The Night Raven

by Sarah Painter

  Paul tilted his head, appraising. Her senses were filled with the unmistakable Fox tang. She wished she could dial down her ability at will so that it didn’t always have to be so overwhelming. Yes, it’s a Fox, she told her body. You can stop letting me know.

  ‘Madeleine Crow,’ she said, again. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know her, you were observed leaving a club together.’

  ‘So you’re an investigator, now,’ Paul said. ‘I might have some work for you.’

  ‘I’m just doing a favour,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ll be out of here soon enough.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘What better place to ply your trade? You know people. Or you soon will. You’ll get clients, like that.’ He clicked his fingers.

  Lydia opened her mouth to tell him that she only had one year’s experience and was in no position to start her own agency but then she remembered who he was and that this wasn’t a friendly chat.

  ‘There’s a little matter I could book you for.’

  ‘Wife cheating on you?’ Lydia said quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation.

  He just smiled. ‘Still a merry bachelor.’

  ‘Well, I’m not looking for work and I won’t be in London for long,’ Lydia said. ‘And we were talking about Madeleine.’

  ‘I know Maddie,’ Paul said. ‘Nice girl.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Nah,’ Paul shook his head. ‘I heard she’d gone missing, though. Careless, that. Charlie needs to take better care of his fledglings.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Lydia forced her voice to remain even. In her memory Paul Fox had been all charm and affection. She had known he was a Fox and had seen him use cold words and sly looks on other people, but when he had turned to her he had been all warmth and security, but in a safe, restrained kind of a way. Gallant. With hindsight, he had been playing a part that was perfect for the nervous and inexperienced nineteen year old she had been. Her eyes were clearer, now. Or he was playing a different role. Either way, every molecule in Lydia’s being was telling her to get out of the park and as far away from Paul Fox as possible.

  ‘If you know something, you need to tell me.’ Lydia reached a hand into her jacket pocket, curled her fingers around a coin and used it to centre her feelings. ‘Better me than Charlie.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Paul looked away down the path, watching the people walking past. ‘Things aren’t what they used to be, little bird. You should find out the lay of the land before you start throwing your name around.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me the lay of the land?’ Lydia said. ‘I’d love to learn.’

  Paul stopped studying the crowd and turned back to Lydia. ‘You will.’ He moved quickly, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and kissing her on the lips in a distinctly un-gallant manner. His mouth pushed at hers, a tongue attempted to thrust inside. Lydia ignored the urge to pull away and, instead, leaned in, raising her knee at the same time so that it connected with a soft part of Paul Fox. He folded and Lydia moved neatly away.

  ‘Don’t do that again,’ she said and then walked away.

  * * *

  After a late lunch and a long walk to settle her nerves, Lydia got off the Northern Line at Oval and headed above ground. As soon as mobile reception kicked in, her phone began ringing. Fleet.

  ‘What’s up, officer?’ Lydia was more happy to hear from him than she cared to admit.

  ‘Just checking in.’

  ‘Checking up on me?’ Lydia began walking home. A big guy with a long platinum blonde wig, sandals and a Jesus-style white robe was walking toward her on the pavement and she took a moment to cross to the other side of the road. There was good-crazy, fun-crazy, and bad-crazy, and after her meeting with Paul Fox, Lydia wasn’t in the mood for any crazy at all.

  She lost Fleet’s voice as she navigated the traffic. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Are you okay? After Bortnik. I shouldn’t have shown you –’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘I want you to be careful,’ Fleet’s voice was still concerned. ‘Don’t take unnecessary risks.’

  ‘Everybody seems to have advice for me today,’ Lydia said. ‘Any reason you are taking a special interest, DCI Fleet?’

  There was a short silence. Then Fleet said, ‘I think you can guess.’

  ‘Because I’m a Crow?’

  ‘Not everything is about that, you know,’ Fleet said.

  Lydia opened her mouth to ask him ‘what, then?’ but suddenly she felt heat in her face. Was he flirting with her?

  ‘Anyway,’ Fleet said, suddenly formal. ‘Have a good evening.’

  ‘What?’ Lydia said, but he had already gone. Lydia put her phone back into her pocket and dodged around a crowded bus stop. The sight of The Fork coming into view, pushed Fleet momentarily from her mind. The cafe lights were on, making the place look like a beacon in the dark. Lydia didn’t like it. She wanted quiet and anonymous.

  Lydia unlocked the front door. There was a new sign hanging in the glass which was turned ‘closed’ side out. Angel was sitting at one of the tables out front, working through a plate of pastries and reading a book. ‘What are you doing?’

  Angel took her time, licking her fingers and putting her book face down on the table before replying. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Here, I mean,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s late. Why don’t you go home?’

  ‘Nat has band practice. It’s too noisy.’

  ‘Nat?’

  Angel gave her a withering look. ‘My wife.’

  Lydia paused at the door to upstairs. She wanted to say ‘you can’t use The Fork as an extension to your living room’ but she didn’t quite dare. Angel had... Presence.

  ‘Night,’ she said instead. ‘Can you lock up when you leave?’

  Angel had picked up her book again and ignored her.

  Lydia trudged up the stairs to the flat. At the top of the stairs she stopped.

  When she had left earlier to meet Paul Fox, the front door to her flat had been an off-white B&Q special. That had gone. In its place was a rich brown wooden door with a panel of obscured glass in the top half. Bronze leaf lettering in a vintage-looking font with a drop-shadow were the words: Crow Investigations.

  Lydia stared at the new door. It was ridiculous and it was gorgeous. Finally, she took her phone out of her pocket and called Charlie. ‘Did you put a new door in the flat?’

  ‘No. Why, do you want one?’

  ‘No. Never mind.’ She hung up before he could ask for a progress report and opened the new door, poised on the balls of her feet to run. The living room was empty and just as she had left it. The only evidence that anyone had been there was a small pile of wood dust from a drill and, of course, the new door.

  She walked through the rest of the flat, checking, then went into the living room and sat on the sofa. With the living room door open, she could see straight down her hallway and had a perfect view of the new addition. Numb surprise gave way to fury and she stood up, fists clenching. Perhaps there was a hammer somewhere in the building. Smashing it would be cathartic. Of course, then she wouldn’t have a front door at all.

  Her mobile began playing The White Stripes. Unknown number.

  ‘Yes?’ Lydia rubbed little circles into her right temple, trying to ease her headache.

  His voice, insufferably confident brought with it the unmistakable tang of Fox. ‘Do you like your present?’

  ‘You fucker,’ Lydia said. ‘You think this is funny? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘Hey, little bird, that’s no way to show gratitude.’

  Lydia was pacing the room as she spoke, the anger really flowing now. It was reckless to shout at a Fox but she no longer cared. ‘You don’t give me gifts. We are not together.’

  ‘You like it, though, right? That retro style to go with your retro attitude and your retro home. You do know it’s okay to move on? That cafe looks like it hasn’t been touched
since the sixties.’

  ‘Next time you want to waste your money, just wire cash straight to my account.’

  Paul ignored her. ‘Charlie hankering after the good old days? Trying to get something started with his little bird nesting in The Fork.’

  Lydia stopped pacing and let out a silent breath. Paul was fishing. ‘Forget Charlie. You do not send me things. We are not friends. We are not an item. We are nothing.’

  ‘So how do I still know you so well?’ Paul said. ‘Admit it, you like your present. I know you better than you know yourself. I know what you want.’ His voice dropped lower. ‘I know what you need.’

  ‘You need to think very carefully before you start something with me,’ Lydia said. Her senses were screaming ‘Fox!’ and she wished they would quiet down and let her think.

  ‘I remember,’ Paul said. ‘You hurt my feelings earlier.’

  ‘You do not come to my home. You do not send people to my home. Stay out of my way.’

  ‘You want to avoid me?’ Paul’s voice had lost its smile. ‘Fly away, little bird. Fly away fast.’

  Lydia dropped the phone and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, the door was still there.

  Lydia found the bourbon and splashed some into her empty coffee mug. She stared at the door and willed the alcohol to take the edge off her feelings. It was unnerving how well Paul could guess her desires. It was something he had always been good at and it was horrible to discover that he still had the knack. Unless it was coincidence. His plans had simply happened to align with her deepest hopes and dreams. Crow Investigations. It had a ring to it. And she would be her own boss. Lydia knocked back the last of the bourbon. She shouldn’t even think about it. It was madness.

  Still. The letters seemed to glow… Invitingly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Minty PR was in Soho down one of the cobbled side-streets with wrought iron railings and geometric planters filled with cutting-edge topiary and thin young people dressed in black. Lydia also favoured dark colours but her clothes were battered and old and she knew she stuck out amongst the shiny happy creatives. That suited her just fine, though. She slouched into the reception of Minty and leaned on the desk to give her name. A man with sculpted facial hair offered her coffee and said, apologetically enough, that Harry was running late. Lydia took her coffee and wandered around the room, studying the campaigns and awards displayed on the walls and the glossy brochures. The firm’s clients included car manufacturers, a national coffee-shop chain, and a government health initiative. The office wasn’t as large as she expected, either, and when Harry ushered her back to his domain he seemed genuinely willing to help. ‘I’m so sorry about Madeleine,’ he said. ‘It was just awful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lydia said. ‘Wait, what was awful?’

  Harry looked confused. ‘Letting her go. We didn’t want to, absolutely not, but it was a difficult situation and we felt... Well. We really didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘You fired her?’ Lydia decided to act ignorant in the hope that Harry would give her as many details as possible. Karen had always said that people just loved to educate, you just had to give them the chance.

  Harry spread his hands. ‘We’re really sorry. I am happy to give her a reference. I told her that at the time.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Harry frowned. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I want to hear your side of the story,’ Lydia said. ‘My uncle, Charlie, was very upset.’

  Harry went to speak but Lydia leaned forward. ‘Between you and me, he’s a bit blind when it comes to family. I know Maddie could be handful, but Charlie,’ she shook her head, ‘he wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘He didn’t believe me,’ Harry said. ‘I could tell.’

  ‘He’s protective,’ Lydia said. ‘I just want to find out the truth of it, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lydia smiled. ‘I’m family and I run a business which means there is every chance I’ll get saddled with providing gainful employment for my delightful cousin any day now. I just want to know what I’m in for.’ Harry didn’t seem to know that Madeleine was missing and Lydia saw no reason to tell him.

  Harry was visibly relaxing as he realised that Lydia hadn’t arranged the meeting in order to shout at him. Lydia could well imagine how his meeting with Charlie had gone. ‘She’s a great girl,’ Harry said. ‘Woman, I mean. Sorry.’

  Lydia nodded and sipped her coffee.

  ‘But she was erratic. Our internships are highly prized, we have loads of excellent applicants and they are way over-qualified for the stuff they end up doing but it’s the way we all started, you know? You have to pay your dues in this business.’

  Lydia could imagine the drill. Bright young things photocopying and fetching coffee.

  ‘Do you know the most important thing in PR?’

  ‘Getting press?’ Lydia said.

  ‘Making the client happy.’ Harry smiled and Lydia felt herself warming to him, no wonder he had gone into this line of work. ‘Frankly, that's the only thing that matters. You can run a shit campaign and your coverage can bomb, but you can blame a million other things for that. It’s alchemy, you know, nobody knows why some things work and some things don’t. Trying to capture public attention, trying to sway public opinion, it’s like catching lightning in a bottle.’

  Bollocks, Lydia thought, hoping it wasn’t obvious that her bullshit meter was sounding a loud alarm.

  Harry grinned. ‘As long as the client likes you they will swallow anything. As long as they are happy you can sell them any result.’ He dipped his head. ‘Well, almost.’

  Lydia smiled. It sounded a bit like PI work. Often the client knew exactly what you were going to find out. The result wasn’t the most important thing, it was the way you delivered the news. Karen had been really good at that. Lydia, not so much. One of her ‘learning points’ had been to work on her charm. ‘This isn’t The Maltese Falcon,’ Karen had said. ‘People don’t want hard-boiled, they want soft soap. Half of this job is counselling. I swear to God.’ Then she would slide open her desk drawer and retrieve a half-smoked joint. Karen always accompanied training sessions with getting lightly stoned. ‘It’s the only way to get through the tedium,’ she would say, having presumably used up all of her charm and patience on the clients. Lydia basically wanted to be Karen when she grew up.

  ‘Client is king, got it.’

  ‘And Maddie was great to start with. Vivacious. Pretty.’ He pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m not supposed to say that, I know.’

  Lydia waved a hand to indicate that she didn't care. ‘So what went wrong? She slept with the wrong person?’

  Harry shook his head, suddenly very serious. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  There was a pause while Harry was clearly weighing up his words. Finally, he said: ‘She nearly killed a client.’

  Lydia stamped on the urge to laugh. It was so ridiculous. So over dramatic. ‘She did what? Spilled hot coffee in someone’s lap? Tripped someone by accident? Slapped some guy for squeezing her arse?’

  ‘It’s really not a laughing matter.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Lydia flipped open her notebook.

  ‘You can’t write this down,’ Harry said. His eyes flicked to the door. ‘Your uncle made it all go away. I’m not supposed to talk about it to anyone, though. I know you’re his niece, otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything. I thought you knew. Wait-’ he looked stricken. ‘Was this a test? I swear I wouldn’t say anything else.’ The smooth PR facade had completely fallen away, now, and Harry was sweating.

  ‘I swear I’m not here from my uncle. Nothing you say will get back to him. I’m looking for Madeleine, that’s all.’

  ‘Looking for her?’

  ‘She’s missing,’ Lydia said. ‘So just tell me what happened and I’ll get out of here.’ She closed her notebook. ‘No notes.’

  ‘Missing. Jesus.’ Harry closed his eyes. ‘That is b
ad.’

  ‘I know,’ Lydia said. ‘I just want to find her. Make sure she’s all right. Please.’

  Harry swallowed but Lydia could see he wanted to talk. People usually did.

  ‘It was really weird,’ Harry said. ‘Like I said, she started out fine, but she seemed to change. She wasn’t smiling as much and she seemed kind of out of it a lot of the time. I wondered if she was on something.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Not coke. Something depressive like too much weed. Or I figured she was going through some personal shit. I had a friend who started therapy and he went really downhill for a few months before he picked up. It was like a psychological cleanse, like all the toxins had to come out before he could get better.’

  ‘She seemed down?’

  ‘More angry than sad, but that can happen.’

  Lydia had spent a good part of her teens and early twenties feeling like she wanted to set fire to the world, so she could relate.

  ‘Ivan Gorin owns Dean Street House.’ Harry clocked Lydia’s blank expression. ‘The members’ club.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’

  ‘You’re thinking they don’t need PR, right?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Lydia said, covering the fact that she had been desperately trying to place the name.

  ‘Well, Gorin was planning to open a new restaurant next door. It was going to trade on the name, but not be members-only. He booked us to handle the launch because we’re local.’

  Lydia tried to look impressed.

  ‘We were at a pre-opening taster night. Gorin wanted to test the menu. Wanted to test everything, actually, the guy’s a complete control freak.’

  ‘Why was Maddie there? Wasn’t she just an intern?’

  ‘He met her at the office one day and gave her an invite.’ Harry shrugged. ‘She’s a nice-looking girl.’

  ‘Woman,’ Lydia corrected.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Right.’ Harry leaned forward. ‘We had just had the intermezzo sorbet and I was watching Ivan because he’d been getting very friendly with Madeleine all evening. He was a bit over-familiar with the female staff, especially after a few drinks, so I was watching out for her.’ He shook his head. ‘Next thing, the dessert is being served and Ivan and Madeleine have gone.’