The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  Half an hour later, when Lydia was chasing the last of her drink around the ice cubes with her straw, Milo pushed out of the front entrance. He had a canvas rucksack slung over one shoulder and was carrying his suit jacket.

  Lydia followed him along Fetter Lane toward Fleet Street, waiting until the junction before walking smartly up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. ‘Quick word, Milo?’

  ‘Jesus!’ Milo went whiter than he already was and then red. ‘I can’t talk to you.’

  ‘Course you can,’ Lydia said. She spread her arms. ‘It’s a beautiful day for a stroll.’

  Milo was looking over Lydia’s shoulder, panic in his eyes. Lydia knew he would be scouting the street for other Silver employees. She had expected him to be concerned, but it was interesting that it was terror she was sensing instead.

  ‘The Hare in Camberwell. See you there in an hour.’

  ‘Why would I-’ Milo began and Lydia cut across him, taking a tiny step closer. ‘If I don’t see you there, I’ll have to come back here tomorrow. And the day after and the day after that. I’ll wait in reception next time.’

  * * *

  Lydia was happy to be on home ground. She sipped an orange juice and settled back to scroll through her phone while she waited. The bar was busy and filling fast, but Lydia had snagged her favourite seat in the corner. When Milo walked in, shoulders hunched, Lydia had the perfect view. He wore a hunted expression as he looked around the pub. Lydia raised a hand and he crossed the room.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I don’t want to be here.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lydia said. ‘Let’s get it over with then. I want to know about Maria Silver’s relationship with Yas Bishop.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t deny that they knew each other, then?’

  ‘That’s…’ Milo looked flummoxed. ‘JRB are our clients.’

  ‘Right. Did Yas come by for meetings? How much contact did they have?’

  Milo frowned ‘None, really. JRB never came into the office.’

  ‘You keep referring to the corporate entity. I would like some names.’

  ‘I don’t have any,’ Milo said. He saw her expression. ‘I swear. I don’t have any. Ms Bishop was the only listed contact. And I don’t recall any meetings with Maria. If I showed you her diary, you would see. Nothing was ever booked in.’

  ‘We both know that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.’

  ‘You don’t know Ms Silver’s schedule. If it’s not in the diary, it doesn’t happen.’

  Lydia caught a glimpse of the steel that had to be necessary to work as Maria’s assistant and smiled. ‘Have the police spoken to you?’

  Milo shifted in his seat. ‘Yes. Will there be more?’

  ‘Probably,’ Lydia said. ‘And I know you won’t talk. You can’t and I understand that. The Silvers run a tight ship.’

  ‘So what is this, then?’ Milo gestured between them. ‘Why are you harassing me?’

  ‘For my own satisfaction,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not interested in making trouble for you and the police don’t need any further tips, they have a solid enough case with Maria’s bloody clothes. But I know I don’t have all the details. I don’t understand where Yas fits in and I need to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It will annoy me. Nag at me.’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  Milo started to get up and Lydia plucked her coin out of the air, flipping it and slamming it down onto the back of her left hand. ‘Heads or tails?’

  Milo had frozen. He didn’t take his eyes from the coin and lowered himself back onto the chair.

  ‘I have a theory,’ Lydia said, keeping her hand over the coin. ‘Stop me if I get anything wrong. I think Yas Bishop was told to look after Robert Sharp by JRB. Whether it was because he was helping them or blackmailing them, I don’t know. I don’t really care, either. So, JRB wanted Sharp recompensed. The company didn’t use bank transfers to pay him, though, at least none that the police have found in Robert Sharp’s records. My guess is that they used gifts, instead. Gifts and favours. Maybe Yas helped him find the flat in Canary Wharf, helped him choose the godawful décor, she seemed to have a thing for interiors. But I think she had to find high-value gifts to pass along, too.’

  Milo nodded very slightly.

  ‘And the reason none of this is news to you is because your boss, Maria Silver, had a bright idea. She recommended a place where Yas Bishop could purchase items for JRB and give them to Robert. I don’t know if that was Yas’s sole job, her entire purpose on the pay roll of the mysterious JRB, but she accepted the suggestion readily enough and trotted off to the Silver Vaults. How am I doing?’

  Milo kept his eyes on Lydia’s hands. ‘Ms Silver asked me to call Ms Bishop with the address of the vaults and a shop name. She said it was for a christening present.’

  ‘Maria must have thought it was a neat solution. An easy way to scratch a back, gather a favour which might be handy later.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with recommending a shop to someone,’ Milo said. ‘It’s not a crime. It’s not anything.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Lydia agreed. ‘I just wanted to know I was right. I told you, I’m just scratching an itch. Can I ask one more thing? Did Maria specifically tell Ms Bishop to purchase a silver knight statue?’

  Milo frowned. ‘Not to my knowledge. But I didn’t hear them talking about it directly. Which is it?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Milo nodded at Lydia’s hands. ‘Heads or tails?’

  ‘Neither.’ Lydia revealed the gold coin, wondering what the image would be. Her coin often showed the profile of a resting crow, but sometimes it was smooth and blank and sometimes it just had the silhouette of an empty tree branch. They both looked. The coin was engraved with the image of a crow in flight, its wings spread wide.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Walking back to The Fork, Lydia wondered when Maria had realised her mistake. From the outside, it didn’t seem as if she could have known that Guillaume Chartes would sell Yas a statue with supernatural powers. It was interesting that Maria had tried to clear up the mess without drawing on the powerful influence of Alejandro, though. Either Maria feared his anger, or she had been hoping to keep knowledge of the existence of the statue’s power to herself.

  Something was very clear, though; the more Lydia uncovered, the more she wanted to keep digging. The restless feeling in her guts was reassuring. The endless parade of adultery cases and her accompanying fatigue had made her worry, just a little, that she hadn’t found her true calling after all. Now, however, she knew that she was driven by the desire to unravel knots, to see the whole truth behind the obfuscation, to know, if not understand, as many details as possible. And she felt the satisfaction which came from knowledge.

  In her flat, she washed out her Sherlock Holmes mug and flipped the switch on the kettle. While she waited for the water to boil, she summoned her coin. It was still showing the same image. The crow in flight. Putting it on the worktop, Lydia attempted, for the first time in her life, to scoop another coin out of the air. Nothing happened. She tried again, concentrating on the feeling in her fingers and trying to remember how it felt when it worked. She felt faintly ridiculous. She hadn’t been lying when she had explained it to Jason. She didn’t summon the coin or create it, it was always there. Part of her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jason had appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

  ‘Nothing,’ Lydia said, picking up her coin from the counter. ‘Just trying something.’

  Jason’s smile was infectious. ‘With your powers?’

  ‘Such as they are,’ Lydia said, pulling a wry smile. ‘I’ll try talking to my dad. See if I can get some background information.’

  Jason closed the gap between them with a couple of steps and wrapped his arms around her. Lydia returned the hug, feeling the strange cool energy of Jason’s form. As she held him, she could feel his body becoming firmer under
her palms. She flexed her fingers and felt the material of his suit jacket. He pulled back slightly, not letting go, and they looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Jason looked more alive that she had ever seen him. His cheeks were pink and there was a spark in his eyes. Lydia could see every detail of his face, with no shimmering or blurring; each eyelash glistening with moisture, the individual pores of his skin. They broke apart and Jason scrubbed at his face with his hands.

  ‘You okay?’ Lydia asked, thinking the ghost was crying. ‘Have I upset you?’

  ‘No,’ Jason said from behind his fingers. ‘I just feel… Feelings. It’s like I’ve been drugged, tranquilised, and you just woke me up.’

  ‘Just now?’

  ‘Well, it’s been building, I think. But, yeah. I felt something. Didn’t you?’

  Lydia bit back her immediate urge to make a joke, to make light of it. Instead she looked Jason straight in the eyes and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  Since the rain storms, the temperature in the city had returned to the classic summer in London; mild, damp, and smelling of drains. Lydia stood out on her roof terrace, her hands resting lightly on the railing. She was wide awake and she wasn’t afraid. Turning around to survey the space, she found herself thinking about getting some outdoor furniture. Maybe rigging up a light or two.

  DCI Fleet was coming round after work that night and Jason was occupied in his bedroom with a new packet of Sharpies. For now, Lydia was alone and free. She went and fetched a beer before sitting at her desk. She could do a bit of paperwork or she could read a book or watch some television. There was nothing pressing to do, no overdue bills, and Uncle Charlie had taken a welcome step back.

  He was still suspicious, of course. He wasn’t stupid and suspected that Lydia had played a role in the arrest of Maria Silver. As long as it wasn’t proven or whispered by anybody else, though, he seemed willing to let it go. There was a new look in his eye when he spoke to her. A mix of wariness and respect that Lydia hadn’t seen before. She had to admit that she liked it.

  Feeling mellow, Lydia treated herself to a look at the news stories about Maria Silver’s arrest. Somebody must have tipped the press as there was a photograph of her being taken from Silver and Silver LLP’s offices and into custody. Below it was the glossy headshot used on the company’s website and another one of her in some tropical paradise in happier times. Maria had been formally charged with murder and was on remand while awaiting trial. Despite her good standing and lack of prior convictions, bail had been denied due to the serious nature of the charges and because she was considered a flight risk. Her father had already appealed this ruling, and had launched a number of other counter appeals and a civil case against the Met for harassment. It was far from over, but it gladdened Lydia’s heart to see the Crown Prosecution Service working even when the accused was a monied, privileged insider like Maria Silver. Maria had been right, England really did have a decent legal system.

  Lydia was still smiling to herself when there was a knock on her door. Her proximity alarm hadn’t sounded, which meant Lydia was on high alert as she walked up her short hallway. She kept to the side of the passage, had her illegal can of Mace ready in one hand, and put the security chain on before opening the door. Lydia felt the power before she could see through the gap in the door, it felt like a physical blow and she staggered, half-falling against the wall.

  Standing in her hallway was the man-boy who had been staring at her in her circuits class. The class when she had felt a burst of power that had been like nothing else she had encountered. The one which had made her worry that her own ability was misfiring. So much had happened since, that she had almost forgotten about it and now here he was. Short, young, and twice as wide as she remembered. And outside her home. ‘You,’ she managed.

  He smiled as if pleased she recognised him and passed a brown padded enveloped through the gap in the door.

  ‘You’re a courier?’

  He shrugged. ‘I am today.’ His voice was unbelievably deep and Lydia felt it reverberating through her bones. Which was impossible.

  He was already moving away and Lydia found herself gasping for breath and trying to right herself from a sudden wave of dizziness. By the time she had recovered he had disappeared back down the stairs. Lydia forced her legs into action and followed, but by the time she made it to The Fork and then out onto the street, there was no sign of the stranger.

  Back upstairs, her landline was ringing. The problem with the retro-style phone was that it didn’t have a caller id display. Still, the envelope was familiar and Lydia fancied she could sense the tang of Fox even before she snatched up the receiver and heard Paul. ‘Don’t burn this one, Little Bird.’

  ‘I think I’ll just shred it,’ Lydia said. ‘Who was the courier you booked?’

  ‘No shredding. No burning. No ignoring me. That’s all done with.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Lydia said. ‘What on earth makes you think I’ll change my-’

  ‘Maria Silver.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I know it was you.’

  ‘You know what was me?’ Lydia was aiming for confused innocence.

  Paul laughed and it raised the hair on Lydia’s arms. ‘The things I could tell dear old Uncle Charlie. Not to mention Alejandro. How do you think that would play out? How many of your friends and family would die before that score was settled? And that’s if it doesn’t provoke outright war.’

  ‘You don’t want that any more than I do,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Bit of a rumble. Might be fun. And you know us Foxes… We always stay safe in our dens. It’s the knights who fall on the battlefield. And the birds who get shot out of the sky.’

  ‘Let’s say I believe you, which I don’t. What do you want?’

  ‘One little job. That’s all.’

  ‘I definitely don’t believe that.’

  Paul laughed again. ‘Maybe a little more friendliness thrown in. The Crows could do with a new ally, don’t you think?’

  Lydia paused. ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘Read all about it,’ Paul said. ‘Then give me a call.’

  The line went dead and Lydia replaced the receiver. She picked up the envelope and weighed it in her hands, before dropping it back onto the surface of the desk and giving it a hard stare. After a moment she got up and walked to Jason’s room. She didn’t want to be alone to open the envelope and, thankfully, she didn’t have to be. ‘Jason?’

  The ghost was motionless in front of the far wall of his bedroom. ‘Can you come through for a minute?’

  He started as if shaken from a deep reverie.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘Did I startle you?’

  ‘You’re all right,’ Jason said, turning round. His easy smile disappeared. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s fine. Just come see.’

  ‘What is it?’ Jason followed Lydia back to the main room. Lydia pointed to the envelope. ‘We’ve got a new job.’

  * * *

  THE END

  Thank You For Reading

  I hope you enjoyed reading about Lydia Crow and her family as much as I enjoyed writing about them!

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  Acknowledgments

  This time last year, my beloved mum died. The past twelve months have been extremely tou
gh, and I am so grateful for my wonderful family and friends for helping me through it.

  I also feel incredibly lucky to have work which I care about deeply; writing fiction has been a welcome escape and comfort. Heartfelt thanks to you, dear reader. Without you, I wouldn’t get to do this as my profession and I am grateful every single day.

  Thank you to Catherine Shellard, Keris Stainton, Clodagh Murphy, and Sally Calder for wine, writerly chats, research trips to London, and plentiful hugs. And for providing love and cheer whenever required.

  Much love to Lucy Golden-Taylor, Nadine Kirtzinger, Rachel Moorhouse, Katie Bass, and Emma Ward for their kindness and friendship.

  A book is always a collaboration and you would not be reading this book without the vital work of my editor, cover designer, early readers and wonderful ARC team. In particular: Ann Martin, David Wood, Beth Farrar, Karen Heenan, Melanie Leavey, Paula Searle, Judy Grivas, Jenni Gudgeon, Kerry Barrett, and Stuart Bache. Thank you, all.

  Love and gratitude to Holly and James. You are always happy to talk through plot points and to offer encouragement, and you put up with ‘deadline Mum’ with grace and understanding.

  As always, this book would not exist without the steadfast support, wise counsel, and infinite love of my Dave. Thank you, darling.

  About the Author

  Before writing books, Sarah Painter worked as a freelance magazine journalist, blogger and editor, combining this 'career' with amateur child-wrangling (AKA motherhood).