If this was the extent of Marty’s drug empire, Alex had been telling the truth. He wasn’t playing in the big leagues. Lydia held the bag up to the light and tried to guess what the pills might be. They were assorted colours and sizes and there were eleven in total. At least one of them looked like a paracetamol caplet.
She called Fleet. ‘I found Marty’s stash.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Small. Just pills and weed and not a lot of either.’
‘You want me to get it tested? Find out what we’re dealing with?’
‘I guess,’ Lydia said. ‘Seems like a waste of resources, though. This is not the supply of a king pin.’
Lydia took the duck and the bag back to the living room and placed them on the sheet, along with the clothes. ‘His stuff is not exciting,’ she said. ‘It’s just kind of sad.’
‘You want me to come round and cheer you up?’
Lydia smiled. ‘Now, that’s a good idea.’
‘Or you could come here? I’ve got white in the fridge, red by the radiator and a full bottle of Talisker. Not to mention nice sheets.’
‘Nice sheets?’ Lydia said, playing for time. It was getting harder and harder to say ‘no’ every time Fleet invited her round to his flat. She couldn’t explain her reservations as they sounded daft at this point. It felt like a step too far. Too intimate. Too serious. A Crow sleeping over at a copper’s home. Just wrong.
‘Egyptian cotton,’ Fleet said. ‘Eighty thousand million thread count.’
‘Is that good?’
‘I believe so,’ Fleet said. ‘Want to test them out? Let me know if they were worth the price tag?’
‘Tempting,’ Lydia said, ‘but I haven’t finished my notes, yet. Think it’s going to be a late one.’
‘Course,’ Fleet’s voice was casual, but Lydia thought she could detect hurt in there. And the new tone of reservation that had been cropping up more and more recently. Hell Hawk .
Chapter Eighteen
Fleet called Lydia to meet in their favourite pub, The Hare. ‘As soon as you can. I’m on my way there right now.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
Feathers . That didn’t sound like good news. Lydia pulled on the cleanest clothes she could find in the pile on her bedroom floor; a stretchy black vest top, skinny jeans, and a checked shirt open over the top to keep her arms from freezing. She made a half-arsed mental note to do some laundry in the near future and grabbed her leather jacket from over the back of her office chair.
The Hare was a popular joint. Not pretentious, but clean and friendly, with comfy seats and the kind of cosy nooks which make London pubs irresistible. A group of women in office wear were sitting in their usual spot, so Lydia walked around the back area of the bar. Fleet had snagged a table in another corner and was sat facing the room, the wall to his back. He stood as she approached and kissed her in greeting. He had two pints in front of him. ‘If you don’t fancy this, I can get something else.’
‘Nah, that’s perfect. Thanks.’ Lydia sat down next to Fleet, so that she also had a view around the pub. ‘What’s up?’
‘You haven’t seen the news?’
‘No,’ Lydia said, trying not to let impatience bleed into her voice. And failing. ‘Tell me.’
‘Maria Silver is out.’
There was a second when everything seemed to stop. Lydia could hear the blood rushing in her ears. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know she’s been waiting for a trial date? Well, the CPS has dropped it. She was released this morning.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t-’ Lydia broke off. She had nothing. Gobsmacked just didn’t cover it.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Fleet looked miserable. And nervous. As if he was dealing with a skittish horse and he wasn’t sure what it was about to do.
‘Can they do that? Just drop it. I mean, it’s murder. We’re not talking about a minor misdemeanour. She didn’t clock up too many parking tickets or nick a mobile phone.’
‘If there isn’t a strong enough case, like when a witness goes AWOL or problems with the management of the investigation, then the trial can be shelved. Even in a serious crime case. Much as I complain about them, it’s why we have so many systems and checks and balances. To try to prevent this from happening.’
‘You can’t get away with murder because of an administrative technicality. I refuse to accept that.’
‘No,’ Fleet took a drink. ‘You can’t. But if the case against you is built upon a piece of physical evidence and that evidence, and all records of that evidence, disappears. Then you can get away with murder.’
‘The clothes?’
Fleet nodded, his face grim.
‘Hell Hawk.’ Lydia swallowed a mouthful of pale ale and wished it was a whisky. She could do with a short tumbler of ‘numb’ just about now. She felt too stunned and too miserable to even rant about it. That would come later, no doubt, but in this moment Lydia just wanted to drink in silence and pretend the world was not as it was.
‘It’s not game over,’ Fleet said. ‘Just because CPS didn’t follow through this time, doesn’t mean we can’t approach them with a new case. It’s not finished.’
Lydia nodded and then drank a little more. The main problem, something which Fleet either hadn’t thought of, yet, or was too removed from her life to consider, was that there wasn’t going to be time to build a new case against Maria. Maria Silver knew that Lydia had been investigating the deaths of Robert Sharp and Yas Bishop. Whether Paul Fox passed on his suspicions about Lydia’s involvement in Maria’s arrest or not, Maria was likely to be bearing a grudge. Being Maria Silver’s least-favourite Crow was one thing, but being the Crow who tried to put her in jail for murder, was likely to end badly. Very badly. She took another sip of her pint and then pushed it away. ‘Maria is going to kill me.’
Lydia expected Fleet to say something comforting, and she was strangely pleased when he just nodded. ‘She’s going to try.’
The next day, Fleet kissed Lydia goodbye and made her promise not to go anywhere dangerous, attempt contact with Maria Silver or any member of the Silver family, and to get some sleep. Lydia thought that she had hidden her tossing and turning from Fleet very well and was irritated to find that he had noticed. Crows weren’t weak. Even though she had been brought up away from the Family business, she had still absorbed the central tenets of their identity; Crows were the most talented of the magical Families, and Crows were strong, stoic, and steadfast. When Henry Crow had abdicated his position as head of the Family he had tested this last truism but, as he had always drilled into Lydia, they were still loyal to the Family. Even if they weren’t active members. Lydia knew not to talk about the Family, business, or its history, with anybody outside. She knew that whatever she did reflected on the Family as a whole, and that Family came first.
Before she could decide whether to obey Fleet and try to nap or to get up and face her day, Lydia’s phone buzzed with a text. It was Emma asking if she was free to chat. Lydia hit the call button and curled on her side with the phone tucked under one cheek. This was what she needed. A little R&R from her normal best friend and her normal family life. No magic. No murder. ‘Hey.’
‘I saw the news. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said. ‘Don’t worry about it, honestly.’
‘She must be furious with you, though.’
‘Maria Silver isn’t coming after me,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘She’s not that stupid.’
‘Maybe she’s that angry,’ Emma said. ‘That might cloud her judgement.’
‘She just got out of a jail cell. Trust me, she’s not going to risk going back inside. Tell me what’s up with you. How are the kids?’
Lydia closed her eyes and enjoyed the sound of Emma’s voice and the window into another world. A world of playdates and school jumpers and papier mâché. Archie had, apparently, made a T-Re
x model and had proceeded to paint his sister in green poster paint to ‘match’.
‘I’ll come round this weekend. If you’re free.’
‘Always for you,’ Emma said. ‘Although you might want to make it Saturday as Sunday you’d have to tag along at a six-year-old’s birthday party.’
‘Saturday it is,’ Lydia said.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
Lydia could hear traffic in the background and then a small voice. Maisie. ‘Tell Archie and Maisie-Maise that I’ll see them soon. Love to you all!’
She cut the call and put a hand over her eyes. She felt like crying which clinched it. She needed some sleep. Everything would look better once she’d had a bit of shut-eye. A sound outside her window made her sit up. It was a scraping sound, like somebody was trying to pick the lock on the door which led from the bedroom to the roof terrace. If someone was out there they had to have climbed up the outside of the building which showed an alarming amount of motivation.
‘Jason,’ Lydia attempted a loud whisper. It was a contradiction, of course, and she had no idea if it would travel any less than just speaking normally. Her bedroom door swung open and Jason appeared. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Outside,’ Lydia whispered, pointing to the exterior door. She put a hand to her ear, miming listening.
They waited for a few moments, both tilting their heads to better hear. Lydia held her breath and Jason moved silently closer to the door, looking poised for action. A siren split the air, making them both jump. It passed quickly and the normality of it, along with the absence of any further suspicious scraping sounds, made Lydia’s anxiety reduce a notch. She reached over the side of the bed and retrieved a checked flannel shirt, buttoning it up to save Jason’s blushes, before joining him. The door had an obscured glass panel and was locked. If somebody was outside on the terrace, they were safer inside. Jason widened his eyes in a question and Lydia shrugged.
‘I don’t hear anything,’ he whispered, leaning close with a blast of cold air which made Lydia glad she had put on the shirt.
She stepped into her Dr Marten boots and turned the key in the lock.
‘Is that a good idea?’ Jason said in his normal voice.
‘Crows don’t hide,’ Lydia said. ‘And there are two of us.’ She grabbed her phone and tapped in the first two ‘nines’ of the emergency services, gripping it tightly as she levered the handle down and pushed open the door.
The sky was grey and the air held both the memory of rain and the promise of more in the future. Lydia had overcome her misgivings about her terrace and begun to use it. She hadn’t got as far as planting up pots or anything drastic, but she had ordered a couple of steel and synthetic rattan chairs and a bistro table and a globe-sized solar-powered light which sat on the slabs next to the broken terracotta pots which had been there when she moved in. It was a work in progress, but at least she was using the space and not having nightmares about being thrown over the railing every night. Baby steps.
She went ahead of Jason, scanning the small space for intruders. She was so intent on checking for immediate danger that the full horror didn’t hit for a split second. There was a black shape on the railing which ran along the edge of the terrace. It was a crow, wings spread unnaturally wide and its small head lolling down, crucifixion style. Lydia took a step closer, taking in the plastic zip ties which had been pushed through the wing and wrapped around the wrist and shoulder joints and then attached to the metal railing, pinning the bird in place. She felt bile rising and swallowed it down. She would not be sick. She would not look away. She would not forgive.
One thing was clear; Maria Silver was intent on waging war.
Chapter Nineteen
After another night of broken sleep, in which Lydia never seemed to fall asleep enough to dream, her eyes were gritty and her head felt as if a giant hand had her skull in its palm and was slowly squeezing. Lydia had messaged Charlie the night before and he had responded that he was going to be at The Fork for lunch. His terse message made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t making a special trip and had been planning to visit The Fork for his own reasons. The freeze-out was still in full effect, in other words.
Lydia sat at her desk in the vest and shorts she had failed to sleep in. She did a bit of half-hearted admin work and mainlined some terrible coffee to get her synapses firing. Fleet messaged her to check-in and called her half an hour later. ‘Distract me,’ Lydia said.
‘I looked into Marty’s girlfriend,’ Fleet said, obligingly. ‘Story seems legit. Probable, anyway. I found a Katherine Mason in system who died of heart failure after taking MDMA on a night out, right time period.’
With a name in hand, Lydia spent some time with Google until she found a news story. A smiling school photograph of a seventeen-year-old Katy Mason. Not surprisingly, the article was heavy on the evils of drug-use and light on details of Katy’s life. Lydia saved the picture and added it to the case file.
Jason’s head appeared around the doorway of the kitchen. ‘Tea?’
‘I’m swimming, thanks,’ Lydia said.
Jason drifted over and looked longingly at her laptop. ‘Busy?’
‘Just found Marty Benson’s deceased girlfriend.’ She swivelled the computer to show Jason.
‘That’s sad,’ Jason said, but his voice sounded funny.
‘You okay?’
Jason shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘Anything I can do?’
He shrugged, his body rippling strangely. ‘Any news on Amy?’
Lydia closed her eyes as the guilt washed through.
‘I know you’ve got more pressing matters at the moment,’ Jason was saying, speaking fast. ‘It’s okay. You’ll get to it. Don’t worry.’
Lydia opened his eyes and saw that Jason was peering worriedly at her. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, will you? You’ve got to lie low and let this Maria thing blow over.’
Lydia tried a reassuring smile but it obviously didn’t work, as Jason’s frown just intensified. ‘I mean it. I need you and that means you have to stay safe.’
After Jason had gone back to his room, Lydia couldn’t settle to work again. She changed into her least-grubby jeans, added the hoodie Fleet had left, and went downstairs. Lydia found Uncle Charlie eating lasagne at his favourite table in the cafe. Angel was behind the counter, putting pastries from an oven tray out on display plates with a large pair of tongs. A boy Angel had hired, who wore his hair in a bun when he was working and let it fly the moment his shift was over, was carrying plates to another table.
Lydia slid into the seat opposite. ‘We’ve got a problem.’
‘There’s a ‘we’, now?’ Uncle Charlie didn’t look up from his food.
Lydia had wondered if her Uncle Charlie was still going to be bearing a grudge after her decision not to help him out with any more of his business meetings when he wanted her to use her power-sensing abilities to identify Families. Now she had her answer. ‘You said we had to stick together.’
‘How convenient,’ he said, and put a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
‘Maria is out.’
‘So I heard,’ Charlie still wasn’t looking up. He forked some more food.
‘The case has collapsed completely. No trial.’
The waiter appeared at the table. ‘You want something?’ He didn’t look pleased to be asking and Lydia guessed that Angel had sent him over, even though you were supposed to order at the counter.
‘She’s fine,’ Charlie said, glancing at the guy with an expression which sent him back to the kitchen in double-quick time.
Lydia waited, watching Charlie finish his meal and push away his plate. She sat back, and rolled the too-long sleeves of Fleet’s hoodie up so that they were no longer flopping over her hands. And then she flipped her coin over the backs of her knuckles to pass the time. Charlie had to put her in her place, exert his authority. It was Crow Family politics 101 and it didn’t faze her.
‘Why do you care
?’
‘About Maria?’
Charlie folded his arms on the table, sitting forward and fixing her with the full force of his gaze. ‘You told me you had nothing to do with her arrest.’
Lydia pocketed her coin and retrieved her phone. ‘Someone sent a message.’ She found the picture she had taken and placed it on the table in front of Charlie’s folded arms.
After a beat, he glanced down. When he looked up, his eyes were blazing and the black tattoos on his arms had begun to writhe. ‘When?’
‘Last night. I heard them do it, but didn’t catch them in the act.’
‘Should have been quicker,’ Charlie said.
‘Evidently.’ Lydia kept her voice even.
Charlie sat back and looked Lydia in the eyes for the first time since she had arrived. ‘Silver?’
‘I didn’t sense a Family when I took it down.’ For a moment, Lydia relived the experience. She had put on a pair of the evidence gloves that Fleet had given her and sliced the plastic ties with a pair of kitchen scissors. Her instinct was the bury the crow, but she had managed to stop herself and put it into a plastic bag in the freezer instead. It was evidence. She had salved her conscience by reasoning that crows didn’t bury their dead, they would just be left out in the open, consumed by carrion feeders. How Angel would feel about her using the cafe’s freezer as its temporary resting place, was another matter entirely, but the ice compartment in her tiny kitchen fridge wasn’t big enough so it wasn’t like she had a choice. She marshalled her thoughts. ‘Although that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a Silver. They are the most likely to be pissed off with me at this moment, and they could have easily hired a non-Family member to do their dirty work.’ The image of Maria Silver’s assistant, Milo Easen, flashed into her mind. He was pretty devoted to his boss. What would he be willing to do at her command?
‘I think you need to tell me everything about the Maria Silver case.’
‘Okay,’ Lydia said and proceeded to do just that.
When she’d finished, Charlie’s tattoos were no longer writhing. They remained in new positions, though, which meant he was still pretty rattled.
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