The Copper Heart

by Sarah Painter

  ‘It’s okay.’

  Ash seemed to focus on Lydia’s face for the first time. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and he blinked hard. ‘Lydia?’

  ‘That’s right, it’s me.’ She held out a hand. ‘Come with me, now. I’ll get you sorted out. You can stay at my place, get some rest.’

  Ash’s eyes cleared for a fraction of a second and he sat back on his heels. Then a keening sound reverberated around the clearing. For a moment Lydia wasn’t sure if it was the wind in the trees or a small animal caught in the jaws of a trap. Then she realised it was coming from Ash. Tears sheeted down his face and his mouth widened as the high keening became a howl.

  ‘Shush, shush,’ Lydia couldn’t stop herself, she put a hand over his mouth. ‘Ash. Quiet. You’ve got to be quiet.’

  He spoke against her hand. ‘I want them to come.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘I do. I want them to take me back. Why won’t they take me back?’ He fell back to the ground, fingers scraping desperately through the dirt. ‘I’m here. Let me in. I want to come home. Let me in.’

  Ash moved into the air. Fleet had his arms wrapped around his body and was hoisting him from the ground. ‘We’ve got to go,’ he said to Lydia over Ash’s bucking shoulder. He had his arms pinned and Lydia caught hold of his flailing legs. They managed to get out of the clearing and Ash stopped struggling. Fleet stopped and readjusted his hold so that Ash was half-walking, one arm around Fleet’s neck. ‘Your place or mine?’

  Ash was Lydia’s problem. ‘Mine.’

  * * *

  Once Ash was prone on her sofa and Fleet had left for work, Lydia asked Jason to keep watch so that she could get some sleep. After an hour’s nap which felt like falling down a deep hole, she sat at her desk and poured caffeine down her throat until she felt halfway awake. She watched Ash’s chest rise and fall as he slept, his face pale and hollow and somehow still tense, even in the depths of sleep. Jason had gone into the kitchen, but she couldn’t hear the sounds of breakfast. It was possible that he had disappeared. She tried to remember if that was happening more often these days and realised that she wouldn’t know. She hadn’t been home enough. And she had been distracted.

  Lydia leaned back in her chair and fought the desire to go back to sleep. There was a tiredness that wasn’t just physical. She missed her client work. Or, more accurately, she missed the feeling that her life was her own. She had more power than she had ever had in her life, but the strings attached had wrapped around her life and her soul and they were getting tighter every day. Ash keening in the forest felt like an omen. A visitation from another realm. And a warning of what would happen if her spirit got any more twisted.

  He woke up at midday and Lydia coaxed him to drink some soup. Ash had refused anything except water, babbling about keeping his body ‘pure and clear’ and Lydia had been forced to use a little Crow persuasion. ‘You’ve got to eat,’ she said, as he sipped from a mug, eyes anguished as if she was making him drink poison.

  After he had drained the mug, she gave him the choice of juice, milk, hot chocolate or lemonade. Anything with calories, basically.

  ‘Water.’

  ‘Feathers, Ash. You’re wasting away.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Just water. Please. They won’t take me back if I’m not pure.’

  Lydia swore loudly. ‘You weren’t exactly treating your body like a temple when they took you before. Weren’t you drunk?’

  ‘I was young,’ Ash said, sadly. ‘That counts for a lot.’

  ‘But why do you want to go back? I thought you wanted revenge? I thought you wanted to make sure they didn’t take anybody else?’

  Ash started crying silently, which was worse in the domestic quiet of the flat than it had been in the woods. The pain radiating from him was infecting the air, making tears prick behind Lydia’s eyelids and a lump form in her throat. ‘I can’t help it,’ he managed after a while. ‘I miss it. I miss them. I don’t belong here anymore. I ache all over and the longing is like a pit I can’t fill. I have no appetite, human food tastes like filth. Like dead things.’

  ‘Go vegetarian. Be a vegan. Clean eating and all that,’ Lydia tried.

  ‘Plants die when they are picked. Fruit spoils from the moment it breaks from the tree. I can taste it. The rot.’ He heaved suddenly and the tomato soup so carefully sipped came gushing out, over his shirt and jeans, splashing onto the carpet.

  * * *

  When Fleet arrived after work that night, he was bearing gifts. Takeaway noodles, wonton soup and a bottle of red. Lydia wasn’t long back from dropping Ash at his childhood home and she filled Fleet in on the day while he poured two large glasses and she fetched cutlery and kitchen roll.

  ‘I feel like I should have gone in and spoken to his parents but he’s a grown up.’

  ‘You’re not responsible for him.’

  Lydia pointed her fork at him. ‘You can’t talk. What about that guy from that refugee case? You still check up on him.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Fleet said. ‘And it’s not like I keep tabs on every single person I arrest.’ He took a swig of wine. ‘And this isn’t your fault. You helped him get out of hospital. You gave him answers. You believed his story when nobody else would.’

  Lydia wasn’t going to let herself off that easily. ‘I let him down.’

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Fleet wasn’t attacking his food with his usual gusto and he finished his glass of wine quickly, pouring himself another glass and topping up Lydia’s before she had taken more than a couple of sips. ‘I need to tell you something.’

  Hell Hawk. Lydia put down her fork. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve been given an official warning at work. They talked about suspension, so I should be grateful, really.’

  It took Lydia a beat to realise that, for once, Fleet’s trouble wasn’t her fault. ‘What do you mean? Why?’

  ‘I got into an argument.’

  ‘That’s not…’

  ‘And I lamped Butler.’

  Lydia knew the name. Fleet had complained about his laziness and general incompetence many times. ‘He probably deserved it. It’s not like you to get violent, though. Must have been a bad argument.’

  ‘He was being a dick,’ Fleet said. ‘And I’ve been a bit tense recently. Part of me was waiting for a reason.’

  Lydia wanted to say she had noticed, but it felt like kicking a man when he was down. She settled on: ‘You’ve been unhappy at work, I know.’

  ‘Well, I’m off my only remaining cases, now.’ He forced a smile. ‘I’ll be able to take it easy for a few weeks.’

  ‘Was it really enough to get a formal reprimand?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘Maybe not in usual circumstances. Butler was pushing me first so it wasn’t one-sided, but I’m under a cloud at the moment.’

  Lydia was horrified. ‘Because you’re with me?’

  Fleet flashed a wry smile. ‘Probably. They’ll get over it, though.’

  ‘We should go covert again.’ Lydia attempted a leer. ‘I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.’

  ‘No,’ Fleet reached and cupped her cheek. ‘I told you. I’m all in. I’m not fucking this up again.’

  She leaned into his hand. The warmth of his skin and feel of his strong fingers against her face sent feelings to other parts of her body and she moved closer, as Fleet did the same. Their lips met and his hand slipped to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. Her brain momentarily shorting out in the most enjoyable way.

  ‘Stop distracting me,’ Lydia broke from the kiss, mock severe. ‘And I’m serious. I don’t want to ruin your career. You don’t have to choose.’

  ‘I do,’ Fleet said, his face still close, eyes warm. ‘And I choose us.’

  She could smell the fresh ozone of the sea and feel sunshine on her skin as she leaned closer.

  * * *

  After a pleasant hour of choosing each other, Lydia stretched on the bed, feeling
the deep relaxation in her muscles.

  ‘Shall I warm up the food?’

  ‘There’s ice cream,’ Lydia said. ‘Get two spoons.’

  She watched Fleet pull on boxer shorts and enjoyed the view as he crossed the room. There was a scar on his right shoulder blade and she made a mental note to ask him about it. They should know everything about each other, now. No secrets. Lydia felt a spurt of fear. She had no idea if such a thing was possible, but she knew she wanted to try.

  When he returned with the ice cream and cutlery, she was sitting up against pillows. ‘Tell me what happened at work.’

  ‘I already did,’ Fleet peeled the lid open and passed the carton and a spoon.

  ‘You hit a colleague in the office. That’s very much not like you.’

  ‘I hit him in the face,’ Fleet said, trying to keep things light.

  ‘DCI Ignatius Fleet,’ Lydia waved her spoon threateningly, ‘tell me what happened.’

  ‘He has been asking for it for weeks, making little comments. Insults. And it’s been worse since Alejandro… He’s been indicating that you will be next.’

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘It’s my fault for reacting. He’s like a child and I gave him attention. He’s the needy sort.’

  ‘So he’s been saying things about me?’ Now the pieces clicked into place. Someone had insulted Lydia and Fleet had defended her honour. ‘I don’t care about that and neither should you.’ Lydia stopped. It wasn’t like Fleet to care about the opinions of an idiot. He was the most evolved, controlled, grown-up man she had ever known. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  Fleet took the carton and excavated a spoonful of ice cream. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m embarrassed by my behaviour.’

  Lydia took the carton back and set it on the bedside table. She took one of Fleet’s hands in her own and waited for him to elaborate.

  After a moment he let out a sigh which seemed to come from deep within. ‘It wasn’t just about you. He suggested that my career progression wasn’t down to ability.’

  Lydia inhaled sharply.

  Fleet smiled at her expression. ‘Not affirmative action, although I think he meant that, too. More that I was playing both sides of the law and that gave me information. An edge. He suggested that the reason I made so many collars was because I was responsible for half the crimes. Or that I knew the people responsible.’

  Lydia swore. ‘He was asking to be smacked, then.’

  Fleet shook his head. ‘I played into his hands. He accused me of being a criminal and I committed assault. Not my smartest comeback.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lydia was on her roof terrace, enjoying the weak morning sunshine on her face. It had rained in the night and the air was still damp and chilly, but jeans, boots and a thick hoodie were keeping her comfortable and the mug of strong coffee was sparking her synapses. Jason had been near the railing, looking down into the street but then had shimmered for a moment and disappeared. Lydia was waiting to see if he was going to reappear. That sometimes happened, especially if he had disappeared on purpose, and she was determined not to jump if it did.

  ‘Boo!’ A voice right next to her ear. Lydia jolted but managed not to yell out.

  ‘You’re not funny,’ she said, twisting to glare at the ghost.

  ‘I’m bored.’ Jason shoved at the rolled sleeves on his baggy grey suit. ‘I can’t seem to settle to anything.’

  Lydia knew he was restless. Leaving the building might not have been fun for either of them, but it had opened a door in Jason’s world. A door that seemed to taunt him.

  ‘What are you doing, anyway? You’ve been staring into space for twenty minutes.’

  ‘Trying to think,’ Lydia said, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘Trying and failing.’

  ‘About what? Alejandro?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘I feel like he was involved in the hit on Nadine Gormley, but there’s no evidence to link him to it. And how did he pay for it? He’s the head of the Silvers, though, maybe he took it from the firm?’

  ‘Why would he have an MP killed?’ Jason asked. ‘Just to open up a vacancy? That seems extreme.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s a one-in, one-out kind of a job. And he was in a hurry.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Jason shuddered. ‘I had no idea they could be that ruthless.’

  Lydia skipped over that. Jason hadn’t wanted to know the details of his own murder, which had occurred on the day of his wedding to Amy Silver. A match which had been distinctly unpopular with the rest of the Family. And she was going to respect his wishes and keep her mouth shut, unless he expressly requested the information. Sometimes ignorance was, well not exactly bliss, but survival. She distracted him. ‘And that’s probably expensive, right? I don’t know the going rate for a hit, but it can’t be cheap. But you know the firm. The size of the offices, the amount of money that place must generate. I thought the whole Family was richer than God.’

  Jason frowned, thinking. ‘It depends on where the bulk of the accessible cash is, though. If his private wealth is tied up in assets like property, he wouldn’t have loads on hand. And he couldn’t just take it out of the business, that would leave a trail. More likely he borrowed it or was being bank-rolled by an invested third party.’

  ‘But he must have a ton of money in his personal accounts. Or under his mattress.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jason said. ‘The hit might only have been part of it. He went from nothing to MP really fast. Is that normal?’

  Lydia’s grasp of politics was minimal. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Me neither, but it seems possible that some bribery was involved. Maybe the costs mounted up. Or maybe it wasn’t just cash that was needed.’

  ‘Favours?’ Lydia understood back-scratching. A lot of the Crow empire had been built on it. ‘Someone wanted him in in power so that he could do bigger, better favours.’ It niggled, though. Who was powerful enough to manipulate the head of the Silvers? Who would dare?

  They went indoors and Jason drifted to the sofa to pick up his laptop.

  The alarm on the pressure pad she had under the carpet in the hallway sounded. ‘That’ll be Fleet. Better make yourself scarce.’

  ‘Because you’re going to get naked in here?’

  Lydia tried very hard to pretend he hadn’t just said that. Having a sex life in a haunted building was entirely contingent on her ability to conveniently forget that she lived with a ghost who could appear in any room at any time.

  * * *

  ‘No joy with getting hold of the pathologist, he’s on holiday,’ Fleet said, after kissing Lydia ‘hello’. He took off his coat and threw it onto the sofa so recently vacated by Jason and his computer.

  ‘Hell Hawk.’

  ‘Yep. See, other professionals take time off.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ Lydia replied. ‘When is he back?’

  ‘A month.’

  ‘That’s a long holiday.’

  ‘He made an extremely thorough report before he left,’ Fleet said patiently. ‘You’ve seen the extremely thorough report. Is it really that important to speak to him?’

  ‘Something doesn’t feel right.’ Lydia had been going back over the day in the hospital mortuary; the smell of chemicals and death, the bright lighting. She hadn’t been in the viewing room for very long, but she had seen Alejandro on the table. His hair had been swept back off his face and his features had looked waxy and weird, both familiar and completely wrong. All impressions completely in-line with seeing a dead body. It wasn’t her first, after all.

  She closed her eyes. What else? His arms had been by his sides, palms facing up. A sheet covering most of his body. The pathologist in his gown, looping his mask around his ears and talking to Fleet, barely glancing in her direction. The technician had come in, then. He had been late. Lydia could see the scene in her mind’s eye and remember her revulsion. She wondered if she would ever get used to the smell of mortuaries. There hadn’t been the tang of Silver and she had put tha
t down to being in the other room, separated from Alejandro by a wall and thick glass.

  ‘My boss had a word.’ Fleet sounded tense and Lydia opened her eyes to look at him.

  ‘About the case?’

  ‘About me trying to get hold of the pathologist, yes. I don’t know who told her, but she wasn’t best pleased.’

  ‘Because it isn’t your case?’

  ‘That. And the fact that it isn’t a case at all.’

  ‘Right,’ Lydia turned away. It wasn’t her concern that the Met seemed hell-bent on filing this as unsuspicious. Good for their stats, she supposed.

  ‘That’s odd, though,’ Fleet said. ‘I mean, I’m in the dog house, but it still seems weirdly petty. Not something she would usually get bothered about.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  Fleet held her gaze. ‘I’m starting to come around to your way of thinking. Maybe this wasn’t natural. Or even if it was, there is something going on. Something is definitely not right.’

  * * *

  As the doors closed on Michael Corleone and the credits began to roll, Lydia glanced at Fleet. His head was back on the sofa and his chest rose and fell gently. Jason was sitting on the floor on her other side, his back against the sofa.

  ‘I’m not sure that helped,’ Lydia said. ‘He killed the heads of the other families at the end. I’m not sure mass murder is entirely practical.’

  ‘Don’t rule it out,’ Jason said, glancing over his shoulder.

  ‘You think I’m too weak?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’