Chapter Thirteen
Lydia was still feeling invincible when she got back to the flat. She didn’t let herself be fazed by the marks around the lock on her front door. After all, whoever had tried to break-in hadn’t succeeded. She was perfectly safe.
‘We’re perfectly safe,’ she said to Jason when she coaxed him from his bedroom for a debrief. ‘She couldn’t get in.’
Jason was fiddling with the cuffs on his jacket and Lydia wondered what that felt like to him. Were they substantial to his own touch just from the force of habit? She opened her mouth to ask but he spoke first. ‘I know it sounds stupid given my… Status. But I can’t always just disappear. Sometimes I do it when I don’t want to and sometimes I want to go, because I’m scared or something, and I can’t. And I can touch things, now. You can touch me.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said. ‘I understand and it’s not stupid at all.’ She reached out her hand and touched Jason’s arm. There was a spark of sensation, the usual strange charge she got from contact with the ghost, but then she felt something else. Soft material. She tensed her fingers, gripping the material in a small bunch and rubbing her fingertips over the weave.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jason said, looking at her hand. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I have no idea,’ Lydia said, letting go of his sleeve. ‘But it will have to wait. Sorry.’
A few minutes later, she had fired up the laptop and opened Facebook. Her dummy account had been accepted by two of Yas’s friends and she could now see past the few profile pictures visible to the public. A quick scroll confirmed that Yas hadn’t been active on Facebook for over six weeks and that her timeline updates had been pretty sparse before that. A few comedy memes reposted, multiple pictures of the small, beady-eyed dog, and the occasional sunset. Yas was obviously mindful of her privacy, or just disinterested in posting selfies, but Lydia had a look for pictures Yas had been tagged in and found one immediately. A group of dressed-up women, sitting in a restaurant and smiling for the camera. ‘Do you recognise anybody here?’
Jason pointed at Yas Bishop. ‘That’s the woman who tried to break in.’
* * *
Lydia was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming but that didn’t stop the terror from thumping through her with every wild beat of her hammering heart. The sky was navy blue with a bright turquoise edging the rooftops and chimney stacks. The sensation of being poked in the back, the bruising pressure and the knowledge that the man was behind her and that he was going to force her over the railing and to her death. ‘I don’t want to fall,’ she said, hating the pleading sound in her voice.
It wasn’t the hitman who spoke, though. Not the Russian gun for hire who had been sent to kill Maddie and got the wrong Crow. It was Maddie and she sounded exasperated. ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’
* * *
Lydia stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee. She was half-asleep after her broken night and wondering how much longer the nightmares were going to last. Her subconscious was clearly working through something, but she wished it would hurry up and let her get a full eight hours of shut-eye. The door to the hallway was wide open and the light coming through the glass panel of her front door didn’t look right. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked a couple of times. There was a shape obscuring the glass on the outside. It was rectangular and pale and Lydia had a horrible feeling she knew what it was before she unlocked the door. A padded envelope had been taped to the glass with bright yellow ‘police crime scene’ sticky tape. More worrying was the fact that her sensor hadn’t alerted her to the fact that somebody had visited her door.
Lydia took the package indoors and examined the blocky black handwriting on the front. It was addressed to ‘Ms Lydia Crow, Crow Investigations, The Fork’. She flipped it over but there wasn’t a return address.
Her landline rang. Lydia walked back to her desk holding the package and snatched up the receiver. ‘Crow Investigations.’
‘Have you opened it, yet?’ The scent of Fox went straight to the back of Lydia’s throat. She swigged from the water bottle on her desk before replying, not wanting to sound hoarse. Any sign of weakness, however small, was unacceptable in front of Paul Fox. ‘No and I won’t be.’
A theatrical sigh. ‘Still being hostile, Little Bird?’
Lydia looked at the envelope with loathing. ‘I’m putting it straight into the wheelie bin. I am not interested in working for you. Not now and not ever.’
‘You shouldn’t throw it away. Who knows what sensitive information is inside.’
‘What information?’ Lydia raised her eyes to the ceiling. She knew she was being drawn but it was hard to avoid.
‘I heard you met with Maria the other day. How is the Silver princess?’
‘You’re following me?’
‘Word gets around. You know how it is.’
‘This bloody town,’ Lydia said. ‘What happened to the big anonymous city?’
‘Social visit, was it?’
‘Yes,’ Lydia said. ‘I wanted to meet her cat.’
‘Typical of a Crow to side with a Silver. Old habits.’
‘I’m not siding with anybody. Just myself.’
‘Back in the day, the Crows always allied with the Silvers.’
‘I know,’ Lydia lied. ‘And nobody allied with the Foxes. I wonder why?’
‘You should cultivate some friends.’
‘I have plenty of friends,’ Lydia said.
‘Like that lovely Emma? Please.’
‘Don’t say her name,’ Lydia said. ‘If I hear you have been within one hundred yards of Emma or her family, I will kill you.’
‘That was chilling,’ Paul said, amusement clear in his voice. ‘Say it again. I’m getting goosebumps.’
‘Slink off and hide in your den,’ Lydia said and hung up. The retro phone made that a very satisfying action and Lydia banged the receiver down once more, for the sheer joy of it.
* * *
Once she was showered and caffeinated, Lydia considered her options. She could take a hint. A silver statue. Rumbles from Paul Fox. She wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a meeting on neutral ground this time.
Silver and Silver LLP was housed in a shining glass and metal office building on Fetter Lane, running off Fleet Street. The narrow road was split in time down the centre. On one side, the impressive neo-gothic stonework and clocktower of the Maughan Library and on the other, the shining glass and metal edifice of the modern law office. Lydia had no idea how much it would cost to have an entire building in a prime central and historical area like this, but she would guess it was more money than most people would ever see in a lifetime. Around the corner was Temple Church, built in the twelfth century by the Knights Templar as their English headquarters and the four inns of court were nearby. This was an area of ancient power and money, where the power lay with those who could tell the best story. Those who understood all the rules and how to bend them to their will, the people who had the knowledge of the esoteric guidelines, both legal and religious, and could help you navigate those murky waters between salvation and damnation. For a fee.
Back in the sixteenth century, there had been a gibbet at the junction with Fleet Street and when an MP had been found guilty of tax-dodging he had been hanged right outside his own front door. Public justice. That it was seen to be done was as important as the justice itself. Things hadn’t changed, Lydia thought. The look of things was still as important as the truth of them. More so, usually.
Lydia didn’t have an appointment but she persuaded Maria’s assistant to let her into Maria’s office by dint of ignoring him and walking straight in.
He flapped behind her but Maria just raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry about it. Close the door.’
Lydia threw herself into one of the leather chairs in front of Maria’s vast desk. ‘Congratulations on the Gallo case.’
Maria looked momentarily surprised. Then she smiled thinly. ‘I’m assuming you are being sarcastic.’
&n
bsp; ‘Why would you think that?’ Lydia said. ‘Just because you made sure a mob boss will be back on the streets within three months instead of going away for twenty years.’
‘I’m excellent at my job,’ Maria said.
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’ Suddenly Lydia really wanted to know. ‘The man was guilty, that was proven, but you got him less time than some desperate teen junkie who swiped a watch in a department store.’
Maria shrugged. ‘Not if I had defended them.’
‘That’s what I mean. It shouldn’t depend on who defends you. It should be fair.’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ Maria said. ‘And the social system which means that one person can afford my services while another cannot isn’t fair. We don’t live in a utopian society with full equality.’
‘Yeah-’
‘But the law is fair. The legal system in England is one of the best in the world. Nothing is perfect, but it’s one of the fairest systems. That’s why so many of my clients want me to fight extradition and have their trial in the UK.’
‘I thought that was to avoid justice.’
‘It’s to ensure a fair trial. There are places in the world where you can buy a judgment.’
‘But that’s what you are, bought freedom. A bought ruling.’
‘No,’ Maria said with sudden vehemence. ‘You buy my services, my expertise, my knowledge of the law, my ability to convince a jury and to tell a good story in court. You don’t buy a verdict. You don’t buy a bribe.’
‘Okay,’ Lydia held up her hands. ‘But I don’t see how you can represent for people you know are guilty. I don’t see how you can argue or tell a good story or whatever when you know you’re trying to get a criminal off.’
‘I don’t know that they are a criminal, that’s very important.’
‘Oh, come on. You must know.’
‘I may strongly suspect, but I will not know. Not in the legal sense because it hasn’t been proven, yet. That’s the point of the legal process.’
‘Fine. But you can know they’ve done bad stuff before, that they have form. Don’t you add that to your suspicions? There must be times when you know they are guilty. I know arrogant scumbags. They probably even tell you they’re guilty.’
‘If they’re stupid enough to say something like that to their legal representation then they can’t afford me, trust me. Besides, do you believe that people should have a fair trial? That they should be innocent until proven guilty, regardless of their past mistakes?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Then you agree with me that it is my duty to do my best for my client. Without a defence that is carried out to the full extent of the legal capabilities to match the prosecution which is doing the same, there can be no fair trial. And that is the basis of the whole system.’
‘Have you represented anybody from JRB?’
‘No,’ Maria said after a quick pause, clearly thrown by the turn in conversation.
‘Has anyone in your firm represented them?’
‘Our firm is on retainer so it’s certainly possible, but I would have to check our records. You can access court records yourself, you know.’
‘I know, I was curious as to whether you would tell me the truth.’
Maria tilted her chin. ‘I see.’
The phone on Maria’s desk chirped and Maria pressed a button. ‘Your two o’clock is here,’ a male voice said. Presumably Milo.
Maria smiled without warmth. ‘You know the way out?’
‘Why would JRB give Robert Sharp an antique statue?’
‘How on earth would I know?’
Lydia was watching carefully and Maria’s answer was perfectly casual. Maybe a little too quick, but then she was busy and trying to get rid of Lydia. Lydia cursed her abilities. If only she had been born a lie detector rather than a power-sensor, that would have been handy.
‘It was solid silver.’
Maria’s expression didn’t flicker. ‘I really do have to get on. Some of us have careers, you know.’
* * *
Lydia was on her way out of the shiny, shiny building when a kind of wild stubbornness took hold of her mind. She knew it was a bad idea. If harassing Maria Silver was ill-advised, bothering the head of the Silver family and senior partner in Silver and Silver LLP, Alejandro, was pure madness.
She had never met the man, although she knew his name well, of course. Uncle Charlie spoke of him with admiration and this, as well as his role as both a lawyer and a Silver, had formed her opinion of him as slippery and morally ambivalent. A keen legal mind for hire. A business man first and foremost. And, naturally, a Family man above all else.
She asked the way to his office and was directed upstairs. One of many assistants told her that Mr Silver was too busy to see her and that drop-ins were completely unacceptable. Lydia sat down in the small, but comfortable, waiting area, and told the assistant she would wait.
Lydia spent an hour checking her emails and playing a mindless game on her phone. At one point, she was brought a glass of iced cucumber and lemon water, as if her arse-touching-sofa had triggered a politeness protocol that the bevy of assistants in their sharp suits were unable to bypass. Lydia was just wondering how expensive the air conditioning in the building had to be to achieve the perfectly comfortable atmosphere she was enjoying, when a different assistant, or possibly a solicitor or clerk, crossed the room with one hand held out for Lydia to shake. ‘Amanda Browning. This way, please.’
Lydia obediently followed and found herself in a large rectangular office. Three walls were panelled in honey-coloured wood while the remaining wall was glass. Outside, a narrow terrace ran the length of the building and, facing the view, a cluster of low upholstered chairs with an aggressively modern-retro style and an oval glass coffee table which had probably cost more than Lydia’s car.
Alejandro was at a standing desk in the corner, a cup of espresso dwarfed in one of his hands. He drained it hastily and crossed the room to greet Lydia with a kiss on each cheek. ‘What an honour,’ he said, showing white teeth. The right incisor was a little crooked and it lent him a rakish air. He must have been in his early sixties but his light brown skin was barely lined and he had a full head of black hair, shot through with silver at the temples and in his neatly-trimmed beard. It wasn’t his wiry and disturbingly attractive physicality which was bothering Lydia, though. It was the power radiating from him. Not the power she had felt from Maria, which was the power of influence, money, education and a sharp tongue, but a blast of silvered magic which was making standing up difficult.
‘What can I do for you?’ A hand shot out and, at once, Alejandro was holding onto Lydia’s arm, a solicitous expression on his handsome face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just the heat,’ Lydia said. ‘Outside. In here isn’t hot. Out there, though...’ She trailed off, glad that the verbal diarrhoea seemed to have trickled to a stop.
‘Please,’ Alejandro said. ‘Sit down. I’ll get you a cold drink. Maybe something to eat?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said as she sank onto one of the low comfy chairs. She was trying to think, trying to work out whether Alejandro had any idea of the strength of Silver magic which was pouring out of his body or any idea of the effect he was having. She felt sick and sweat was breaking out over her torso. Any second now, she would begin shivering and probably look like she had rocked up at his fancy office with a full-on case of bird flu. The taste of silver was in her mouth and she could smell metal. The power she only usually sensed as a memory, seeing it like a photographic after-image, was swirling all around Alejandro like dark grey smoke and seemed to be pouring out of every inch of his skin. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples for a moment.
‘You have a headache?’
Lydia opened her eyes. The swirling grey smoke was still there. She clenched her jaw and produced a coin into one hand, closing her fingers around it and squeezing tightly until the smoke was no longer writhing quite as energetically. She focused o
n the middle of Alejandro’s forehead and, that way, could look at him without feeling as if she was going to vomit. Just.
‘Is it this, I wonder?’ Alejandro pressed a piece of the wood panelling and there was an audible click. A door sprung open and he swung it wide, revealing a recessed cupboard which was lit from within to showcase the contents. On a plinth was a large silver trophy. It was the shape of a tall cup, covered in ornate silver-work flowers and vines, and with two curved handles on either side. Lydia could see that it was the dark silver of a well-handled antique, but at the same time her vision was overlaid by a second layer of colour. The surface of the cup was the brightest, purest silver she had ever seen. It was blinding.
Alejandro’s smile was dazzling, too. He looked utterly delighted with his big reveal and the effect that Lydia knew she was failing to conceal. She heard herself retch, and her body was propelled downward, folded over with stomach spasms as her insides tried to urgently relocate.
The cupboard door must have been closed as the next thing Lydia knew she was blinking back tears and looking at the pile of spat-up bile on the carpet in front of her eyes. She straightened up and could only see smooth wooden panelling once more.
‘I would apologise,’ Alejandro said. And then he didn’t.
Well, that was honest, at least. Lydia wiped her mouth with the back of one hand.
‘Please,’ Alejandro darted forward, a crisp white handkerchief held out.
Lydia took it and mopped her face. ‘I think I must be coming down with flu. Stomach flu.’ Lydia looked at the mess on the floor, mortification fighting for second-place behind fear and desperate, calculating thought. What on earth was that cup? How the hell was Alejandro so strong? And did Charlie know?
‘That’s a shame.’ Alejandro wasn’t trying to hide his look of delight and satisfaction. He sat on the nearest chair, uncomfortably close. He sat on the edge, as if poised for action. ‘Do you need to reschedule?’
The Silver Mark Page 12
