Lydia nodded. ‘Does it feel less safe here these days?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Elspeth looked offended. ‘This is still a very good area. Very good.’
‘Forgive me,’ Lydia said. ‘I couldn’t help but notice your cameras.’
‘Oh, yes. Those.’ Elspeth picked at an invisible piece of fluff on her trousers. ‘After Akal passed I wanted some extra security.’
‘Very sensible,’ Lydia said. ‘Do you record all the time?’ Please say yes.
Elspeth nodded. ‘I believe so. The chap from the company set them up, of course. I don’t often view the videos. Only if I’m concerned by something.’
‘Madeleine hasn’t been home for a week. Is there any chance you were recording on the day she left?’
‘An excellent chance.’ Elspeth said, rising to her feet. ‘I will fetch my computer.’
She returned after a short time with a rose-gold laptop and glasses case, both of which matched her sequinned trainers. After a period of waiting for Elspeth to log into her system and find the correct folder, during which Lydia forced herself to sit patiently by digging the nails of one hand into her palm and counting backwards from one hundred, Elspeth peered over the top of her reading glasses and said: ‘Tuesday the fifteenth?’
‘I’d love to see as much as you have,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly or when it might have happened. Any insight into life at the house would be welcome. Unusual visitors, that kind of thing.’
Elspeth nodded. After another moment, she let out an irritated sigh. ‘Did you want to take a look?’
She passed the laptop across and Lydia saw a software interface for ‘Safe As Houses Security’. Swiftly, Lydia plugged a data stick that she readied into the USB port. ‘I’ll just take the relevant files so that I can leave you in peace.’
‘You don’t have to rush off,’ Elspeth said. ‘I was going to make us tea.’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ Lydia said. ‘As long as it’s no bother.’
While Elspeth was in the kitchen, Lydia located the video files set to copying them to the data stick. There were ten days of videos and a quick look in the ‘settings’ section of the app showed that Elspeth, or whoever installed the system, had it set to store two weeks at a time, with the oldest files wiped in blocks at the end of each period. The files were huge and the progress bar was moving slowly, so Lydia concentrated on friendly conversation and plenty of compliments to Elspeth over the rank-tasting herbal tea and the fine bone china it was served in. By the time she had run out of ways to say ‘you have a lovely home’ and ‘yes, nettle and ginseng tea is surprisingly enjoyable’, the data had, mercifully copied across.
After giving effusive thanks and her phone number with the instruction to ‘call anytime’, Lydia made her escape. Outside, the air had cooled and drops of rain spat from the darkening sky. Lydia zipped up her jacket and stuff her hands in her pockets. The smooth curves of the USB stick promised its secrets. Lydia could only hope at least some of them would involve Maddie’s mysterious disappearance.
Chapter Seven
Back at the flat, alone at her makeshift workspace in the living room, Lydia allowed herself to admit that she was shaken. She didn’t admit it out loud, of course, but she poured a splash of bourbon into her coffee before settling down to view the camera footage. As the caffeine and alcohol took away the after-taste of the nettle tea, Lydia realised that she had been expecting to find Madeleine holed up in her bedroom, hiding from her friends after some Millennial drama bullshit. Or to discover that Daisy and John were colluding in a ridiculous fiction with Charlie just to keep Lydia close by for whatever Machiavellian plot Charlie had concocted. Faced with the fact that Madeline really was missing, Lydia felt sick.
Like most recorded CCTV, the footage had been stored in a low-resolution format to save space, so Lydia was treated to hour after hour of grainy imagery. Mostly of a quiet street, the edge of Elspeth’s house and a small slice of her neighbouring property’s front garden. Luckily enough, the cameras were set to record with a motion-detector which cut down on the footage times considerably. Luckier still, the viewing area included Madeleine’s gate. On the morning on which Daisy had told Lydia Madeleine had left early, dressed for work, Lydia saw her cousin doing just that. She turned right, in the direction of the nearest tube station. The angle and video quality made it hard to glean anything significant about Maddie’s demeanour. So, that was that. She watched the rest of the day on triple-speed, skipping from the woman delivering post at 11.18am to the Waitrose van at 2.34pm to John coming home at 7.18pm, with several cats, dog-walkers, and a plastic bag blowing in the wind, in between. Madeleine didn’t return. Lydia took a fortifying sip of her spiked coffee and prepared to skim through the intervening days to the present date.
At half past eight in the evening on the eighteenth, there was a peculiar stretch of recording. The motion-sensor had been activated but there was no viewable footage. The screen was filled with grey snow for just under two minutes. An hour later, the same thing.
The eighteenth. That meant that it took three days after Maddie was last seen by her family for Charlie to visit the house. At least she assumed that was the cause of the interference. The small amount of power which still ran through the main bloodline of the Crow Family had a variety of effects, most of them extremely minor. The only other Crow Family member who was powerful enough to affect a camera in that way was her own father. She remembered her dad telling her about the time he and Charlie had sneaked into a theme park after hours and hadn’t had to worry about the security cameras because all the guards would see would be grey snow. And, when Lydia had been older, she had asked Henry why he didn’t show up in the digital pictures she attempted to take with her phone. He had given her an explanation which had been heavy on physics and Lydia, who had been expecting something magical and exciting, had tuned out as he discussed wave lengths and electrons. Looking at the snow on her screen, now, Lydia made a mental note to ask the question again and to have another go at understanding the answer.
She picked up her phone and texted Charlie, just to confirm her suspicions. Twenty-four minutes of scrolling through footage later, and she got her reply. ‘Saw D&J Friday PM. Why?’
Putting the phone down, Lydia made a fresh coffee, spiked it with another generous slosh of bourbon and soldiered on.
Three hours later and Lydia was none the wiser. The email from Maddie’s computer suggested that something had happened at work. She would be ‘missed at the office’ but the CCTV footage showed her leaving the house on the morning of her disappearance, dressed in work-appropriate clothes. Job hunting? Or perhaps Verity had just been referring to a short absence. An illness or suspension. Perhaps, like Lydia, Maddie had been encouraged to take a temporary break.
* * *
The foyer of the Camberwell nick was nicer than Lydia remembered. It was true, the last time she had been inside she had been distracted by the impending doom that was her father arriving to collect her after a teenage misadventure, but she still thought the place had been given a face lift. There was a giant potted plant in one corner and a low table with magazines, like a doctor’s waiting room.
She asked for Fleet at the front desk and sat down on one of the chairs to wait. She had a paperback book and all the time in the world. Charlie had enlisted a cleaning crew to go through the cafe and the noise travelled upstairs, so Lydia was quite happy for the excuse to stay out of the flat. She had considered phoning him to complain and to point out that he had lied to her, again, but something stopped her. The feeling that contact from her was exactly what he wanted. That she was being tested in some way that she didn’t yet understand.
Lydia flipped to her bookmarked page, desperate to escape the looping, paranoid thoughts, but she heard footsteps on the hard tiles. Lydia expected a subordinate but it was the man himself. DCI Fleet held out his hand and Lydia took it before standing. Upright, with as straight a spine as she could manage, sh
e was still dwarfed next to him. It made her feel both unnerved and worryingly aroused. Not the time, she told her libido, firmly. When he greeted her, his voice didn’t help matters. It was deep and rounded with just the right hint of south London in his accent to make her stomach go wobbly.
‘I’ve remembered something.’ Lydia kept her voice clipped and professional in the hopes it would douse the flames which Fleet irritatingly ignited. At least the misery of the institutional setting would help to keep her mind on business. Perhaps he had a nice windowless office with the smell of copier fluid and feet. That would help.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Fleet said, smiling at her in an unnervingly unprofessional manner. ‘If you don’t mind a walk?’
‘Not at all.’ Lydia stopped herself from returning his charismatic smile by scowling instead. It was a good scowl. One which usually made people visibly recoil, but Fleet opened the door for her and turned up the volume on his own smile as if she had fallen at his feet. Annoying. He had the kind of confidence that was almost as powerful as magic.
Outside, they picked their way through hipster boys and girls, and the occasional family. It was mid-morning and the office crowds were chained to their desks and the night-time lot were fast asleep. Fleet didn’t speak until they were off the main drag and cutting down one of the old streets towards Burgess Park. It used to be an area filled with warehouses and factories and now it was a huge green space with play areas and planting. Looking around, it was hard to believe that the space used to hold the Surrey canal, which had been filled in after one too many kids drowned in its dank waters.
‘So,’ Fleet glanced down. ‘What’s up?’
‘Has he woken up yet?’
Fleet hesitated. Then he nodded. ‘He’s not saying much, though.’
‘Name?’
‘John Smith.’
They shared a quick smile. John Smith was like Joe Bloggs. It was basically a middle-finger at the question.
‘Your turn,’ Fleet said, his expression turning serious. ‘Have you remembered something else?’
Lydia was glad of her sunglasses as she looked at the cop, trying to work out how much to say. ‘Nobody knows that I’m staying at The Fork. I had only just arrived. I was wondering whether there has been increased activity recently. In that street. A spate of break-ins or something?’
‘Crims know that The Fork belongs to the Charlie Crow. I don’t see it as a random target.’
Lydia felt disloyal, but Charlie had said ‘no cops’ regarding Maddie’s disappearance. He hadn’t expressly forbidden them for Lydia. Probably because she hadn’t given him the chance, but still. She needed to point Fleet into a more general ‘Crow’ angle in the hope that he might turn up something useful.
Lydia nodded. ‘And robbery doesn’t make that much sense, anyway. Why hit that building? It’s not in use, so definitely no cash in the till. Industrial kitchen equipment might be valuable, but he didn’t have a van, did he?’
‘Not that we have found.’ Fleet said.
They had reached the park and Lydia headed to her favourite spot – the old ironwork bridge which remained from the old canal. Now, of course, it spanned an innocent patch of grass and looked like an odd kind of folly. The locals called it the ‘bridge to nowhere’ and, as Lydia and Fleet walked up the steps, she tried not to think that it was as apt location for her chat with the law. Halfway along the bridge, Lydia stopped and pretended to admire the view while she formulated her next line. After a few seconds of thought, she decided to dispense with subtle. It had never been her style, anyway. ‘Has there been any activity with the Crows? Anything that might inspire retaliation?’
Silence.
Lydia turned to look at Fleet. He had his hands stuck in his coat pockets and was wearing a perfectly blank expression. One that was probably handed out on the last day of detective school. ‘I would have thought you are better placed to answer that.’
‘I told you, I just came back from Scotland. I’m not a part of anything.’
‘But you attracted our friendly Mr John Smith.’
‘Yes,’ Lydia said. ‘Exactly.’ She looked into his face, making sure she didn’t let her eyes flicker and waited.
Eventually, Fleet said: ‘We are treating this as an isolated incident at the moment. Unless you have some other information to share?’
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘And thank you for meeting with me. I know you are very busy.’ That was from Karen. She had always said to be super-polite to the police, you never knew who you might be able to develop into a useful contact.
Fleet didn’t smile. ‘It’s my job.’
‘Right,’ Lydia said.
‘You didn’t need to check. I am well aware of the pressure that comes with a case like yours.’
‘Pressure?’
He looked away. ‘You’re Charlie Crow’s niece, Henry Crow’s daughter. I reckon I’m going to hear about that.’
Sudden panic. ‘You don’t need to involve my parents. They have nothing to do with this. They don’t know anything.’
‘I wouldn’t dare bother them,’ Fleet said, his voice dry as dust.
‘Great,’ Lydia said. ‘Thanks.’
There was a short silence and, even though she knew better, Lydia couldn’t stop herself from filling it.
‘So, what angles are you looking at? Who might want to attack a Crow kid?’
‘Kid?’
‘I’m only twenty-seven,’ Lydia said, mock-affronted. If she could get Fleet looking into a general Crow attack, he might throw up something on Madeleine. It came with it the danger that Fleet might stumble into something Charlie would prefer stayed hidden, but Madeleine was missing, maybe in real danger. That had to be the priority.
They resumed walking, continuing over the bridge and then doubling-back underneath it to head back toward the park exit.
‘So, have you remembered anything else? Any details?’
‘No,’ Lydia said. She didn’t want to add anything that might send him in a particular direction. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when she made headway with her own investigation she would feed him details, use the resources at his disposal. She was painfully aware of how adrift she was in London. In Aberdeen she had made friends with a couple of law types and she had the weight of the agency behind her. Here she had nothing. Or, more accurately, she had the full weight of the Crow Family which was a complicated advantage.
Fleet interrupted her chain of thought by stopping suddenly.
‘What?’
Fleet’s head was tilted, his eyes appraising her. ‘Mr Smith didn’t succeed. He was going to push you off the roof, but you managed to get the advantage and he went over instead.’
‘Yes,’ Lydia said, tensing for more questions on that awkward detail.
‘He is quite a bit taller and larger than you. You must be stronger than you look.’
Lydia forced herself to look directly into Fleet’s eyes. ‘He must have had a weak heart or I had an adrenaline surge or something.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Fleet said. ‘That’s the story.’ He resumed his steady pace and Lydia followed, wondering how much the detective knew, how much he suspected.
A group of nursery kids, roped together like husky dogs was ploughing down the path ahead and Lydia was forced to step into the road to avoid them. Once the group with the grim-faced chaperones had passed, she rejoined Fleet. ‘So, will you look into it? As an angle? I’m not suggesting it ought to be high priority-’
‘It’s my manor,’ Fleet said, sounding suddenly very pissed off.
‘Sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘I didn’t mean... Just, resources must be tight...’ She trailed off.
Fleet straightened his impressive shoulders and gave her a level look. ‘I will get to the bottom of this matter and bring the person or persons to justice. You have my word.’
‘That’s good,’ Lydia said.
Fleet’s eyes were cold and appraising and suddenly Lydia wasn’t so sure going to the cops had been her best idea.
* * *
On her way back to the cafe, Lydia went over what she knew. Madeleine Crow had been missing for over a week and a man had broken into a Crow building and attempted to kill her. However unthinkable, it seemed unlikely that the two were unconnected. By the time she got back to the bare flat she was jumpy and in need of a stiff drink. Unfortunately, it was too early. Lydia had a strict rule – no spirits before five o’clock. The temptation to take the edge off the world was ever-present and she was wary of giving into it. She would work the case, instead.
Some of the St A’s crew had gone on to university, one was planning her wedding which was, apparently, a full-time job, but Madeleine was taking a gap year and doing a part-time internship in a PR firm in Soho. Madeleine’s best friend was called Sasha and they, apparently, spent most evenings together either out or at Sasha’s Kensington flat. Uncle Charlie had passed on all of this information, but it had come to him via Daisy and Lydia knew that what a nineteen year old told her parents and the way in which she was truly spending her time were not necessarily the same thing.
She started with Sasha, getting the tube across town for the personal touch. The flat was on the middle floor of a white stuccoed regency beauty. Camberwell had some very fine buildings, but nothing like this. The place had a row of coach-houses behind for crying out loud.
A male voice answered when Lydia pressed the buzzer. ‘I’m here to see Sasha. It’s about Madeleine Crow.’
No answer, but a buzz and a click as the front door was unlocked. Lydia took the stairs two at a time, mindful of the fact that she hadn’t been to the gym in five days and needed to keep her fitness up. She had no intention of becoming like Rab, the oldest investigator on the books at Karen’s agency, who could barely fit his belly behind the steering wheel of his ancient BMW and could only do strictly vehicular or static surveillance.
The Night Raven Page 8
