The Night Raven

by Sarah Painter

She gave him a thin smile in return. ‘And we both know how effective that would be.’

  ‘Depends on the threat,’ Fleet said. ‘There are limits.’

  Lydia blew out a rush of air, trying to release the tension in her body. ‘I wish we could talk properly.’

  ‘Have a time out? I know.’

  In unspoken agreement, they took the steps and walked to the middle of the bridge. Fleet leaned against the side and looked at Lydia like he wanted to say something.

  ‘You mentioned pressure,’ Lydia said. ‘Is that coming from my family or somewhere else?’

  ‘Hard to pinpoint the exact origin.’

  ‘But you have your suspicions?’

  ‘I do.’ Fleet paused while a jogger went past, headphones in and oblivious to the world. ‘Thing is,’ he said and stopped.

  ‘What is it? Tell me,’ Lydia moved closer. ‘Please.’

  ‘About six months ago, I had a nuisance problem. A nice rich girl turned repeat offender. Drunk and disorderly, dangerous driving, property damage.’

  ‘Women get written up for drunk and disorderly for non-violent offences more often than men.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Fleet shook his head slightly. ‘Not my personal experience. Anyhow, this girl rear-ended a car. We got her for that one because she’d been using her mobile phone while driving. Logs showed it clearly, but she got let off with a caution.’

  ‘Is that usual?’

  ‘For a rich white girl on a first bookable offence when nobody got seriously hurt? Sure.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Lydia said, a stone in her stomach. ‘The caution didn’t work?’

  ‘Correct,’ Fleet said. ‘Thing was, nobody involved in any of the minor incidents wanted to press charges. In fact, they all claimed that they had been at fault, instead.’

  Crap. That sounded like intimidation. In short, like the bad old days of the Crow Family, back before they decided to go legit.

  ‘Next, she took her perfect storm into town and broke a chandelier at the Dorchester. That’s the kind of acting out that gets you noticed and, along with her arrest record, it was looking good for the CPS to finally get a conviction and get her moved off my manor.’

  ‘And you were pleased about that.’

  Fleet’s shrug was almost imperceptible. ‘I didn’t much care. It’s just the job. But, yes, I marginally prefer a finished case to an ongoing one.’

  ‘Good for your numbers.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m a very modern copper. All about the stats.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘Top brass indicated it wasn’t a desirable outcome.’

  ‘No prosecution?’

  ‘No.’ Fleet took a swig from his water bottle. ‘But what’s fifteen hours of police work between friends? Drop in the ocean.’

  ‘You’re not bitter.’

  He gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Never.’

  Lydia knew there was only one reason Fleet would be off-loading this particular nugget of work-related disappointment. ‘The rich girl was a Crow,’ she said, making it a statement rather than a question.

  He nodded, the smile gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  ‘And you think my uncle has some influence with your superiors?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘It’s one explanation.’

  ‘Can you give me her name?’

  ‘Madeleine Crow.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aunt Daisy was crossing the car park attached to her gym, keys in one hand and a sleek pale blue bag over her shoulder. She was wearing yoga pants and immaculate trainers and her hair was perfectly dry and styled. Lydia stepped out of her car and called to Daisy.

  She turned and stopped, reluctance evident in her posture. ‘I’m late,’ Daisy said. ‘Can this wait?’

  ‘Not really,’ Lydia said, taken aback by Daisy’s casual attitude. Where was the crying woman she had met three days ago?

  Daisy looked at her watch. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You weren’t entirely honest with me about Madeleine.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Look,’ Lydia glanced at a muscle-bound man in too-little Lycra who was heading toward the gym. ‘Do you want to talk in my car?’

  Daisy looked around. ‘Fine.’

  Lydia shoved the fast food wrappers off the front seat and enjoyed the sight of Daisy attempting to control her expression of disgust as she looked around at the car’s interior. Along with the empty crisp packets, some of which contained mouldering apple cores, there were three half-finished bottles of water, juice and high-energy caffeinated ‘buzz’ lemonade, a fleece blanket and pillow, and a roll of kitchen towels. She had spent long hours in this car on surveillance duty and it showed.

  ‘How many times was she arrested?’

  The corners of Daisy’s mouth turned down. ‘That didn’t happen.’

  ‘What didn’t happen?’

  ‘She was a bit silly. Got in with a bad crowd.’

  ‘Who?’

  Daisy looked away. ‘I don’t know their names.’

  ‘She rear-ended a car. Everyone walked away, luckily, but she was done for using a mobile while driving.’

  ‘Maddie wouldn’t do that. She knows better. She got full marks on her theory exam.’

  ‘Her mobile phone log showed a text message was sent in the minute before the crash.’ Lydia flipped open her notebook. ‘Now, I need you to explain to me what happened? Why didn’t she even get points on her licence? She crashed into another vehicle and the other driver suffered whiplash. She was lucky not to get it upgraded to dangerous driving and end up at Crown Court. Along with her other offences, she was lucky not to end up in prison.’

  Daisy’s lips were compressed into a line and she wouldn’t look at Lydia.

  ‘I can’t help if you don’t give me all the facts. I’m not judging Madeleine, we all make mistakes.’

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ Daisy said. ‘Nobody judges Madeleine. Everyone blames me.’

  ‘I’m not in the blame business,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m in the finding Maddie business. That’s all.’

  Daisy looked at her then. Lydia thought she saw a softening of her expression but the words which followed were dripping with venom. ‘You’re being used by Charlie to remind me that I owe him. To keep an eye on me. Well, you can run back and tell him that I got his little message.’

  ‘I’m not –’ Lydia stopped. ‘Wait. What? Was it Charlie who settled things after Madeleine crashed her car?’

  ‘Stop playing dumb,’ Daisy pulled her gym bag close to her body, hugging it like a security blanket. ‘Who else has that kind of sway?’

  ‘Tristan Fox.’

  Daisy’s mouth actually fell open. ‘Have you gone completely mad?’

  ‘Maddie was seeing Paul Fox. It’s possible his father stepped in and fixed things for her.’

  ‘No. No. No.’ Daisy shook her head so violently, Lydia worried she was going to bash it against the window. ‘She wasn’t. She would never.’

  ‘I did,’ Lydia said. ‘When I was the same age as Madeleine. He’s very persuasive.’

  Daisy sniffed, opening the car door. Before getting out, she delivered a final thought on the matter, her voice rich with scorn: ‘That was you. My Madeleine has more sense.’

  * * *

  Lydia kicked the front door closed and threw herself into the swivel chair behind her desk. She produced her gold coin and flipped it into the air, over and over again, until she felt calmer and Daisy’s voice, her tone of disgust, was no longer reverberating around her skull.

  Lydia checked Maddie’s social media for activity without much hope and wondered what else she could do. She didn’t know why Daisy’s poor opinion of her hurt so badly, but being stuck in her investigation certainly wasn’t helping matters. Frustration bubbled inside and the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the kitchen counter was calling, so when she heard footfall on the landing and saw a shadow loom through the frosted glass of her front door, she was ready for a fight.
‘Go away,’ she shouted before the visitor could knock.

  The door opened and Fleet stood in the entrance, looking around the room with that searching gaze she found so bloody annoying.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for an interrogation,’ Lydia said, giving him her full ‘off you fuck’ stare. ‘And how did you get up here, anyway?’

  ‘Angel let me in. Said you were taking on clients and that I might have to wait in a queue,’ he looked around pointedly at the empty room. ‘Looks like she exaggerated.’

  ‘Hell hawk!’ Lydia stood up. ‘Excuse me, Fleet, I need to go and shout at a cook.’

  ‘Why do you do that?’

  Lydia stopped moving. She was halfway out from behind the desk and she suddenly realised that it would be better to have the thing in between them. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Call me Fleet.’

  ‘I told you before, Ignatius is a ridiculous name. Besides, it evens things up.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You always think of me as ‘Crow’ before you think ‘Lydia.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Fleet said, taking a step closer.

  Lydia had thought that the room was big and empty. Practically draughty, in fact. Suddenly it felt very small.

  ‘I think ‘Lydia’,’ Fleet said. Then he smiled. ‘Closely followed by ‘pain in the arse’. Is that better?’

  ‘Charming,’ Lydia said, forcing herself not to move. She didn’t want him to see the effect he had. There was something about him and she was seriously beginning to wonder if the small gleam she caught off his skin was something stronger. Maybe he had Bacchus in his heritage, not just one of the families. She frowned, caught by the thought. ‘What’s your mother’s maiden name?’

  ‘Kamara.’ He took another step and held a hand out. ‘Are you going to come around to my side?’

  ‘What?’

  He tapped the top of the desk. ‘There’s something between us and I don’t like it.’

  ‘You’re being weird,’ Lydia said. Her heart was racing and every nerve ending was tingling, but it was no longer frustration and anger she was feeling. Without intending to do so she put her hand into his and felt his fingers close. Her hand practically disappeared and she stared at his beautiful hand and wrist for a moment before dragging her gaze back to his face. ‘I don’t know what has got into you, but –’

  ‘Me neither,’ Fleet shook his head gently. ‘This is not the way I do things. Normally.’

  ‘You do this a lot?’ They were still holding hands and Lydia almost gasped out loud when he pressed a thumb into the soft base of her palm.

  ‘Never,’ Fleet said. ‘I don’t even know what I’m doing now. Just following my gut for once.’

  ‘That’s not always a good idea,’ Lydia said.

  He let go of her hand instantly. ‘You want me to leave?’

  ‘I don’t know what I want,’ Lydia lied.

  He was smiling at her in a way which suggested he knew exactly what he wanted and that, if she gave him the chance, he would be able to persuade her to want it, too. Who was she kidding? She already wanted it. Wanted him.

  ‘Come here,’ he jerked his head a little, his voice very low and very soft. Lydia thought it was probably the single most erotic moment of her life. Certainly the most erotic of the last couple of years.

  ‘I’ve decided to follow my instincts where you are concerned.’

  She walked around the desk, keeping one hand on the surface to steady herself. ‘Is that a fact?’

  As soon as she crossed to his side, Fleet wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the desk, so that she was sitting on the edge and he was standing between her jeans-clad legs.

  ‘No way,’ Lydia said, trying to keep her cool, going for a world-weary ‘not again’ vibe. ‘Cliche much?’

  Fleet smiled and kissed her until stars exploded in her brain. She came back to herself moments later with the realisation that she was pressing against him hungrily and holding the back of his head to keep him in place. ‘Fuck.’ She said, flushed with lust and embarrassment at her reaction and then a bit more lust on top.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got, cliche girl? I was hoping for some Keats.’

  ‘Shut up, Fleet,’ Lydia said and pulled him back for round two.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lydia sent Fleet home and slept the deep and satisfied sleep of a woman who had recently had head-banging sex. When she woke up to the sound of voices, doors slamming and a radio blaring downstairs the glow was so strong that there was a split second before she was furious.

  Lydia pulled on her jeans and a stretchy black vest top, tied her messy hair into a high pony tail and marched down to the café. There were at least eight people, only one of whom she recognised. ‘Angel. What the fuck?’

  Angel’s arms were full of catering-size tubs. ‘Bit busy,’ she said.

  A man with a tool belt and a spanner in one hand stepped up. ‘I’ve sorted the leak in the gents, replaced the dodgy urinal, and adjusted the ball cocks.’

  ‘Come through,’ Angel indicated the kitchen. ‘The new sink has arrived.’

  Lydia switched off the radio which was blaring. ‘Stop. Everybody stop right now.’

  ‘What?’ Angel put hands on her hips. ‘You’ve got a problem, take it up with your uncle.’

  ‘He said no renovations. He said low key. He said I just had to flip the sign a bit, make this place look legit.’ Lydia waved her arms around. ‘Look legit. Not actually be a working cafe.’

  Angel shook her head. ‘Well, then. You’re stupider than you look.’ She turned back to the plumber. ‘Sink, in there. I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘I live here,’ Lydia said. ‘This isn’t right.’

  Angel was already halfway through the door to the kitchen but she paused long enough to give Lydia an appraising look. ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘I am not running a cafe.’

  ‘You’re not,’ Angel said. ‘I am. You don’t like living above one, take it up with your landlord.’

  * * *

  Upstairs, Lydia laid back down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to work out whether to go back to sleep or go out for breakfast. Toast sounded good but the urge to pull the duvet over her head and block out the day was almost overwhelming. Her mobile began playing The White Stripes. Unknown number. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hear me out.’

  ‘Paul.’ Lydia closed her eyes.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

  ‘And I’ve got something for you,’ Lydia said, thinking of another knee to the goolies.

  ‘Sounds interesting.’ Paul Fox’s voice was suddenly warm and she could hear him smiling. An image of Paul smiling at her across the table in the Italian restaurant he had taken her to when they were dating appeared in her mind. The colours were bright and, at once, she could smell the garlic and hear the gentle clatter of cutlery on china. A warm fuzzy feeling enveloped Lydia like a fleece onesie. Hells bells, Paul Fox was good. Lydia reached out and plucked a gold coin from thin air and pressed her finger pads into the cold ridged surface of the disc. Instantly the restaurant sounds disappeared and Lydia felt the feeling of calm comfort drain away.

  ‘Is it a present?’

  Paul’s voice was teasing, sexy, and Lydia could practically see the charm coming out of the speaker of the phone. She gripped the coin in her palm and said: ‘It’s the middle finger of my right hand.’

  A pause. Then Paul rallied. ‘I need your help. Not a favour, I can pay. I’m sending round a file.’

  ‘I’m not for hire. Don’t send anything.’

  ‘That’s not a good business attitude. Most firms fold within the first three years, as a start-up you need all the client money you can get.’

  ‘I’ve got a job,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not starting my own firm.’

  ‘That’s not what your new door says.’

  Lydia wondered if it was too early to start drinking.

  * * *

  Deciding that
it was time she started to make healthier choices, Lydia called Emma instead. She answered, breathless. ‘School run, can I call you back?’

  ‘I didn’t know that was a literal term,’ Lydia said. ‘Can’t you walk it instead?’

  ‘So funny,’ Emma said. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. All good. I’ll call you later.’

  * * *

  Lydia looked at her phone. She had wanted to complain about Paul Fox and his arrogance, the way he couldn't wait to phone her and gloat about the door, the way he was still needling her, now. He wouldn’t answer her questions about Madeleine, probably had something to do with her disappearance, but was so sure of his protected position in the Fox Family, so sure that she couldn’t touch him. Lydia stopped. He had phoned her. Twice. From his mobile.

  Paul Fox had called her twice and she, Lydia Crow, was an idiot.

  She dialled before she could change her mind. ‘I need a favour.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I’m working,’ Fleet said.

  ‘That’s handy,’ Lydia was walking fast, dodging pedestrians. ‘I’m coming to see you.’

  ‘That sounds serious. I’ll meet you outside.’

  Lydia looked at her watch. It was almost twelve. ‘If you meet me in The Hare I’ll buy you a drink.’

  There was a pause and Lydia stopped walking, mentally crossing her fingers.

  ‘Interesting,’ Fleet said, his voice giving nothing away. ‘See you in fifteen.’

  Forty-five minutes later, Lydia had drained half of her bottle of lager and had told two men that she wasn’t interested in joining them for lunch. Or a drink. Or anything at all in this lifetime.

  The door opened, finally revealing Fleet. ‘You’re late,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Didn’t you call me and ask for a favour?’

  ‘So?’ Lydia stood up. ‘No excuse for tardiness.’

  ‘Tardiness?’ His lips quirked into a smile.

  ‘Do you want a drink or not?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Fleet said, sitting down. ‘I’ve got to get back in ten minutes.’