The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  He was in the process of turning away when Charlie clicked his fingers. The boy turned back, looking terrified. ‘You want something to drink?’

  ‘A Coke, please,’ Lydia said. To Charlie she said. ‘Don’t click your fingers at people, it’s rude.’

  There was a silence and Lydia wondered which way it would go. After another beat, in which Julius and Marko appeared not to breathe, Charlie smiled a genuine smile. ‘You’re right, of course.’ The kid escaped back to the counter and Lydia concentrated on tearing a piece of bread into chunks and then slathering each piece with butter. The sun was shining through the upper part of the window, bouncing off the metal salt and pepper shakers in burning spears of light.

  ‘Julius was telling me about his start-up. It’s, now let me get this right…’ Charlie paused for a moment. ‘Brand awareness using guerrilla marketing-tactics combined with a holistic social-media strategy.’

  Lydia almost choked on the bread she was chewing. She looked at Julius and wondered what possessed the man to come to Charlie. It sounded nothing like the usual Crow Family fare.

  ‘Not our usual,’ Charlie said, echoing Lydia’s thoughts. ‘But interesting, no?’

  Lydia swallowed her mouthful and pulled a non-committal expression. She had zero desire to get involved and even less to be seen endorsing a deal that might go south at a later date.

  ‘So,’ Julius’s eyes flicked nervously from Lydia to Charlie. ‘I need two hundred to get up and running. That will keep things afloat until the profits kick in. I have a projection, here,’ he reached for a large phone on the table and tapped the screen.

  ‘You’re good for it,’ Charlie said, leaning back. ‘I know that.’

  He turned to Lydia, just as Angel arrived with a plate of lasagne, which she put in front of Lydia. ‘Enjoy,’ she said, not smiling. But then Angel hardly ever did. She cast a professional look over the meals that were in progress. Charlie’s plate was empty but Julius and Marko had hardly touched their pasta. Now that Lydia knew they were visiting Charlie Crow to ask for a loan, she could imagine their stomachs were closed for business. ‘Everything okay with your food?’

  ‘Perfect, as always,’ Charlie said.

  Angel pointed at Lydia. ‘Eat up, skinny-girl.’

  Lydia had demolished most of the bread and still felt like she could eat three times the portion of lasagne on her plate, so she dug in. Forking food and ignoring, as much as possible, the wrap-up chat between Julius and Marko. Julius did most of the talking and Marko’s voice, when he did join in, was very deep, very smooth. Looking at her food, and not her dining companions, Lydia found herself growing warm every time Marko spoke. She looked at him, curious now, and caught the faintest gleam on his skin. He turned his face and the light on his cheek made the skin there appear pearlescent. For a moment turquoise, lilac, pink and lemon yellow danced across his skin in a wave, like the iridescent interior of a shell. And then he moved and the mother-of-pearl was gone.

  ‘Keep in touch,’ Charlie said, as Julius slid out of his seat, followed by Marko.

  ‘Very nice to meet you, Lydia,’ Julius said. And then they walked out of the cafe into the boiling sunlight. Lydia watched them through the window, hanging in the doorway for a moment, pulling out sunglasses and putting them on, before sauntering across the street.

  ‘What a waste,’ Charlie indicated the almost-full plates of pasta.

  ‘They were too intimidated to eat,’ Lydia said. Mainly because she knew it would make Charlie happy, and she had vowed to be a little more careful about pissing him off. The dream with Madeleine had felt like a clear warning and, while it was probably just random images from her subconscious, it seemed like a good idea to take heed, anyway. Maybe her subconscious had noticed something that she hadn’t. That lizard brain that had kept her ancestors alive by spotting danger. Well, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a gift lizard. Whatever.

  Charlie smiled. He pushed his plate away and leaned back, producing a gold coin and flipping it over the back of his knuckles in an easy movement. ‘So, what did you think of them?’

  ‘Your new investment?’ Lydia chased a piece of lasagne crust with her fork.

  ‘It’s nothing new,’ Charlie said. ‘Just business as usual. I lend them capital, they pay it back with interest. It’s good to encourage development in the community.’

  Lydia concentrated on chewing and avoided looking Charlie in the eye. It was no longer the bad-old-days and Lydia was pretty sure that extortion, protection rackets and actual loan-sharking were not on the table, but that didn’t make her uncle and his various minions saintly. The only reason Charlie cared about community development was in order to line the Crow Family coffers. And maybe to secure his reputation as the benevolent Godfather of Camberwell.

  ‘A reasonable rate of interest, I assume,’ Lydia said, keeping her voice light.

  ‘Well,’ Charlie spread his hands. ‘If they were able to convince a regular bank, they would be able to benefit from those rates. I’m taking a risk, it’s only fair that I’m compensated for that risk.’

  They both knew that there was no risk. One way or another Julius and Marko would pay Charlie back. Lydia just hoped that these days it would involve working for Charlie, rather than losing body parts.

  ‘Did you trust them, though?’ Charlie’s tone had turned casual. Hyper-casual. Suspiciously casual. ‘What impression did you get?’

  Lydia immediately felt herself stiffen. He doesn’t know, she told herself. He doesn’t know anything. ‘I have no idea,’ she said.

  ‘It would be so useful to know if there were any little surprises. In my line of work, surprises are rarely good.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Lydia said.

  ‘So, there’s nothing you can tell me about them?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Lyds,’ Charlie said. ‘Come on. Be straight with me.’

  Lydia opened her mouth to argue that she had no idea what he was driving at and then she caught a warning in his expression. ‘Nothing from Julius,’ she said. ‘But Marko is a Pearlie. A little, at least.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘That’s useful. Thank you.’

  Lydia lined her knife and fork on her plate. ‘How long have you known?’

  Charlie slung an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m family. I’ve always known.’

  She gave him a long look. ‘I am pretty good at detecting bullshit, too.’

  He laughed. ‘All right. Your dad isn’t as tight-lipped as he used to be. That’s all.’

  Lydia looked away to hide her anger. He had taken advantage of Henry’s compromised mental faculties. The fact that she had done the same did nothing to improve her mood. Guilt and anger swirled together in a bitter brew.

  ‘He’s my brother,’ Charlie said, as if reading her mind. ‘I didn’t do it deliberately, but sometimes he forgets who he is talking to these days. Last time you were visiting, before you moved back, he let it slip.’

  ‘Christmas?’ Lydia remembered that visit. Charlie and Dad in the living room, watching snooker and drinking whisky, while she helped Mum wrestle a beef joint into its pastry jacket.

  He nodded. ‘The specifics were interesting, but it wasn’t news, you know? You’re Henry Crow’s daughter. There was no way on this sweet earth you weren’t going to have some talent.’

  ‘That’s why you want me here?’ Lydia indicated the cafe. ‘So that I can sit in on your business meetings. Suss out who is who and whether they are packing.’

  ‘Only if you don’t mind,’ Charlie said. ‘Just an occasional favour, but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.’

  It sounded perfectly reasonable and that, Lydia knew, was the problem. There would be more, there always was. And a big pile of stuff that Charlie wasn’t telling her. Still. She shrugged. ‘It’s the least I can do while I’m living here rent free.’

  He smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze with his gigantic hand. ‘We’ve got to stick together. Times are c
hanging.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘So, tell me about your life. Are you settled into the flat? Got everything you need?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great.’ Lydia pictured the blank functionality of the space and was surprised at the warmth she felt. It had only been a few months, but it felt like home. The security system she had installed helped, as did the lack of rent. A free flat in London was enough to give anyone a hot flush.

  ‘And business is good? You’re getting clients. I can put the word out, if you need-’

  ‘It’s good,’ Lydia broke in. ‘Busy.’

  ‘I knew you’d land well,’ Charlie said. ‘You making friends?’

  ‘Friends?’ Lydia said.

  ‘It’s important to enjoy life. Not just work all the time.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said, ‘Honestly, I’m living my best life.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Charlie twisted his lips. ‘I don’t know. I think it’s all work, all business. Angel says you don’t have friends visit, only clients.’

  ‘Is she your source?’ Lydia regretted the words as soon as they were out. Karen would not be impressed.

  Charlie didn’t glower, although his bland expression was scary enough. ‘I’m your uncle. I’m your family. I’m allowed to worry.’

  ‘I know,’ Lydia said. ‘And I appreciate your concern, but I’m happy. Honestly.’

  ‘Okay,’ Charlie raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Although, you need to tell your police contact to be more respectful of your time. Or you won’t have any opportunity to make better friends.’

  And there it was. The information he had been leading up to. Lydia put her hands in her lap and linked her fingers together to stop herself from fidgeting. ‘He is a friend,’ she said. ‘And a very useful contact. A bit of both.’

  ‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s police. A copper. I’m sure he seems very reasonable, very helpful, but you can’t ever forget what he is.’

  ‘I know,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Do you?’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Henry always coddled you. Wanted you away from all of this,’ he waved a hand. ‘But you’re here, now. Living here. Working here. And you can’t ever forget that you’re a Crow and that has to come first. Every time.’

  ‘I know,’ Lydia said, again. ‘Really. I get it. I’m careful. I don’t talk about the Family.’

  ‘Does he ask, though?’

  ‘No,’ Lydia lied. ‘I ask him questions, not the other way around. The information flows one way only.’

  ‘You make sure of it,’ Charlie said. ‘And don’t get too friendly.’

  Lydia stood up. ‘I have to get back to work. Thanks for lunch.’

  ‘Any time, Lyds. You know that. I look after my own.’

  Chapter Nine

  Robert Sharp was no longer front-page news. One dead analyst didn’t merit the spotlight for very long, despite the public way he had been killed. His name had been released, which had resulted in a flurry of attention at the beginning of the week but, Lydia assumed because the journalists had drawn a similar blank as the police on friends and family, it had blown out quickly. There didn’t seem to be anything interesting about Robert Sharp’s life to dig into in the aftermath of his death. Lydia had asked Fleet if the police were treating it as gang-related, instead. Some group deciding to emulate an old Mob-killing for kudos. Fleet had said that it was the main line of inquiry. His expression was sceptical, though.

  ‘You don’t think it’s right?’

  He had shaken his head. ‘Too tidy for that. Gang retaliation is messier. Nastier.’

  ‘Nastier than hanging?’

  ‘Much nastier.’

  Lydia hadn’t asked him to elaborate.

  * * *

  Maria had given Lydia a direct telephone number and a name. She had made it clear that Lydia was not welcome to visit her office in person, but that she could question her secretary, Milo Easen. When he answered, it was clear he had been briefed to give the barest of bare details. He confirmed that Robert Sharp had telephoned to make an appointment with Maria Silver.

  ‘The appointment was for next week, correct?’

  ‘Yes. That was our next available time. He was flagged as a priority.’

  ‘Not that high a priority. It was over a week between his call and the appointment and it obviously wasn’t quick enough.’

  Easen was silent. Then he said: ‘Ms Silver is extremely busy, like all the staff here. If Mr Sharp had been flexible as to who he saw for the initial meeting, we would have been able to accommodate him sooner, but he was not.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lydia said. ‘Do you know why he was so fixated on Maria?’

  A slight pause. ‘She has a formidable reputation.’

  ‘What was the nature of Mr Sharp’s problem?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘No indication at all? Is that normal? For you to arrange an initial appointment without any kind of briefing notes for your boss? That seems like an inefficient use of her time. Especially when she is in such high demand.’

  Another short silence. ‘I had been told to expect Mr Sharp’s call and instructed to give him an appointment within the next two weeks. No questions asked.’

  ‘Does that sort of thing happen often?’

  ‘No,’ Easen said, ‘but then we have a very full roster and rarely extend our client base.’

  ‘Speaking of clients, what can you tell me about JRB?’

  This time there was no hesitation whatsoever. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  After finishing the call, Lydia stared into space for a few minutes, thinking. She had already Googled JRB and found the kind of bland corporate website which told the world exactly nothing about their business, except that they could afford a top-notch designer. Going through company records for the directors yielded a couple of names which she dutifully looked up. Again, they had minimal web presences. It was hard to know if that was, in itself, suspicious, or whether both men were just very old school.

  Lydia leaned back in her office chair and considered whether fanning herself with a piece of paper would be worth the effort. A sudden drop in temperature preceded Jason’s appearance. ‘Oh, that feels good,’ Lydia said. ‘Stand closer.’

  ‘Still hot?’ Jason said. ‘I can’t feel it.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Jason said, his voice dry.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s the heat. It’s making me stupid.’

  Jason walked around the desk, which Lydia appreciated, and lightly wrapped his arms around her upper body. Instantly, her skin rose in goosebumps. A few seconds more and she began to shiver. He moved away. ‘No, don’t. It’s so nice to feel cool.’

  * * *

  Lydia was stretched out on the thin hard carpet of her ex-living room. From this angle, her desk reared up in her peripheral vision and she had a panoramic view of the stains on the anaglypta ceiling.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Fleet had been in the tiny kitchen, fixing them both dinner from the supplies he had brought; salad, cheese, fresh baguette, and olives. Lydia heard him cross the room and put plates down onto her desk. ‘We could eat outside. It’s so warm-’

  ‘No!’ Lydia said quickly, sitting up. ‘In here’s fine.’

  He gave her a funny look so she followed up with ‘we’ll get dive-bombed by pigeons.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Fleet said but, thankfully, dropped the matter. He took his plate and a glass of orange juice and sat on the sofa.

  Lydia got to her feet and plucked an olive from her plate. The intense salty flavour flooded her mouth and she realised that she was starving. The heat masked hunger. Or perhaps it was her level of distraction. Her mind had been so taken up with her open cases and the case that she wasn’t even supposed to be working, all the while trying not to think about her weird dreams. She had a sense of growing unease which had no logical reason. It was exhausting.

  ‘You’re miles away,
’ Fleet said. ‘Anything I can help with?’

  Lydia blinked and focused on Fleet. ‘Tell me you convinced Ian to let you see the crime-scene photos.’

  ‘I’ve seen the crime-scene images.’ He popped an olive in his mouth and chewed.

  Fleet was so casual that it took a second for Lydia’s brain to catch up to what he had said and to understand that it was actually what she wanted to hear. ‘And you wasted time with food?’

  ‘I was hungry,’ Fleet said, wiping his hands together and leaning to one side to pick up the black rucksack he used for work. ‘Now, I shouldn’t have these. It goes without saying that I am definitely not doing what I’m doing right now.’ He crossed the room and opened his laptop. The screen sprang to life and he navigated to a folder and clicked to open a handful of files.

  ‘Of course,’ Lydia said. The files were JPEGs. She looked up at Fleet. ‘Won’t there be a record of you copying these?’

  ‘Ian knows a guy in IT,’ Fleet said. ‘Hopefully he knows what he’s doing.’

  Lydia peered at the photographs, concentrating on the close-ups of the bindings used on Sharp’s wrists and ankles. Plastic zip ties. There were red marks where he had struggled against his bonds, cutting into his flesh, and Lydia deliberately noted them down in her notebook to avoid thinking about the picture of human suffering they painted.

  The bricks that had been stuffed into Sharp’s suit jacket pockets were also photographed carefully. ‘They’re not new,’ Lydia said, touching the screen with her fingertip.

  ‘Nope,’ Fleet said. ‘Victorian, apparently. Ian’s put a request to trace their origin, where they might have been bought or found, but no luck yet.’

  ‘Reclamation yards?’

  ‘Yeah, that kind of thing. Old buildings that haven’t been completely salvaged, yet. Problem is, there are a lot of old bricks in London.’

  Lydia nodded. She was looking at another of the pictures. Sharp’s body was attached to the ironwork girders underneath Blackfriars bridge. Even though he had been strung up near the bottom of the curve of the bridge, relatively close to where the Thames met the embankment, his feet were well off the ground. ‘How hard would it be to do that?’