Lydia smiled. ‘Well, I am a lady, after all.’
‘Exactly.’ Fleet returned her smile, but Lydia wasn’t convinced. He was shaken and that was a scary sight. Fleet always appeared utterly unflappable.
Chapter Sixteen
The Fox Family were known for two things; giving you a good time and robbing you blind while doing so. Nobody knew how many nightclubs and bars they controlled, but if you were on a bender in the Whitechapel area of London, it was safe to assume you were drinking with the Foxes. Lydia wasn’t very familiar with the area which was enough to put her on high alert. Add in the fact that she was visiting with the express purpose of finding out more about one of their own, and Lydia felt distinctly jumpy. Marty Benson had apparently had a job collecting glasses at the theatre on Cable Street and Lydia was hoping to get chatting to some people who knew him. If she could find out more about how the man lived, perhaps she could find out how he died.
She had wanted to bring Emma. Both for moral support and to make sure she actually saw her best friend, aware that, as always, her personal relationships were at the bottom of her priority list and that wasn’t a good way to live. At least, according to the entrepreneurial podcast she had listened to while running around the park. She had been looking for tips on growing her small business and had, instead, been treated to lots of touchy-feely self-development bollocks. It had clearly got under her skin, which was annoying.
Her second choice had been scoping the place out on her own, but she had the mistake of mentioning it to Fleet and he had insisted on tagging along. ‘I don’t need baby-sitting,’ she said as she swiped mascara over her lashes and applied red lipstick. She was wearing a silky black top which had a subtle sparkle, black skinny jeans and had swapped her usual Dr Martens for heeled boots. She wanted to blend in with the party crowd, but this was as far as she was willing to go. ‘You don’t need to come.’ Lydia was still annoyed with Fleet for not trusting her judgement and issuing orders. It was a good thing she liked him so much.
‘I know that,’ Fleet said, crossing the room to stand behind her, his hands resting on her hips. ‘It’s not a hardship to go drinking with you. Have you looked in a mirror?’
Lydia was, in fact, peering into one at that very moment, but she got his meaning. She looked over her shoulder. ‘If this look is working for you, just be here when I get home. You don’t need to escort me into the Foxes’ den in order to get lucky. I’m easy like that.’
He laughed and Lydia watched his eyes in the mirror. His pupils were dilated and she thought she might be successful in her distraction technique. He dipped his head and kissed her neck, sending shivers through her body. But then he straightened up and said. ‘You’re still very resistant to this whole relationship idea, aren’t you? I like you. I want to spend time with you out of the bedroom, too.’
Lydia rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might not return to normal. ‘This is work, and you are being gallant. Unnecessarily gallant. Weirdly gallant.’
Fleet chose to ignore this and continued with his earnest conversation. ‘We’re a team. At least, I think we’re a team. Am I wrong?’
Lydia forced herself to engage with the conversation. She knew she couldn’t keep pushing Fleet away. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t kind. He had proven himself trustworthy, now it was her problem that she wasn’t letting him in. Damn it. That self-development stuff had really taken root. She spun around in his arms and put her hand on his face. ‘We are a team,’ she said. ‘I trust you. I’m glad you’re here.’
Fleet looked like he wanted to laugh.
‘Shut up,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m trying, here.’
He grabbed her in a hug and then kissed her lipstick off, leaving them both breathless and wide-eyed. There was a bubble of hope in Lydia’s chest. That the weirdness that had been growing between them had been an illusion, banished in an easy instant.
Lipstick reapplied and an uneventful train ride later, Lydia and Fleet emerged from the station on Cable Street. Lydia had been very happy that it had been an over ground journey for a change. She was sick of descending underneath the city and fantasised about boycotting the tube entirely. They walked along Cable Street, the relative quiet broken by the clatter of an occasional train running along the overhead tracks. The street was narrow and had the ubiquitous mix of modern block buildings interspersed with Georgian townhouses with creamy stone work and classic London brick facades. The Jack The Ripper museum, a reminder of the area’s insalubrious past, sat next to a mini-mart. Hitting Royal Mint Street, Lydia knew they had gone too far, and they doubled back to find the venue. The theatre was an old music hall. It had been in business since eighteen forty-eight and generations of local kids had grown up sneaking into the shows. The management team didn’t carry the Fox name, but they had intermingled plenty, and everybody knew that Tristan Fox’s name was on the title deeds for the property. Lydia sensed Fox before she saw the understated doorway to the theatre. It had been painted crimson, once upon a time, but that colour had faded. A couple of framed billposters were on the wall next to the door and the only indication of the wonders within was the over-sized wrought-iron hanging light which curved out from the brickwork and cast a perfect yellow circle on the ground.
The show that night was a burlesque act, opened by a hipster accordionist with a cult following. Lydia had bought tickets online and she showed them on her phone to the woman in topcoat and tailcoat who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Drink first,’ Lydia said, following the sign for the bar.
Dominating the room was a boat-size bar made from intricate curling ironwork and topped with polished Verdigris copper. The walls were peeling and cracked plaster and the bar was actually a series of interconnecting rooms, through the doorway Lydia spied an upright piano with a vintage marquee sign above it. The word ‘Vixen’ was picked out in large metal letters, lit with bulbs.
‘Subtle,’ Fleet said, looking around. ‘I’ll get the first round.’ He headed to the moderate crush at the bar and Lydia took a quick tour of the rooms, getting a feel for the scope of the place. In the back rooms, every detail wasn’t just in-keeping with the building’s status as a grade-two listed piece of cultural history, it appeared to be original. If you removed the modern hairstyles and clothes of the patrons and swapped out the electric light, Lydia would have believed she was looking at a Victorian drinking den.
In the last room, an intimate space with ochre-coloured walls and a red-velvet sofa, Lydia was hit with a fresh wave of Fox magic. Luckily, she had been swimming through the stuff since arriving and was fully prepared. There was the momentary urge to rip her clothes off and rub against the stranger who had just got up from the sofa and was heading for the doorway, but she managed to contain it by squeezing every muscle in her body. The figure was a woman. Anywhere from Lydia’s age to mid-forties, with long, curled auburn hair like a pre-Raphaelite painting, and eyes which, in this light, looked pale green. She was very beautiful and Lydia wasn’t entirely sure if it was her desire for information, the Fox magic, or basic human attraction which made her touch the woman’s arm and smile. ‘Which way to the stage? This place is a warren.’
The woman smiled back, taking in Lydia’s form with a subtle up-and-down look. ‘I’ll show you,’ she said.
Lydia followed the woman through the rooms and out to the main stairs. ‘Back down to the main entrance and straight through the double doors on your left.’
‘Ah, sorry. I’m an idiot. I thought it was somewhere up here.’
‘Nah. Unless you’ve got a gallery seat?’
Lydia shook her head. The woman was turning away so Lydia took a punt. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Sure.’
Lydia spotted Fleet, holding two glasses and heading in her direction. She caught his eye and gave a small head shake. She saw him take in the sight of her companion and change course, heading for the doorway to the next room as if he had always been going that wa
y.
Once Lydia had a gin and tonic for her new companion and a whisky for herself, she looked around the packed room for a quiet corner or spare seat.
‘We could go into the hall early, if you like? Get a good spot.’
Lydia realised that she had assumed her ticket would have a seat number. It would be quieter in the hall, she assumed, too. Better for chatting. She followed the woman down the stairs and into the hall. It smelled of greasepaint and cigarettes, with an undertone of spilled alcohol, and had the shabby charm of a Victorian theatre but in miniature. The gallery seating was just a couple of rows with a low balustrade. The stalls had one central aisle and they went right up almost to the edge of the stage. The proscenium arch had plaster mouldings depicting twisting vines and flowers and there were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting the scene in a warm glow.
They weren’t the first inside, several people were already seated in scattered groups. ‘I’m Alex, by the way. Cheers.’
Lydia raised her glass in return. ‘Becca.’
‘First time here?’
‘That obvious?’ Lydia took a healthy sip of her whisky, hoping it would encourage Alex to do the same. She had about twenty minutes before the curtain went up and had to make them count.
Alex sipped her gin and tonic before speaking. ‘Play your cards right and I’ll show you the secret passages.’
Lydia bit her tongue to stop an inappropriate joke from passing her lips. She was trying to walk the line of flirty, just in case Alex was interested, but not overtly so, so that she could back off to ‘just friendly’ if her gaydar turned out to be broken.
‘Under the floor,’ Alex tapped the ground with one high-heeled foot. There are hidden trapdoors and passages which lead from the cellars to the river. Used to be, drunk sailors were robbed and then dumped in the Thames.’ She raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lydia’s reaction.
Lydia obliged with an avid expression. ‘History was never that colourful when I was at school. I might have done a bit better in my exams if it had been.’
‘How long ago was that?’
Lydia smiled. ‘If you want to know my age, just ask.’
‘Fair enough. How old are you?’
‘Young enough not to be offended by that question,’ Lydia said. ‘You?’
‘Older than I look,’ Alex said.
‘The Holy Grail,’ Lydia said. ‘And, at the risk of sounding cheesy, do you come here often?’
‘Fairly,’ Alex said, a smile playing around her lips.
Lydia knew that Alex was a member of the Fox Family, but she didn’t know whether she was deeply affiliated. The Fox vibe was pretty strong, enough for her assume Alex was main bloodline, and they were in a Fox-owned emporium. Still, Lydia didn’t want to make assumptions. Especially after Paul’s little speech about his Family and how loosely they were organised. She needed a seamless and non-suspicious way to ask about Marty. Quickly. People were filing into the theatre ready for the show to start. ‘I bet this would be even better with a little chemical enhancement.’ She blurted the words out and Alex frowned. Smooth, Lydia. Really smooth.
‘You’re into that?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘Nothing serious.’
Alex looked at her for another moment, clearly calculating something. ‘Did you speak to me because you assumed I’m a dealer?’
‘No!’ Lydia said. ‘I just thought you’d be the person to ask. You strike me as a woman who knows how to get things done.’
‘Flatterer.’ Alex’s tone was deadpan, but her eyes were smiling.
Lydia didn’t have time to breathe out in relief, as Alex was on her feet, holding out a hand to Lydia. ‘Come on, then.’
‘What? Isn’t it about to start?’
‘No time to waste, then,’ Alex towed Lydia down the aisle toward the stage. She turned right and marched past the front row of seats and to an unmarked door, tucked in the corner. Behind this was a short passage which smelled of drains and cigarettes. Lydia was right behind Alex and not at all prepared for what happened next. Alex turned swiftly and grabbed Lydia by the neck with both hands, pinning her against the peeling and slightly damp wall so hard and so strong that she was forced onto tiptoe.
‘Who are you?’
‘Becca,’ Lydia managed and was rewarded with renewed pressure on her neck.
‘What do you want, Becca?’ Alex’s tone clearly conveyed her disbelief in Lydia’s pseudonym.
Lydia managed to make a strangled sort of sound. She hammed it up in the hope that Alex would release her neck. When she felt the grip ease a little, she brought her hands up between Alex’s outstretched arms and used them to break her hold. A swift knee to the stomach brought Alex over and Lydia moved behind to get an arm around her neck, forcing her chin up. She had never been so glad to have been taking Ju-Jitsu classes at the gym.
‘I’m looking for Marty Benson,’ Lydia said. ‘He owes me money and I heard he deals around here sometimes.’
Alex sagged, the fight going out of her body. Lydia wasn’t fooled. Foxes were excellent at playing dead. Tricksy. She maintained pressure with her arm and braced herself for action.
‘Why didn’t you say,’ Alex said, her voice strained and quiet. ‘I can take you to him.’ On the last word she bucked her body and attempted to throw Lydia, her hands pulling at Lydia’s arm.
Lydia had been prepared, but she still wasn’t going to be able to maintain control for much longer. She still wasn’t exactly an action hero, despite the gym. And her size was never a help in these situations. There were definite downsides to being a short arse.
‘I don’t think that’s likely,’ Lydia said, in between gasps for air. Holding Alex was getting increasingly difficult. ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter Seventeen
Instantly the fight went out of Alex. For real this time. Lydia still wasn’t going to let her go, but then the door at the end of the passage opened and Fleet appeared. He took in the scene and closed the gap with a couple of long-legged strides.
‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said, letting go of Alex.
Fleet crouched down and peered at Alex. ‘Are you all right? Do you need medical assistance?’
Alex shook her head. Lydia was rubbing life back into her sore arm and she took in Alex’s expression. It was blank with shock. And grief. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Was he a friend of yours?’
Alex nodded.
‘What happened here?’ Fleet said, touching Lydia’s face briefly. His fingers were warm and she felt the warm gleam from his skin seep into her cheek. ‘Do I need to arrest anybody?’
Alex’s eyes widened and she struggled to stand up.
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not intending to press charges for assault. And I don’t think we breached the peace.’
‘You assaulted me,’ Alex said. ‘Not to mention committed fraud. Becca .’
‘Lydia Crow,’ Lydia said, holding out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘A Crow?’ Alex closed her eyes. ‘This just gets better and better. I should have known.’ She glanced at Fleet. ‘What are you doing with a copper?’
The Fox Family were even less keen on the law than the Crows. Historically, the Foxes were free spirits, priding themselves on living separate to the social systems. It was one of the reasons Lydia hadn’t been particularly surprised they hadn’t found Marty Benson in any databases. Foxes stayed below ground in every sense.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m investigating his death at the request of Paul Fox.’ She fished in her pocket for one of her business cards. The image of the crow on the front was a bit on the nose, but Emma had designed it for her and assured that it was her ‘USP’. Lydia didn’t particularly want her unique selling point to be her Family heritage, but she knew beggars couldn’t be choosers and she had bills to pay.
Alex took the card and stared at it for a few moments. She still looked slightly stunned and, Lydia knew this was a window of opportunity, before her thought processes
properly came back online. ‘Can you think of anybody who would want to hurt Marty?’
Alex raised hollow eyes to focus on Lydia. ‘He didn’t kill himself?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘Why would you think that? Was he depressed?’
‘Marty had a lot of problems. He wasn’t always happy, but who is?’ Her mouth twisted. ‘He’d become pretty paranoid, though. I thought he was maybe sampling his own stash a bit too much. The grass that comes over now is stronger than it used to be. It can really mess you up.’
‘What was he paranoid about?’
Alex hesitated.
Fleet had melted to the side, displaying his enviable ability to appear completely absent and non-threatening. It was impressive considering the sheer size of the man. Lydia held herself still, leaving a silence for Alex to fill.
‘Did you see him?’
Lydia nodded.
‘You know about the tattoo, then?’
‘Cursed,’ Lydia said. ‘Pretty bleak.’
Alex shuddered. ‘He really believed it. Some bastard cousin of his told him he was marked and that’s when he really…’ She trailed off before straightening and looking Lydia in the eye. ‘He was always a bit cracked. A bit… Nervy. But after that he went full paranoia. Thought that he was going to die.’
‘Because someone in his family told him he was cursed?’
‘I know it doesn’t sound like much, but we’re a superstitious pack.’
‘It sounds like plenty,’ Lydia said. ‘Crows are the same.’
Alex nodded at the admission. ‘I don’t know why he was so sure it meant death, though. I mean, that’s a pretty big conclusion from ‘cursed’. He wasn’t usually so dramatic.’
‘Did he ever explain what he was afraid of? Specifically?’
‘Not really,’ Alex gave a small shrug.
The colour was returning to her face.
‘Did he mention being afraid about a particular person or place? Was there any trouble that you know about?’
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