Lydia shrugged. ‘Got to diversify your income these days. Freelance is precarious, the more strings to my bow…’
‘Uh-huh,’ the officer said. ‘Got a commission for this piece, have you?’
‘I’m writing it on spec,’ Lydia said. ‘Going to sell it once it’s done.’
He gave her a long look which had been an article of its own, one which detailed the various ways in which he did not believe a word Lydia was saying, and then wrote something in his notebook. Fleet had explained the importance of a copper’s notebook at great length. Everything went into the notebook. Every detail. But it wasn’t just a copper’s memory aid, it was vital evidence that they were following procedure, working a case without bias. And, Fleet had explained, it put the wind up interviewees like nothing else. Even in this day and age of multiple CCTV and YouTube and cameras on every phone, there was something about a human being writing down their words with a stubby little pencil that freaked people out. And, unpleasant as it sounded, slightly freaked out was exactly how you wanted every person you questioned. You were more likely to get the truth that way.
Lydia moved her laptop and opened her own notebook. She clicked her mechanical pencil and began writing everything she had seen and felt in the tunnel. After twenty minutes of scrawl, she felt her breathing had finally returned to normal. She looked at the messy handwriting and felt calm. The incident had been contained. Examined. Not explained, as yet, but the first step had been taken.
Her door opened a crack and Jason said, ‘knock, knock.’
‘I was just going to look for you.’ Lydia closed her notebook.
‘I don’t like the smell in my room,’ he said. Lydia had painted over his mathematical workings, after he had covered every inch of his bedroom walls using coloured Sharpies. It had taken three coats and the odour was lingering despite the window being open twenty-four-seven.
‘I know. I’m sorry. How are you finding the exercise books?’
‘Not as good,’ Jason said. ‘I like working big. Can you get me A2 sheets, instead?’
‘Sure.’ She could order a stack online. Anything to stop him from defacing the decor again. Now that Fleet stayed over semi-regularly, there was a chance he might see the maths-covered walls and she preferred to minimise the number of outright lies she told the man she was sleeping with.
‘Something weird happened today,’ Lydia said.
‘Just the one?’
‘Ha. Yes. For once…’ She smiled for a beat to acknowledge the joke. Then, ‘you know I went to the tunnels at Euston?’
Jason’s mouth turned down at the corners. He did not approve of Lydia working a case for Paul Fox. He had a point, but Lydia hadn’t been able to see any way out of the situation. Paul Fox knew that she had worked to put Maria Silver in jail for murder. If that bit of information got out to Alejandro Silver, head of the Silver Family, then Lydia’s life would be in danger. And the peace which existed between the four magical families in London could be shattered. Crows and Silvers had historically been allies, and if that broke then who knew what the fall out would be?
‘What happened?’
‘There was a body.’
Jason perked up. ‘Murder?’
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t see any obvious injury. He was just sitting there.’ Lydia recalled the scene, searching for details. ‘It was like he’d just decided to have a rest, leaning up against the wall. He was in one of the ventilation tunnels. They’re rarely open to the public, just the occasional tour, and they aren’t part of the active underground system. Not since the sixties.’
‘Will we get details from the post-mortem?’
Lydia nodded. ‘I can ask.’ There were advantages to sort-of-kind-of dating a copper.
‘Bastard.’ Jason folded himself into a lotus position on the end of Lydia’s bed. As always, he was wearing the grey eighties suit he had died in. His wedding suit. Poor Jason wasn’t only deceased, but he was doomed to forever resemble the lost third member of Wham!
‘Who?’
‘Paul Fox,’ Jason said in a tone which implied it was obvious. ‘I bet he knew what was down there. He probably did it. I told you not to take the job.’
‘The dead guy was a Fox.’ Lydia was a Crow. The daughter of the rightful head of the Crow Family, Henry Crow, although her dad had abdicated his position in order to bring Lydia up away from the Family business. The Families didn’t have much of their old powers left but, by rights, Lydia should have been holding a good chunk. Instead, she had always believed that she was a damp squib. Essentially powerless, but with the ability to sense power in others. If she met a Pearl, a Fox, a Silver or a Crow, she knew it instantly. Could taste the flavour of their magic, even when it was faded and old or diluted across the generations. The ‘essentially powerless’ had turned out to be not exactly true, however. It seemed she powered people up, too. If they had a trace of magic, contact with Lydia seemed to amplify it. At least, that was her working theory. Before she had moved into The Fork, for example, Jason had been an ethereal spirit, unable to touch anything physical, let alone speak to a living soul. Now, he could make a cup of coffee. A bad cup of coffee, but still.
Jason was sucking his teeth, deep in thought. Finally, he said: ‘That doesn’t mean Paul didn’t kill him.’
‘I know,’ Lydia rubbed her arms.
‘Sorry,’ Jason made to move away. One of the side-effects to being a ghost was that Jason gave off a chill. Free air-conditioning.
‘It’s not you,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ve been cold since the tunnel.’
Jason was already up, he moved to the chair in the corner of the room which was covered in a pile of Lydia’s clothes and grabbed her hoodie.
‘Thanks,’ Lydia pulled it on and tucked the duvet more tightly around her legs. The chilled feeling was still there. It was like a block of ice was sitting in her stomach, radiating cold. And it contained the memory of that sense of desolation, the futility of existence. Coffee hadn’t done the trick, she would try whisky next. ‘I met the dead guy’s ghost.’
‘You what?’ Jason sat on the bed, again, closer this time. He vibrated slightly, which gave Lydia a headache to look at. It seemed to happen in times of stress or high emotion. Or when Lydia had been away for any length of time and Jason’s grip on his physicality was weakened.
‘It appeared. Standing over the body. I tried to talk, but…’
‘Bloody hell,’ Jason said. ‘I wish I had been there.’
‘Me, too,’ Lydia said. ‘It… He…He sort of stood in me.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know how to explain it without it sounding filthy and weird. His ghost sort of went into me.’
Jason reared back. ‘Is it still there?’
Lydia shook her head.
‘Well that’s something.’ Jason looked concerned, which was nice.
‘I just feel really cold. Since.’
‘No wonder,’ Jason said. ‘How did he do that, though? Did he look like me?’
Lydia knew what he meant. ‘Not as solid. Nowhere near, actually. I could see the wall through him.’
‘Did you talk to him? How long had he been there?’
‘I tried, but he didn’t speak to me. Just hopped on board, so to speak.’ Lydia decided not to mention the expression on the ghost’s face. It hadn’t been restful and she could see that Jason was agitated. He was taking the news personally. Which was understandable, but not helpful.
‘Another ghost, though,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go. Maybe I can talk to him.’
There were two problems with this scenario. First, Jason was unable to leave the building. And second, the ghost had disappeared. Lydia had no idea whether it was still there. She went with reason number two.
‘You can check,’ Jason said, unperturbed. ‘You’ll be doing your investigation thing, anyway, won’t you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lydia said. ‘I did what Paul asked. I went to the tunnel.’
‘Yeah, but yo
u found a dead Fox. You don’t really think that will be the end of it, do you?’
The ghost had a point.
Chapter Three
Lydia made another coffee, adding a generous splash of whisky, and sat behind her desk. She wrapped her hands around the mug, still trying to get properly warm, and took a moment to survey her domain. It was a funny mix of work and domestic, which was the curse and the benefit of working from home. Not to mention being self-employed in a job with such long and odd hours. There was no separation, the professional bleeding into the personal and their colours swirling together to make an unbreakable pattern.
She clicked to open a document. Some case notes that needed to be written up for a recent client. Business had been steady, which was a relief, and Lydia’s finances were looking better than they had in a long time. The main issue remained, though; she needed help. If Jason could leave the building and help her out with surveillance, that would be massively useful.
Looking at client work and thinking about her workload and accounts, added extra weight to the troubled thoughts about the Fox ghost. She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension and allowed herself a moment to anticipate some stress-relief with DCI Fleet. He had texted her earlier to complain about his day being entirely gobbled up by meetings and to say that he was hitting the gym after work. It was cosy. It was nice. It was the kind of message which made it abundantly clear that Fleet considered Lydia his girlfriend. She was in a relationship with the copper and she couldn’t keep denying that fact. Of course, she kept to her rules. She still hadn’t been to his flat. She hadn’t introduced him to her best friend, Emma, or her family. He knew about her Family and the lore surrounding it, but not that she lived with a ghost, powered people up, or any of the pertinent details of her gift for sensing Family power. It was a looming conversation, but one she was happy to put off as long as possible. Fleet had shown himself to be incredibly open-minded and supportive, believing in her abilities but not asking a load of questions which, must, Lydia realised now, be killing him. You don’t get into detective work without a boat-load of curiosity, after all. She should know.
Her mobile rang and she answered right away. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why would something be wrong?’ Her mother sounded genuinely bewildered, which was reassuring.
‘You never call my mobile. Is Dad okay?’
‘He’s fine. Sends his love.’
‘Okay. Good. That’s good.’
‘I was planning a trip to town next week and I wondered if you might be free for lunch?’ Her mother sounded slightly breathless and there were traffic sounds in the background. She wasn’t calling from the house.
‘Of course,’ Lydia said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine!’ Her mother’s breezy tone wasn’t in the slightest bit convincing but Lydia didn’t have a chance to press further.
‘Got to run, darling.’
Lydia went back to work, sipping her spiked drink and focusing on manageable issues and the soothing rhythm of ordering her notes into case files and client reports. Making sense of the world through times and dates, facts and figures.
After another hour, she went to find Jason. He was in the small kitchen, meditatively making a cup of fennel tea. ‘I can’t stand that stuff,’ Lydia said. Emma had bought a selection of herbal teas, saying it would be nice for clients. She had proved to be right, but Lydia was a die-hard coffee fan and still couldn’t believe she had become the kind of person who had turmeric teabags under her roof.
‘I know,’ Jason said. He was pressing the bag against the side of the cup with a spoon, squeezing out every last drop of yellowish water. ‘It smells like arse.’
‘Good that you can smell things, though, right?’ Lydia was trying positivity, hoping to jolly Jason out of his permanent bad mood. It didn’t really suit her.
‘These days,’ Jason said, alluding to the fact that Lydia had increased his corporeality. ‘It’s not always a blessing.’
‘Not when you’re making arse tea, I imagine,’ Lydia gestured to the mug of herbal nonsense.
‘I think that might need a re-brand.’ Jason stopped torturing the teabag and looked at Lydia. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Mum rang to arrange a lunch.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘Not at all. Just unusual. She doesn’t often come into town these days.’
‘There’s something else?’
‘No,’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Just wanted to warn you that Fleet is coming round in a bit.’
‘So I should hide.’
‘Sorry.’ Lydia didn’t know if Fleet apparently catching sight of Jason a few weeks ago had been a one-off or a misunderstanding, but she didn’t want to take the chance.
When Fleet arrived, shower-fresh and carrying a bottle of red wine and a pizza box, Lydia closed the lid of her laptop and went to get glasses from the kitchen. It was almost nine and, out in the country, it might have been dark. In Camberwell, the dusk was hidden by light pollution and Lydia hadn’t yet closed her curtains. She had been engrossed in work, doing her accounts to avoid thinking about her day.
Fleet had opened the wine and put the bottle on the desk. He took the glasses from Lydia and put them next to the bottle. He had an expression which seemed miles away. ‘Long day?’ Lydia asked.
He focused on her, then. ‘A bit.’
Lydia stepped into his arms, reaching her hands up to his shoulders. Her hand found the back of his neck and then they were kissing. Lydia had become used to Fleet’s strange energy. The faint gleam that wasn’t Crow or Fox or Silver or Pearl. It wasn’t strange to her, anymore, now it just said ‘Fleet’. And, as usual, it made every part of her body wake up and vibrate with desire. Fleet walked her backward toward the sofa, still kissing, and then sat down, pulling her onto his lap.
Sometime later, naked and pleasantly exhausted, Lydia went to the desk and poured the wine. Fleet was watching her from his prone position on the sofa. It was listing slightly, not being sturdy enough for what they had just subjected it to. ‘Cold pizza?’
‘You need to put some clothes on,’ Fleet said. ‘Or dinner will be further delayed.’
Lydia passed him a glass of wine and took a sip of her own. The air had cooled and her skin was goose pimpled in the draught from the window. She stretched, feeling the satisfaction in every muscle in her body.
‘Lyds, seriously,’ Fleet said, starting to rise from the sofa.
‘Fine,’ Lydia grabbed Fleet’s discarded work shirt to use as a dressing gown. Then hunted down her underwear.
Once they were a couple of slices and half a glass of wine down, sitting in the middle of the ex-living room, current Crow Investigations office and part-time sexy times venue, Fleet turned serious. ‘I heard you had a busy day.’
Lydia chewed her mouthful of pizza and swallowed before saying. ‘From who?’
‘What is it with you and finding dead bodies?’
‘It’s a gift, I guess,’ Lydia said. She regarded him over the rim of her wine glass. ‘Do we have an ID, yet?’
‘I was hoping you would be able to help with that.’
‘I don’t know him. I take it he hasn’t popped up on the database?’
Fleet shook his head. ‘Nothing from facial recognition, yet, or missing persons. DNA will take a bit longer. Lab is stretched as always.’
‘I couldn’t see an obvious injury and he didn’t look old enough for it to be natural causes.’
‘Not impossible, though.’
‘True,’ Lydia took a sip while she thought. ‘He was sitting upright, though. And his face was relaxed. Either it was really quick and he didn’t have time to react, or someone posed him afterward.’
‘Are you going to tell me how you happened to stumble across a body in a disused ventilation tunnel? What were you doing down there?’
‘A job,’ Lydia said. ‘I can’t divulge the details of my client. Not unless it’s pertinent to an ongoing police investigation.’
‘Very funny,’ Fleet said. ‘Spill.’
Lydia hesitated. ‘You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.’
‘That ship sailed long ago.’
‘Now who’s funny?’ Lydia looked at Fleet, weighing up whether she could avoid telling him. ‘Paul Fox sent me down there. He booked my services.’
‘Paul Fox,’ Fleet spoke slowly. ‘Son of Tristan Fox, head of the Fox Family?’
‘Yep.’ Lydia chugged some wine.
Fleet no longer looked amused. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘He knows I put Maria Silver away and is threatening to share that information with Alejandro Silver if I don’t do this job for him.’
‘Why?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘Shits and giggles? The man loves to mess with me.’
‘He’s bad news,’ Fleet said, sounding exactly like Jason. Her flatmate would have been thrilled if he had heard and usually Lydia would expect him to pop up at this point and do an elaborate ‘I told you so’ dance, but Jason had promised to stay in his room.
‘Agreed, but I don’t have a choice. Hopefully it will wrap up quickly and I can go back to ignoring him.’
‘What’s to stop him keeping you on the hook for other stuff?’
The thought had crossed Lydia’s mind. ‘He won’t. That will push me into outright conflict and he can’t risk me getting Charlie and Tristan involved. He doesn’t want a war.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
No . ‘Of course.’ Lydia finished her wine and stood up to get some more. On her way to the bottle, a thought occurred. ‘How did you know I found that body today? Euston isn’t your manor.’
‘I’ve got an alert set up in the system. Any mention of Crow and I hear about it.’ Seeing her expression, he added, ‘no one will think it’s about you specifically. Everyone knows Camberwell is home to the Crows and Camberwell is mine, so…’
‘Right,’ Lydia said, trying to push away her misgivings. She trusted Fleet, but every other copper? That was a different matter. Lydia had been brought up outside of the Family business but she had heard the stories, whispered at weddings and birthday parties, and some from her dad when he’d had a couple of beers and was feeling nostalgic. In every single one, the police were to be avoided. Not only because some of the Crow Family business had questionable legal status, but because they represented an anonymous bureaucracy which struck fear into every wild Crow’s heart. The rule-following factory was seen as the polar opposite to the mystical freedom of the Crows. And now Fleet had forged this link, chaining them together in the eyes of the world and, more frighteningly, in the faceless eyes of a police database. It made Lydia want to fly away.
The Fox's Curse Page 2
