows.

  The door had a brand new, high-end padlock, the kind that was a bastard to pick and not easy to saw through. It wasn’t securing the door at the moment, though, which added to Lydia’s assumption that whoever owned the unit was already inside. Lydia banged on the door with the side of her fist. It made a hollow booming sound. Nobody came to the door and she pressed her ear up against it, trying to listen. Nothing. She thumped again.

  Lydia was just debating whether to try the handle, weighing up the advisability of surprising Charlie and whoever else was inside, against the possibility that she would be left standing on the frozen pavement indefinitely, when the door swung inward. Lydia had been expecting Charlie and it took her a moment to react properly to the sight of Aiden. He looked younger than when she had last seen him, and his skin was pale, his eyes wide and anxious.

  ‘All right, Aiden?’ Lydia said, keeping her voice light and friendly. The kid looked unwell, like he was going to throw up at any moment.

  ‘You’re not invited,’ Aiden said. Then he looked over his shoulder.

  Lydia took the opportunity to push past him. Immediately her nostrils were assaulted by the smell. Someone had recently voided their bowels. If Lydia had to bet, it was probably the man who was tied to a chair in the middle of the lock-up.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Lydia spoke to the man in charge, her dear old Uncle Charlie who was crossing the cement floor to meet her. His bulk obliterated her view of the man in the chair and all she could see were his flat eyes.

  ‘Head on home, Lyds,’ Charlie said. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘I think it does,’ Lydia said, squeezing her coin tightly in one hand, drawing strength and focus. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Let’s go outside a minute, yeah?’

  Charlie hustled Lydia out of the room, half-closing the metal door behind him. ‘It’s necessary, Lyds. You know we’re under attack.’

  Lydia took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to order her thoughts. She kept flashing on the image of the man in the chair. His face was bruised and bloody, his nose clearly broken. More than the injuries, though, it was the expression in his eyes which stayed with Lydia. The naked fear. ‘Who is that?’ Lydia indicated the lock-up.

  ‘Big Neil,’ Charlie said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘He’s part of a crew I’ve had my eye on for a while and he just went to the top of my list.’

  ‘He’s Camberwell?’

  ‘Peckham,’ Charlie said.

  ‘But the burner used to contact Malc was bought in Camden.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Originally, yeah, but it could have been sold on. How many phones were bought at the same time?’

  ‘Ten,’ Lydia said, conceding the point. ‘And whoever bought it could have deliberately gone to a different area to do so.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Charlie formed a finger gun and pointed it at Lydia. ‘Whereas my boy in there,’ he jerked his head at the closed door. ‘Is a little shit. Been mouthing off against us for months.’

  ‘People talk,’ Lydia said. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean nothing, either,’ Charlie shot back. ‘Everyone knows he’s friendly with the Fox Family, too. Doesn’t stack up well.’

  Lydia felt a shiver of dread and the hairs on the back of her neck raised. ‘What do you mean? Being friendly with the wrong person is a crime now?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Dangerous times. If you’re friends with an enemy of the Crows, then you’re an enemy of the Crows. You should think on that, Lyds, get your head straight.’

  Lydia forced herself not to look away. It was an overt threat and she wasn’t going to bother trying to argue that Paul Fox wasn’t an enemy of the Crow Family. That he had banished Tristan, his own father, for moving against them. Instead she asked: ‘What are you doing to do?’

  ‘Find out what he knows.’

  Lydia glanced at the closed door, ice in her stomach. ‘This isn’t right. I will find out who ordered the killings, you don’t need to do this.’

  Charlie turned flat, dead eyes onto her. ‘Don’t tell me my business, Lyds.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Lydia said. ‘I just want a bit of time. I can sort this. No blood spilled. If we retaliate like this,’ she indicated the door. ‘It will escalate. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  Charlie’s shoulders lifted very slightly. ‘Ever since you strolled back into Camberwell you’ve been telling me you don’t want to be a part of Family business. Well, congratulations, you’re out. Now off you fuck.’

  Back in her car, Lydia did the only thing she could think of and called Fleet. There was being a lone wolf and an independent woman and then there was good sense.

  ‘I’m a bit tied up at the moment,’ Fleet said. Lydia could hear voices in the background.

  ‘The Bunyan case? How is Lucy doing?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Fleet’s voice dipped and she heard a door close. When he spoke next, his voice was echoey like he had stepped into a stairwell. ‘She’s okay. Her dad has been praising us to the higher ups, so that’s nice. They’ll forget it by the next budget meeting, but still.’

  ‘Things are a bit sticky here. I really need to find the person who sent the text into Wandsworth. I know it’s not high up the list for the CPS and the case will probably get dropped, but I need-’

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ Fleet said. ‘I get it.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do?’ Lydia was grateful that Fleet didn’t ask her for details. She couldn’t tell him that Charlie had a man tied to a chair in a lock-up. He was on her side, but he was still a copper.

  ‘We didn’t get anything else off the burner from Malc’s cell. We’ve applied to get the records for the phone number which sent the text from the mobile provider, but it’ll take a day or two.’

  Lydia swore. Big Neil didn’t have a day or two.

  Lydia pulled on her jacket and wrapped a thick scarf around her neck. She was in the unusual position of actively wanting to speak to Mr Smith. She wished it was Thursday or that he
had given her a burner, that would make things a little easier. Instead, she walked to Kennington Road. As always, she walked a slightly different route, doubling back on one of the side streets, and kept a sharp lookout for a tail, stopping once to window shop and once to pretend to tie her shoelace. Over the last few weeks she hadn’t seen a single repeated figure, nothing to suggest surveillance was following her to her meetings with Mr Smith, but she wasn’t about to get sloppy.

  At the anonymous beige reception area, Lydia looked above the doors, in the corners of the room and the stairwell until she found the camera. It was small and higher-spec than you would expect in a council office building, but not hidden. Lydia stood in the middle of the reception area and waved. Then she pulled the piece of paper she had prepared before leaving the flat and held it up so that the words faced the camera and then sat on the bottom step to wait. She wondered whether there was another meeting going on in the flat upstairs with another source being hounded for information. More likely they used different flats for different operations. She wondered what was on her file and whether Mr Smith referred to her with a case code name, like the Met did for complicated operations.

  Ten minutes later a telephone began ringing. Putting her ear to the door marked ‘Kennington Council, Appointments Only’ made the ringing louder. Lydia expected the door to be locked so was surprised when it opened easily. It was an office complete with box files, filing cabinets, standard furniture and a thirsty-looking spider plant. Lydia picked up the phone receiver. ‘Hello?’

  A woman’s voice delivered four words and then there was a click.

  ‘Vauxhall Bridge. Five minutes.’

  Lydia was about halfway to the river, heading down Kennington Lane when a Mercedes saloon with tinted rear windows pulled up alongside. A large man in a suit was out of the car and taking Lydia by the elbow before she had time to react. ‘This way, please, Ms Crow.’ It wasn’t a request.

  Within seconds, Lydia was in the quiet, leather interior, the heavy thump of the door cutting off the sounds of the traffic. If Lydia had ever wondered what money could buy when it came to automobiles, now she had her answer.