‘I know, Dad,’ Lydia said. ‘I do, though.’
‘Too dangerous,’ he said.
‘Are you staying for dinner?’ Her mum was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking as if she wanted to get up again. She was never one for sitting still.
‘Sure,’ Lydia said. ‘Thanks.’
‘It’s terrible about little Madeleine but you’re not to get involved.’
‘She’s my cousin.’
‘Second cousin. And she’s Family. It’ll be handled. Charlie will sort it.’
‘He’s asked me, though,’ Lydia said. ‘And I’m Family, too.’
Her mum hesitated then she said: ‘I know, dear.’
‘Who is missing?’ Dad had his glasses back on but he must have cleaned them with his fingertips or a less-than-fresh handkerchief as they were smeared.
‘Madeleine. Daisy and John’s little girl.’
Daisy was her dad’s cousin.
‘Who the hell is John?’
Lydia wanted to close her eyes, to block out the sight of her Dad's confused expression.
‘Daisy’s husband,’ her mum was saying. ‘The accountant.’
‘That bloody Pearlie.’
‘Darling,’ her mother shot a warning look. ‘Don’t say that. John is a very nice man and he’s good to Daisy. You like him. He brought you that ale back from Somerset.’
‘When did you last see them?’ Lydia asked.
‘Oh, couple of months. You know what we’re like.’
Her parents loved their family and were loyal, but they kept away as much as possible.
‘It was January I think. There was a pot luck at Charlie’s and we missed the last one, so we thought we’d better...’
‘Was Madeleine there?’
‘Oh, yes. Looking very pretty, too. Not too thin the way some girls get.’
‘And did she seem happy?’
‘I don’t know,’ her mother looked mystified by the question. ‘She was probably bored. You know what those gatherings are like. All the old ones reliving their past glories.’
‘Was she talking to her parents? All seem well there?’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry,’ her mother shook her head. ‘I hardly said two words to the girl.’
* * *
After stuffing herself with her mother’s delicious home-cooking, Lydia said goodbye to her father in the living room. The television was off, but he was staring at it anyway. Perhaps he was looking at his own reflection, or just deep in thought. At the door, Lydia kissed her mother. ‘I'll keep in touch. I promise.’
‘Come for lunch next weekend? If you're not too busy.’ Her mother's ash blonde hair fell into two perfect curtains around her face and she had recently applied her habitual red lipstick. She was as beautiful as ever, but there were new lines on her brow and around her eyes. She looked worried.
‘If I can,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ll text you.’
Her mother made a face. ‘Call me. I want to hear your voice.’
Lydia hugged her again.
‘You know you can stay here,’ her mother said, pulling back to look into Lydia’s eyes. ‘Your dad will cope.’
Lydia swallowed. ‘It’s fine. The Fork is fine. It’s great.’
Her mother's worry lines deepened. ‘What about your job in Scotland? I don’t want you to lose that one.’
‘I won’t,’ Lydia said, suddenly desperate to leave. This was the problem with parents. Their love was a weight. Reassuring and solid and necessary, but a weight nonetheless.
* * *
That evening at The Fork, Lydia was alone in the café. She had raided the kitchen freezer and baked a couple of Angel’s pastries in the industrial-sized oven. If Charlie was going to insist on keeping a chef on the payroll, then Lydia was damned if she was going to buy and cook her own dinner. She had a bottle of beer to go with it and sat in the booth that she had sat in with Charlie earlier. She could still sense the faint residue of Crow from his seat. Either her senses were sharper here in London or it was testament to Charlie’s strength.
A dark shape loomed in front of the plate glass in the café's front door and Lydia felt her heart lurch. For a moment she saw the shape as giant black bird. In that instant she could imagine the sharp curve of a beak, and the bedtime stories of the The Night Raven, mythical scourge of the Crow Family leaped into her mind. The shape moved, knocking loudly on the wooden frame of the door, and the illusion disappeared.
‘Sorry to bother you, I was just passing and I saw the light was on.’
Detective Chief Inspector Fleet was wearing a grey wool three quarter length coat over a dark suit and there were droplets of water on his short black hair.
‘What can I do for you officer?’ Lydia said, annoyed with herself for being so fanciful and jumpy. Visiting her father always brought those old memories back, the stories of Crow magic and vengeful raven-shaped spirits. ‘At this time of night,’ she added.
He smiled as if they were sharing a joke.
‘I wanted to check that you were okay. After yesterday.’
Yesterday. When an armed man had threatened her life. Lydia tried to think of an appropriate response. Something which encompassed everything she had felt, everything she was feeling. The exhilaration of a near-death experience and the intervention of a fully fledged ghost, the terror of the moment, and the strange wild freedom it had left, like unexpected cargo washed up on a beach. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.
Fleet was looking at her steadily. Like he was trying to work something out. Lydia wondered if this was a modern policing technique. Lull your suspect with weird friendliness and after-hours visits then, pow, hit them with an impromptu interrogation. She wasn’t a suspect, though. She was a victim. Surely.
‘I brought you a house-warming,’ he lifted a bottle of red wine from a supermarket carrier bag.
‘I thought you said you were just passing.’
‘Okay,’ Fleet said. ‘I bought the wine to go with my dinner. That’s why it’s so beautifully gift-wrapped.’ He smiled again, his eyes warm and crinkly, and Lydia wondered what it took to make a person that easy in their own skin. ‘Still, it’s on offer…’
Lydia hesitated, weighing up her options and the chances of the detective just buggering off again. Finally, figuring that a police contact was a useful thing to cultivate and that she was curious enough to know what he wanted. She retreated to the cafe counter and began searching for appropriate glasses. There were squat heavy tumblers which were probably used for juice and she wiped them over with a tea towel.
After she unscrewed the bottle and poured, putting one glass in front of the detective, she sat opposite him.
He raised his glass in a brief salute and then drank, looking around the room as if searching for something. ‘This place still looks great,’ he said after a moment. ‘Bit of a clean-up and it would be good as new.’
‘It’s not mine,’ Lydia said, wondering when he would get to the reason for his visit. ‘And I’m not staying long,’ Lydia didn’t know why she mentioned that, it wasn’t as if it was any of his business.
‘Because of the break-in?’
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘Because I don’t want to run a cafe. I’m just staying here for a few weeks, until I sort out something better.’
‘Your uncle still own it? Charles Crow?’
Lydia took a sip of her wine, watching DCI Fleet over the rim of the glass. ‘Just passing, eh? Got something you want to ask me, officer?’
‘Just making conversation,’ he said.
‘You said you grew up around here, used to come in this place with your aunt?’
‘That’s right,’ the warmth was back, he really did have good memories.
‘Well, you know that there’s no such thing as a casual question about Charles Crow, then, don’t you?’
He put down his glass. ‘I apologise.’
Lydia downed the rest of her wine. ‘You’d better go.’
‘It’s my job to ask questions,’ he said,
finishing his drink. ‘And it’s my job to protect people, too.’ He leaned forward suddenly and took Lydia’s hand. ‘Do you need protecting?’
Lydia stared at his enormous hand, completing enveloping her own. It was warm and dry and not at all unpleasant. Lydia forced herself to pull her hand away and he let go instantly.
‘I’m fine, thank you for asking,’ she said.
He stood up, then, and Lydia reminded herself that she was pleased. Instead of heading toward the front door, though, he swivelled and walked to the back of the cafe and behind the counter, pushing through the swing door to the kitchen before Lydia could react. ‘Hey,’ she said, following him. ‘You can’t go back there.’
He was stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking around with the same intensity.
‘You can’t be back here,’ Lydia said. ‘Not without a warrant.’
‘Now you sound like your uncle,’ DCI Fleet said.
‘I don’t know what you’re looking for but I can assure you this place has been deserted for years, there’s nothing exciting here.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The detective gave Lydia a long slow look that made her heart kick up. It wasn’t a professional look, it was a challenge and Lydia squared her shoulders and forced herself to meet his gaze.
‘Is this the new way the crooked cops collect kickbacks around here?’
He looked shocked and then guilty. ‘This is a personal visit, didn’t I make that clear?’ He moved back, hands in the air. ‘I can see I made a mistake, and for that I apologise. I’ll leave you in peace.’
Lydia walked him to the front door, trying to reconcile the swift change from wolf to sheep.
‘Good night, Ms Crow.’
Lydia shut the door and bolted it, certain of one thing: there was no way DCI Fleet had called by to hit on her, and his sudden retreat had nothing to do with her calling out his odd behaviour. He came looking for something and either he decided it wasn’t here or he found it. Lydia looked around at the empty cafe and tried to see what Fleet might have seen. After a few minutes she gave up trying to read the mind of a copper and went to bed. She would find Maddie and then get back to her real life. It didn’t matter what DCI Fleet thought he knew about her.
Chapter Five
Lydia knew that Uncle Charlie had connections to investigators, heavies and probably flexibly-minded officers of the law, too; he didn’t need her services. She also couldn’t believe that Madeleine was really missing, that there wasn’t some other angle that Charlie knew about. It was inconceivable that he would be setting her, known damp squib, in sole charge of the investigation if there was a chance that Maddie was truly in trouble. It was a given that Charlie must have at least one ulterior motive for the charade and Lydia thought it fair to assume it was probably to do with drawing her into the Family business. Henry Crow’s refusal to continue Grandpa Crow’s legacy and to bring up his only child away from Camberwell had not been a universally popular decision.
On the other hand, Lydia was on an unpaid sabbatical that she couldn’t afford and any job which kept her away from Aberdeen, even a bogus one for her terrifying uncle, was better than nothing. Lydia explained all of this while Emma listened, deftly cutting up carrot and cucumber into sticks, slicing cheese and putting out snack-plates for the kids. ‘What happened in Aberdeen?’
Lydia looked meaningfully at the children, their soft-haired heads bent over a bright green lump of plastic with a screen which was emitting random noises and the occasional ‘good job!’ in a perky American voice.
‘Put that down and have some food,’ Emma said. ‘You can finish the puzzle after.’
The device made a thunk sound when they dropped it and scrambled to their seats.
‘It’s complicated,’ Lydia said, wondering how much she could safely say in front of the children.
‘Did you do a mistaking?’ Archie surprised Lydia with his question – she hadn’t thought he was paying attention. He had a dollop of houmous on his chin and three carrot sticks clutched in one hand.
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘But I annoyed somebody.’
‘How?’ Archie said, thoughtfully scooping chin-houmous into his mouth.
‘Um,’ Lydia tried to think of an appropriate version of the story and then gave up, defeated.
‘Did you bonk them on the nose?’ Archie said, not ready to let the subject go.
‘Hang on,’ Lydia said, ‘what’s this?’ She leaned across the kitchen table and plucked a coin from behind Archie’s ear.
His eyes widened as she put the coin into his hand and Maisie squealed loud enough to pierce an eardrum. ‘My have!’
‘Yes,’ Lydia, said. Mock serious. ‘But you must sit very, very still and very, very quietly.’ Maisie instantly stopped wriggling and became still as a piece of rock. A piece of rock that clearly wanted to squeal. Lydia reached out, feeling clumsily around Maisie’s right ear. ‘No, nothing here, that’s strange...’ Maisie’s face was a picture of excitement and anticipation, just as it began to falter into uncertainty, Lydia switched to Maisie’s left ear. ‘Oh! Here we go!’ She produced a gold coin and gave it to Maisie.
‘One day you’re going to have to tell me how you do that,’ Emma said.
‘Sleight of hand,’ Lydia said breezily. ‘Years of practice.’
Later, once the kids had finished their snack and had run through to the living room for television-time, Lydia washed up the plates and cups while Emma wiped down the table. Then, she reached into the fridge and brought out the bottle of white wine she had brought round and stashed there earlier.
Emma’s face lit up. ‘You always have the best ideas.’
‘Hold that thought,’ Lydia said, pouring them both a glass and taking a large gulp. She loved Maisie and Archie, but three hours of their company and she was exhausted. She had no idea how Emma did it.
‘Okay. So, one of the guys I was following wasn’t too pleased with the evidence I gathered. He made some threats.’
‘How did he know it was you?’
Lydia slugged some wine. ‘His wife.’
‘She was the person who hired you in the first place?’
Lydia nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Charming.’
‘She was all set for a lucrative divorce but he talked her round. Apparently all is romantic bliss once again. It happens.’ Not often, in Lydia’s limited experience as a private eye, but there were bound to be exceptions.
‘She came to you to get evidence that he was cheating?’
Lydia nodded. ‘She knew what he was up to, or pretty much at any rate, but she wanted hard evidence. Said he would weasel his way out of it, come up with excuses and she didn’t want to waver.’ Lydia could picture the woman sitting in the office, her hair perfectly styled and her eyes dry. Lydia had thought that she was past the worst of it, had reached some sort of acceptance, not like some of the poor buggers who were red-eyed and hopeful. Worried that their husband or boyfriend was lying to them, but also hoping that Lydia report back that they were actually helping out at a local cat shelter or something. Mrs Carter had been different, though, and Lydia would have laid money that she would take the surveillance report and use it to beat up Mr Carter in court. Which just went to show much Lydia knew about marriage. And that gambling was a bad idea. ‘Apparently now they are going to renew their vows on a beach in St Lucia. I just thought it would be a good idea to make myself scarce until they go away. By the time they come back, all loved up and renewed, hopefully the thirst for vengeance will have died down.’
‘I don’t understand –’ Emma began, then she said: ‘I guess your evidence wasn’t clear enough and he still talked his way out of it.’
‘It was clear,’ Lydia said, thinking of the explicit photographs and the twenty-second video. Longest twenty seconds of her life.
‘Bloody hell,’ Emma said. ‘Nice job you got yourself. Ever thought about a change of career?’
Lydia thought she had managed a smile, but the tiredness and th
e wine must have made it go wonky.
‘Sorry. Just joking, Lyds.’ Emma looked stricken. ‘What’s wrong?’
Lydia took a deep breath and told Emma about her unwanted visitor.
She was gratifyingly shocked and concerned and it made Lydia feel a thousand times better to talk it out. She finished with a detailed description of the hot cop, but Emma was stuck on the intruder.
‘He had a gun? Jesus H.’
‘I know,’ Lydia drained her glass and poured another one, topping up Emma’s at the same time.
‘And he just collapsed and fell over the railing?’
‘It was weird,’ Lydia avoided answering the question directly, wanting to minimise the lies she told her best friend, while avoiding the tricky subject of a full-on poltergeist. Emma was her normal friend. Her one chance at a normal life and she wasn’t about to destroy it.
‘Your life is mental,’ Emma shook her head.
Okay. Normal-ish life.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that. An armed robbery on your first night back in London. What are the bloody chances?’
Lydia paused, her glass halfway to her lips. It was a good point. She hadn’t told anybody in Aberdeen where she was going, but that was no guarantee. Phones were traceable, she could have been followed...
‘What are you thinking?’ Emma was looking worried.
‘Just wondering if it was a coincidence. If not, then the guy is either connected to my work up north or to the Family. I mean, I didn’t recognise him, but I was very scared, so maybe I had face-blindness or something.’
‘I don’t like the sound of either of those options,’ Emma said.
‘Me neither.’
* * *
Lydia got the train back into Camberwell, pleasantly buzzed from the wine and the chat with Emma. As she walked back from the station toward the cafe, she took stock of her situation. One of the plus sides to not being magical, was that Lydia had always applied herself in other areas. She had worked hard at school and excelled until it had all seemed pointless. She knew she wasn’t going to go to university so she started doing the bare minimum. Then she had thrown herself into learning a practical skill. She had started to train as an electrician, thinking that she could work with a different kind of power, but it had all been diagrams and safety talks and it had left her feeling more helpless than ever. After half-heartedly working as a waitress, an accounts assistant and a dog-groomer, she had turned to work as a PI with something approaching desperation. With no clue as to what she wanted to do, only the certainty that she hadn’t found her calling in the back room of ‘Pretty Paws’ she had been toying between long-distance truck driver and private investigator, and had made the decision with a coin toss.
The Night Raven Page 5
