‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘What?’
Charlie was giving her his full shark stare. It was unnerving. ‘Any of it. Silvers are our allies.’
‘I thought we didn’t trust anybody,’ Lydia said.
‘Don’t be smart,’ Charlie said. ‘If the Pearls and the Foxes decide to get pally, we’ve got no chance.’
‘The Foxes aren’t pals with anyone. And the Pearls are dispersed. There’s nothing to them anymore.’ As Lydia spoke she knew she was talking nonsense. That had been true, after a load of in-fighting in the sixties which led to a dispersal of their Family and a loss of their heritage, but the Pearls had opened a grocery on Well Street. It didn’t sound like much, but a Pearl trading openly in Camberwell was a clear sign that they weren’t completely toothless. The question was, were they squaring up for a fight, or just minding their own business. Maybe the old days were so firmly in the past for them, that the current generation of Pearls weren’t even considering the old areas and rules. ‘They just mind their own,’ Lydia said. ‘The Pearls were never aggressive, were they?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘They kept to themselves, that’s true. Doesn’t mean things haven’t changed. Who knows what they want these days?’ He leaned back. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll have a word with Alejandro.’
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘He’ll listen to reason,’ Charlie said, cloaked in confidence.
Despite herself, Lydia felt reassured. Then she remembered something. ‘Be careful of the cup.’ When Lydia had visited Alejandro’s office, she had seen the Silver Family Cup. A relic which ought to have been housed in the British Museum along with the other Family artefacts. It had been part of the terms of the truce drawn up between the Families back in the nineteen-forties.
Charlie smiled, looking dangerous and certain. ‘Alejandro and I go way back. We’ll agree terms and this will all be over.’
There was something about that phrase which chased the feeling of security away. Lydia knew that her uncle loved her, but what would he be willing to do for the sake of the Crow Family as a whole? Who would he be willing to sell down the Thames in return for making the best deal?
Chapter Twenty
Having reassured her Uncle Charlie, Jason, and Fleet that she wasn’t going to do anything stupid, Lydia loaded up her crappy car with supplies and headed to Maria Silver’s home for an old-fashioned stakeout. Lydia knew that many investigators bemoaned the long hours of a surveillance operation, but when she felt this motivated there was nothing better. Since the dead crow, Lydia had felt low-level fury simmering in her gut. Laying eyes on Maria via her high-power binoculars, as Maria moved around her well-lit polished kitchen, nibbling on olives and drinking from a large glass of white wine, soothed the fury in a way that nothing else had. She was doing something. She was fighting back. Maria’s little gift had made her feel threatened. Just for a second, she had been a victim. Watching Maria put her firmly back in her professional capacity.
After snacking while staring at her phone, taking a call and pacing the room while she spoke, Lydia watched as Maria settled on the couch at the other end of the open-plan room. She watched Maria watch television for almost an hour, keeping herself alert with sips of cola and working through a large bag of salted peanuts.
Once Maria had headed up to bed, Lydia drove home and slept for a few hours herself, her alarm set for four the next morning. Back at Maria’s the next day, she watched her target drink coffee and leave for work. Expecting Maria to head to the nearest tube station, she was surprised when a black car pulled up outside the house instead. Maria Silver had a driver. Or a regular hire car account, at least. How the other half live.
Having not long been released from jail, Lydia would have expected somebody with Maria’s resources to take a holiday somewhere warm and luxurious. Or, at the very least, to spend a few days eating in nice restaurants, swimming at the spa, and generally enjoying all the things she had been denied while detained at her majesty’s pleasure. Instead, Maria was striding into the offices of Silver & Silver, leather briefcase in hand, just past eight in the morning. Having followed the car through the rush hour traffic, Lydia’s nerves were shredded. She had to pay for parking at an extortionate cost and cross her fingers that Maria hadn’t done something interesting in the time it took her to walk back to Fetter Lane and get settled in a coffee shop on the ground floor of the building opposite, where she had a view of the reception area.
Lydia had her laptop and she half-heartedly updated her accounts, while keeping an eye on the office. Maria didn’t leave all day and when she did, the car took her straight home. At least, as far as Lydia knew it did. By the time she had retrieved her car and headed back to Fitzrovia, she was too late to tail the car and see the drop-off in action.
Finding a space across the road from Maria’s white-stuccoed detached house, a building that Lydia had initially assumed must be split into flats or maisonettes, but seemed to be owned entirely by Maria, Lydia settled in for another dull wait. She ate the cheese sandwiches and apple she had packed that morning and drank lukewarm tea from a flask, while watching Maria sit at her kitchen island and read documents.
The next day was similarly unrewarding and Lydia would have been tempted to knock off early if it hadn’t been for the simmering fury than she still felt every time she thought about the crow’s corpse in the freezer at The Fork. She watched as Maria stood and crossed to the fridge in her showroom kitchen. She poured a glass of white wine and put it on the counter, replacing the bottle in the fridge. Lydia stretched, the bones in her neck and spine cracking. She had just decided to give it another hour, when a grey car drew up outside the house and a figure emerged. Lydia took pictures with her telephoto lens, as the man rang the bell. He was average height and had a slight build, short dark hair and he wasn’t familiar to Lydia. She got a good shot of the car number plate and wrote it down for good measure.
Maria answered the door, and the man passed across a padded envelope. Smaller than A4 and light brown. They spoke for a moment and then the man turned and walked back to his car. Lydia hesitated, trying to decide whether to follow the mysterious delivery guy or stay on Maria. The idea of watching Maria drink wine and watch television for another few hours swung the vote, and she pulled out into traffic a few cars behind the courier.
Lydia was being ridiculous, she knew, and a little reckless. She had the car’s plate, she could head back to her office and ask the DVLA for the owner’s details. Driving through London traffic wasn’t easy and she was bound to lose the car. Besides which, he was a courier, and probably had a series of drop offs which were of absolutely no significance whatsoever.
He drove back towards the City and Lydia followed, arguing with herself all the way. The courier drove along Chancery Lane and parked on a yellow line next to the once quaint alley called Chichester Rents, which was now filled with glass office blocks and home to the mysterious company, JRB. He got out of the car and headed down the alley. Lydia had driven past a little way and pulled over down the street. She had little choice but to follow on foot. She just had to hope he wasn’t trained in looking out for surveillance. Most normal people were completely oblivious, especially in London when you knew that a thousand other lives were being lived alongside your own and you had no desire whatsoever to become involved in them. Don’t look, don’t ask, don’t tell. That was the London way.
Sending a prayer to the parking Gods that she didn’t get a ticket, she doubled-back to the alley and was just in time to see the courier waiting outside the door to the building that Lydia had visited before when trying to track down the people at the top of JRB. After a few minutes’ wait, he let himself inside. Lydia was too far away to see if anybody had opened the door.
He wasn’t in the building for long and Lydia followed him back to his car, walking past to her own vehicle and trying to get a look at whatever he had picked up.
‘Hello?’
Damn it.
‘Yes?’ Lydia feigned a guarded confusion, the sort of response she would give to any stranger getting her attention on the street.
‘You are following me I think?’
Lydia hesitated. Then decided to cut to the chase. ‘You’re a courier?’
He tilted his head, waiting.
‘Do you deliver things often to that address?’
He didn’t answer, just stared at her with a look that was neither challenging nor amused.
‘May I have your name?’
He smiled. ‘Dmitry.’ A little ironic head bow. ‘At your service.’
‘Russian?’
Dmitry had a boyish, open face. He looked to be in his early twenties at most. ‘Yes, I’m Russian. What of it? Or are you one of these bigots who think we’re all secret police, bad guys, mafia?’
‘The last Russian I met was a hit man. He tried to throw me off my roof.’
A beat. Then he spread his hands wide. ‘You meet one bad apple, you throw out the whole pie?’
‘The pie?’
‘Apple pie. Yes. Yes, you English love apple pie.’
‘I think you’re thinking of Americans.’
‘No, that fruit dessert. With the cooked apples and the topping that looks like a mistake. You all love it. Had it at boarding school along with the cricket and the ritual beating.’
‘Crumble.’
‘That’s it! Apple crumble. And custard, yes?’
‘Yes. No boarding school for me, though,’ Lydia said. ‘No beating.’
‘I would love some pudding right now,’ Dmitry smacked his lips. ‘Do you have a sweet tooth? I am a slave to my sweet tooth. There is a cake shop in Soho which should be illegal. It’s that good.’
Lydia broke into the flow of words. ‘Do you work for JRB?’
Dmitry shook his head. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You just visited their registered office.’
‘Did I?’ Dmitry said.
Lydia tried another tack. ‘How do you know Maria Silver?’
‘You are barking up the wrong wood. I just met Maria Silver today. First time. I delivered a package to her door. You know this, I think. You were watching.’
Lydia controlled the urge to punch him in the throat. ‘Fine. Who do you work for? And what is your job?’
Another smile. ‘I am odd job man. I work for myself.’
‘Odd jobs. Like what?’
‘Putting together flat-pack furniture, painting, driving van, gardening, all sorts.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever you need. I’m very good.’
‘What did Maria Silver hire you to do?’
‘She didn’t. A gentleman from a firm called Phoenix Logistics hired me to deliver a parcel to Ms Silver’s address. Into her hands specifically.’
‘And what was in the parcel?’
‘I have no idea.’ He gave her a steady look. ‘I wasn’t hired to open it. Just collect and deliver.’
‘And I could hire you to do the same? You’re not, how shall I put it, allied with any particular client?’
‘I’m freelance,’ Dmitry said. ‘The emphasis is placed on “free”.’
‘Fair enough,’ Lydia said. ‘Can I get your number? Never know when I might want to send a message.’
His smile widened. ‘Give me your phone.’
‘Write it down,’ Lydia passed him a business card and a pen. He took out a mobile and tapped her number into it, referring to the card, then pressed the call button. Her phone rang. ‘Now you have it.’
Lydia nodded and waited while Dmitry got back into his car and drove away. He tooted his horn and waved cheerily at her and Lydia was left with the impression of a friendly smile and the sense that she was teetering on the edge of a world she did not understand.
Going back to her own parking space, Lydia couldn’t find her car. It couldn’t have been towed in the time she had been away from it, the most she would have suffered was a parking ticket, which meant somebody was messing with her. Or sending a warning.
Her brain was ready to explode. Fury at the idea of someone touching her stuff, fear that they felt able to, and curiosity over another mystery. Was this bad luck? A vendetta by the local council that she had been caught up in? Or a personal message from JRB, the Silvers, or the police? A quick search on TRACE – the website which listed all the cars that had been towed away – settled the last question. It had not been towed by the authorities.
Lydia began searching the side streets, hoping that someone had simply moved it as a terrible practical joke. The car itself she would happily set on fire, but her binoculars were in the glove compartment and they were worth more than the vehicle.
While she walked, she distracted herself with work and called Paul.
‘All right?’ Paul picked up on the second ring and his voice had an edge of anxiety. He was worried about her. Or, he was worried about something else and she had just caught some by accident, like worry shrapnel.
‘Bit of progress,’ Lydia said.
‘Okay,’ Paul said. ‘Good news?’
‘Depends on your definition. Marty thought he was cursed. He thought something bad was going to happen to him, maybe that he would die young or be attacked or that he didn’t deserve a long and happy life. I’m not sure exactly, but he had a death wish. He’d lost his girlfriend to MDMA a couple of years back, had never got over it.’
‘Are you telling me he committed suicide, because that doesn’t seem…’
‘No, no. He had a heart attack. That’s what killed him, but I’m pretty sure that somebody gave him that heart attack on purpose. Someone frightened him to death.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘He had a heart condition. Something he developed from one too many big nights out.’
‘Speed?’
‘And coke. And the rest.’
Lydia could hear voices in the background and Paul said ‘hang on’ and the sound went muffled for a few seconds. Lydia could imagine him holding the phone against his chest. Then he was back.
‘Who would want him dead?’
‘That I don’t know.’ Without thinking Lydia said, ‘I only sensed Fox down in the tunnel.’
A silence.
‘But that leaves a hell of a lot of London in the mix,’ she added.
The noises in the background – angry voices, a banging – were louder. ‘Gotta go,’ Paul said.
He hadn’t called her ‘Little Bird’ and Lydia felt strangely bereft.
Chapter Twenty-One
The sky was dusty blue, lit with the reflected glow from the electric lights all over the city. Lydia had been walking the area for an hour and had failed to locate her car. Now she was just walking, absorbed in her own thoughts, with a side-order of thirstiness. It had been a long day and she could almost taste that first sip of whisky. She paused outside an off-licence which had a tempting display of spirits in the window. They had been artfully arranged with lots of foliage and oak casks, which probably meant it was well out of her price range.
‘Long time no see,’ a familiar voice from behind made every hair on Lydia’s neck stand up. A split second after she realised that there was a metal tang in the air she ought to have noticed. Cursing herself she turned to face Maria Silver.
‘You’ve been seen around Holborn. Not very smart.’ Maria was dressed for business, as if she had just stepped away from the office. Well-cut dark trousers, a slash-neck silk top in pale grey and spike-heeled boots. Her hair hung in perfect waves and her skin was even and glowing. Either prison had agreed with her or she was wearing expertly-applied make-up. Or it was just lucky genetics.
‘You look well,’ Lydia said. ‘This is a bad idea, though. Revenge isn’t going to solve anything.’ Lydia looked around, wondering how many of the people passing on the street would stop to help if Maria took out a knife. Forget that, how many would call an ambulance when she was lying on the pavement bleeding to death.
Maria seemed to read her mind and she smiled broadly. ‘I’m not going to kill yo
u, Lydia.’
‘Maybe not here,’ Lydia was doing a quick mental inventory, hoping to remember a weapon of some kind that she had forgotten she was carrying. ‘You probably don’t want to rush straight back to jail.’
Her eyes narrowed. Oh that’s clever, Lydia. Make her even more angry.
‘I’m not going to kill you,’ Maria took a step closer and it took everything in Lydia’s power not to back away. There was a light in Maria’s eyes which made her next words carry real conviction. ‘I’m going to destroy you.’
Well that was a downer. Lydia spread her hands, trying for reasonable. ‘If you hurt me, your father is going to want to know why. You’ll have to tell him the extent to which you fucked up. The whole point of killing Yas was to keep that little secret. Or is everything out in the open between you two, now? Is all forgiven? It’s just, I always thought failure wasn’t an option in the Silver Family.’
Maria wasn’t smiling, but there was a cold excitement in her eyes. ‘My father won’t always be the head of the Family,’ she waved a hand. ‘Just as your dad isn’t the head of yours. The old men will move along sooner or later and I can wait.’
That was not an encouraging thought. Maybe it made Lydia a bad feminist, but the idea of avaricious Maria taking over the Silvers was not a pleasant one. ‘I’m not going to lead the Crows. I run a small investigating business. That’s it. I’m out.’ She remembered what her mother had said, and added. ‘I’m not the future of the Crows. I’m just a P.I.’
‘A P.I. who doesn’t know when to keep her nose out,’ Maria said. ‘And a liar. You are Henry Crow’s daughter.’ Maria’s gaze shifted and Lydia realised, a second too late, that there was somebody close behind her. Hands gripped her arms and pulled her against a slab of human muscle. Lydia aimed for the instep and stamped with all her weight. Nothing. Twisting and bucking, trying to loosen the iron grip around her biceps, Lydia felt her mind go very clear. It was the fear, she knew, but she tried to welcome it. They were in public. A busy street. Maria had to just be putting the frighteners on her, nothing more. The thought was followed by the realisation that she was being dragged backward, toward the road. There was a white van, its back doors open. Maria had planned this all out far too well. She was being moved, no doubt to a quiet location where Maria would have plenty of time and privacy for her revenge scenario.
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