Jason had moved over to the sofa and was instant messaging with his new maths friends like he had been born to it. The sound of his rapid tapping further underlined her lack of activity. Lydia got up and went through the flat, checking for cameras and bugs. She was as thorough as possible and she checked her own surveillance that she had installed on the outside doors downstairs.
Back at her desk, with the activity having removed most of the furious energy Charlie’s visit had raised, Lydia finally felt ready to concentrate. She clicked on her client file folder and was instantly derailed by the buzzing of a phone call on her mobile.
‘I need to see you tomorrow.’
Lydia hadn’t intended to answer the phone to Paul Fox, but curiosity had got the better of her. In the story of the fox and the crow, it was pride, not curiosity, that was the crow’s downfall. But either vice would do the trick, no doubt. She had to remain vigilant. She had thought he was on her side, that they were working together and that when he said he meant her no harm, he truly meant it. That was before. The fury and hurt came flying back, along with the taste of fur in the back of her throat.
‘I don’t think so,’ Lydia said.
‘I have something important to tell you,’ Paul said. ‘Face-to-face.’
‘Whatever it is, you can tell me now. I’m hanging up in one minute, so you had better be quick.’
An exhalation. ‘Little Bird, please.’
Paul Fox saying ‘please’. Wonders would never cease. She opened her mouth to tell him to slink back to his den and die there quietly, when another thought occurred. She had her meeting with Mr Smith on Thursday. While she had no intention of telling spy-guy anything important about any of the Families, her first priority was protecting the Crows. If he really pushed her, having some little pieces of gold about the Fox Family might be handy in a tight spot. She didn’t want to be a rat, but she would do whatever was necessary to protect her family. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m not crossing the river for you, though. You have to come here.’
‘Not Camberwell,’ Paul said. ‘Neutral ground. How about Potters Fields?’
The park was right next to the Thames, with a view of London Bridge. It was, technically, probably a bit closer to Whitechapel, but Paul would be the one crossing the river, so Lydia felt like it balanced out. She wondered if Uncle Charlie had to think like this all the time and whether he ever got tired of it. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But it can’t take long. I’m busy.’
‘Tomorrow afternoon, then. I’ll text you a time, I’m not sure when I’ll-’
‘I will text you a time,’ Lydia corrected. ‘Don’t be late.’
Chapter Four
Lydia had gone to bed early, nursing a fresh bottle of whisky and the sweet quiet it afforded. She knew she wasn’t coping brilliantly with her break up with Fleet, but she had no idea what coping well would even look like. She dragged herself out of bed in time for a shower and two strong coffees before it was time to leave for her appointment with Paul Fox.
The sky was clear blue, but there was an icy nip in the air. Autumn was over and winter had arrived so Lydia added a woolly scarf to her leather jacket and jeans and Dr Martens ensemble and stuffed a beanie hat into her pocket. She didn’t pick up her bag, wanting to stay light on her feet if she had to run.
‘I don’t like it,’ Jason said. He was in front of his computer, and hadn’t moved from that position all night, as far as Lydia was aware. Could ghosts suffer from RSI? Lydia added it to the big list of things she didn’t know.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Lydia said, aware they had had this conversation before and that Jason had been proved right too many times for Lydia’s liking.
Jason’s attention was already being dragged back to his screen. ‘Am I interrupting something important?’ She said, a tiny edge to her voice.
‘Sorry,’ Jason said, pulling his gaze back to her. ‘I’ve done those checks you asked for. All the information is in the shared drive.’
‘We have a shared drive?’
‘Yes,’ Jason said. ‘And a password manager. Yours weren’t secure enough.’
‘How do you know my passwords?’ Lydia said.
Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Please. Anyway, I’ve been practising a few things. Ways of getting into places we’re not usually allowed. Databases. Staff records. Accounts.’
‘That sounds useful,’ Lydia said. ‘And illegal.’
‘Little bit,’ Jason said cheerfully. ‘But if we want to find out more about JRB, we’re gonna need some moves. SkullFace310 has been telling me about rootkits, it’s sick.’
‘It’s what? And who is SkullFace? That doesn’t sound like the sort of person you should be chatting with,’ Lydia stopped speaking, aware that she sounded like somebody’s mother. Jason was a fully grown adult. Ghost. Whatever. And he appeared to have taught himself computer hacking in the time it took most people to work out how to do a mail merge. Besides, she had been investigating the shadowy organisation, JRB, all year without much success. ‘Brilliant,’ she finished. ‘Carry on.’
Jason beamed at her and then turned back to the screen.
It was mid-afternoon when Lydia arrived at Potters Fields. Too late for the lunchtime crowd and too early for the post-work rush. The cool morning had warmed, giving way to a bright winter’s day. A couple of intrepid mothers with their assorted offspring were walking and chatting with takeaway coffees, while their small children ran in and out of the herbaceous borders shrieking. It wasn’t a pleasant sound and Lydia could only imagine how much worse it would be in a confined space like a flat or coffee shop. How people did parenthood without losing their minds was beyond her. Perhaps it was a switch that was flipped when you got broody. A switch which turned down the dial on your hearing and up on your tolerance. Although, having said that, she had witnessed enough terrible parenting to believe the switch had to be faulty in many cases.
Tower Bridge looked especially fine against the blue sky and Lydia took a couple of deep breaths. London air, daylight, and a pleasant park to look at while she waited. She could still taste the panic she had felt when locked up in the cell at the police station, the sense of being trapped and having had her free will stripped away. The big sky was inviting and she felt as if she could rise up into it, the blue stretching all around, full of possibility.
The only thing that could spoil her afternoon was, at this moment, slinking into the park by the entrance nearest the Thames. Paul Fox looked gratifyingly tired, at least. There were lines of tension around his mouth and shadows under his eyes. Lydia had been sitting on a bench and she stood before he spotted her, wanting to be ready to move. Ready to run. Her hand slipped into her pocket and closed around her coin. She gripped it tightly and felt her spine straighten.
‘Little Bird,’ Paul said. He looked happy to see her and was radiating a relief which looked genuine. She didn’t trust him, though. Not anymore. She had been so stupid to do so in the first place and that burned all the way down her throat and into her stomach.
She lifted her chin. ‘Say your piece.’
‘Can we walk?’ Paul said, ‘I’ve been travelling for the past twenty-four hours and need to stretch out.’
Lydia didn’t answer, but they fell into step, walking along the path which led past a group of silver birches, their slender white trunks contrasting with some purple ground cover that Lydia couldn’t name, and along to the more formal planting with low box hedges and a riot of autumnal reds and oranges, that was still clinging on even this late in the season. Global warming or possibly just the weird climate of the city.
‘There has been a change,’ Paul said. ‘I know you don’t trust me and won’t believe anything I say, but I wanted you to hear it from me.’
‘We’re done,’ Lydia said, ‘you don’t owe me anything and all I want is to keep far away from you and your siblings.’
‘I understand,’ Paul said, squinting at the sky. ‘But we don’t always get what we want and the word is that you are the new h
ead of the Crow Family.’
‘Not the head,’ Lydia said. ‘That’s an exaggeration.’
‘You have a significant role,’ Paul said. ‘You are Henry Crow’s daughter.’
Lydia ignored that. She didn’t know what she could say which wouldn’t sound like she was protesting too much.
‘You know we don’t have a leader?’ Paul continued.
‘So you say,’ Lydia said. ‘But your dad-’
‘I’m the new one.’
Lydia stopped walking. Paul took a couple of steps before he realised and then he stopped, too, and turned to face her.
‘What do you mean?’ There were bands around Lydia’s chest stopping her from taking a proper breath.
‘I told you I would find who was responsible for what happened to you. I told you I would make them pay.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘My father,’ Paul said simply. ‘He told the family that you needed to be protected from Maria Silver, as per my wishes, but that a little bit of rough-housing would be a good idea. To demonstrate, conclusively, that we were not allied.’
The little bit of rough-housing had been a moderate kicking, administered in broad daylight after Maria Silver had attempted to abduct Lydia. It had been the lesser of two evils, but still frightening and painful. Worse, though, had been the thought that Paul had actually been working to set her up on a murder charge.
As if reading her mind, Paul continued. ‘And then there’s the other matter. I had a frank conversation and he explained that setting you up for Marty’s death had simply been an opportunity too good to miss.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘You set me up.’
Paul closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again and looked directly into her own, Lydia felt a bolt of electricity from her scalp to her toes. ‘I did not.’
Lydia began walking again, needing the motion.
‘This park has a bad reputation,’ Paul said after a moment, his tone conversational.
Lydia gave him side-eye. She was still trying to process Paul as the head of the Fox Family, her mind spinning with what must have happened between him and Tristan for that to happen. Where was Tristan? He wouldn’t take it lying down. She felt a spurt of fear for Paul’s safety which was infuriating.
‘People think it’s called ‘potter’s field’ because it was a pauper’s graveyard, but it actually refers to potteries which used to work in the area. It’s a funny phrase ‘potter’s field’. Do you know why it means common burial ground?’
‘I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘It comes from the Aramaic meaning ‘field of blood’.’ Paul raised an eyebrow. ‘I think that’s why people don’t like the name. But it’s actually got a perfectly innocent history. Just people making bowls and mugs and all that. A case of mistaken identity.’
‘I think people don’t think about the name and if they do, they haven’t the faintest idea of the Aramaic.’
Paul tutted. ‘Don’t underestimate human instinct. Right now, for example, the hairs on the back of your neck are raised. That’s because I’m a Fox. I’m no threat to you, but your instincts keep warning you nonetheless.’
‘Are you trying to tell me I can trust you or remind me that I shouldn’t?’ Lydia said. ‘You need to work on your argument.’
Paul set off from the main path to the edge of the park and a line of lime trees which sheltered it from the buildings and road beyond. Lydia followed, wanting to hear what he had to say, despite everything, despite the warning she could feel in her skin.
‘I’m not trying to do anything except be your friend,’ Paul said, leaning his back against one of the tree trunks and looking down at Lydia. The light, filtered through the tree leaves made dappled patterns on the planes of his face. ‘I’m being as honest as I know how and trusting that you will see the right path to take. You’re clever, Little Bird, I know you’ll work it out. I’m just saying that just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it deserves it.’
Lydia tilted her head. ‘Where is Tristan?’
‘Japan.’
‘Seriously,’ Lydia said. ‘Where is your father? You say he wanted to set me up or was happy to do so when the opportunity presented itself. Was it just his idea or did somebody suggest it?’ Lydia didn’t think it had been Paul, not in her heart, but it could have been one of the other Families or the Fox clan as a whole. She needed to know what she was up against and where the next attack was likely to spring from.
‘My father is in Tokyo. At least, that is where I last saw him. He could be out in the countryside by now, or one of the other cities, Nagoya, perhaps, or Kyoto.’
‘Does he even speak Japanese?’ Lydia realised as soon as she spoke that this wasn’t the most important question, but she was scrambling to keep her place in the conversation.
‘You know, I forgot to ask. He’ll manage. Foxes always do.’
‘I don’t understand what you are telling me.’
‘My father put you in danger. His part in the violence against your person and the involvement of the Met in falsely accusing you was directly against my wishes. He knew this. I told him that I would not tolerate any act of aggression against you and I am a man of my word.’ He flashed a lop-sided smile. ‘Even if you don’t believe that.’
‘I still don’t get Japan. You forced him to go on holiday?’
The trace of the smile vanished and Paul looked suddenly very dangerous. Lydia wanted to take a step back, but she forced herself not to move. It was getting easier with practice, this overriding of her fear with bravado. Maybe eventually she would bypass the fear altogether, become like Uncle Charlie. Or her dad.
‘I banished him. Tristan Fox will not set foot in London for the rest of his natural life.’
‘Banished?’
Paul smiled thinly. ‘I gave him the choice. He could leave the country or he could die. He chose well.’
That made Lydia pause. ‘You threatened to kill your own father?’
‘I was pretty sure he would take the travel option, but yes.’
‘He believed you, then?’
‘I don’t make threats unless I mean them. He knows me well enough.’
Lydia was still struggling to process this. ‘You threatened Tristan Fox. And he was frightened enough to leave London.’
‘Yes.’
She had always known that Paul was a powerful member of the Fox Family. The next in line after Tristan to take over, despite all his protestations about them not being a hierarchy or as organised as the other Families. But still. This was overwhelming. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘You know why, Little Bird.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just that you trust me.’
‘I can’t say that,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m sorry. I know this is a big gesture.’
Paul laughed and it was a harsh sound. ‘I wouldn’t call it a gesture. I would call it a stake in the ground. A marker. A line. Tristan’s way is over. I’m head of the Family, now, and no harm will come to you.’
‘I thought you didn’t have a leader.’
‘Things change,’ Paul said.
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Lydia replied. She blew out a breath of air. Paul was very close and Lydia could taste the tang of Fox and feel the physical pull he exerted. Despite everything, he still had a disturbing effect on her animal side. ‘So, you sent him to Japan?’
‘I took him to Tokyo,’ Paul corrected. ‘Twelve-hour flight each way. I just got back.’
Lydia frowned, but before she could ask the question, Paul answered it.
‘You’re wondering why I went on the plane? You don’t just wave somebody off when you banish them. You have to root them somewhere new. Give them a new territory, sort of thing. Otherwise it’s a death sentence.’
Lydia couldn’t tell if Paul meant this metaphorically or literally. This was one of the many problems with the Families. Myth and hyperbole were part of the language,
it was so difficult to know what was reality and what was a story from the old days.
‘He’s free to move wherever he likes within Japan, although Tokyo is his new den. He can travel, too, anywhere. Just not this island.’
‘Britain?’
Paul nodded. ‘Exactly. You never have to fear my father again.’
Lydia’s automatic reaction was to say ‘I never feared him in the first place’, but Paul’s revelations deserved respect and that meant not lying to his face. She nodded instead. ‘That’s… I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say that you will consider an alliance between our Families.’
‘I told you, I’m not the head of the Crows-’
‘Still,’ he shrugged. ‘You are the person I want to hear it from.’
‘Yes, then,’ Lydia said. ‘I will consider it.’
Chapter Five
Lydia’s landline rang while she was in the shower. It was eight forty-five which was a little early for a client. They often called at nine, the moment the day switched from personal to professional time. She could imagine them, waiting and watching the seconds tick by until they imagined her walking into her office or a receptionist donning a headset, ready to take their call. A lot of people rang first thing and Lydia understood it. The decision to contact a PI wasn’t an easy one and was usually born from desperation. Once a person had made that leap, they were anxious to get on with it.
Whoever it was didn’t leave a message which was, again, not unusual. When the same number called again, half an hour later, it was definitely not a run of the mill conversation.
The Pearl King Page 3