The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  ‘I need to speak to Lydia Crow.’

  ‘Speaking,’ Lydia said, opening a fresh notebook and picking up a pen.

  ‘Are you a detective?’

  ‘I am a licensed private investigator,’ Lydia said. ‘I offer a confidential service and the initial consultation is free.’

  ‘You’re a Crow, though? Or is that just a business name? Crow Investigations. I looked you up, but I wasn’t sure-’

  The voice on the line was deep and scratchy. He was speaking very quietly, too, which made it even harder to hear. Lydia pressed the phone tighter against her ear and covered her other. ‘What? Sorry, can you say that again?’

  ‘My name is not my name. But I can’t remember my real one. I want to tell my mum and dad that I’m here, but I can’t. Nothing is right. Everything seems different, it doesn’t smell right. No, not smell. Not that exactly. But not right.’ The voice got even lower. ‘They might be imposters. I’m not sure if they’re real.’

  ‘Who are imposters?’

  ‘Everyone. It just doesn’t seem… Like things are right. I can’t explain it. I need help to figure things out. I want to go home.’

  A voice interrupted in the background and there was a muffled sound and then Lydia heard the man say, ‘I asked if I could. They said I could.’

  A moment later, the voice was back. ‘My name’s Ash. Not my real name, but the one they gave me. It’ll do for now. You can find it out, you can help me remember it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t understand what it is you need help with, can you-’

  ‘You can reach me on this number or ask for ward fifteen at the Maudsley.’

  ‘You’re in hospital?’

  ‘Just at the minute. That’s why I need your help. I can’t do this myself. We’re allowed to use the computers in the room and I got your number from the world wide web. I found you on yell.com, it used to be a yellow book, I think, but they said you don’t use those anymore. Just type it into the search bar and it comes back. I liked the thin pages, they felt nice when you leafed through them, like you were really getting something done. Do you remember the yellow book or is it something I made up?’ Animation broke through his measured tone. ‘They’re being nice but I can’t tell if they’re real. They might not be real nurses and doctors. They might be them in disguise.’

  Lydia didn’t know what to say. She settled on a question. ‘Who are you talking about? Are you afraid of someone?’

  ‘Against the rules, but that’s not the point. I think I’m back but nothing seems right. I might not be back at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I can help you. If you’re in hospital, the staff there will look after you. They are good people. You are safe.’

  ‘I can pay. I’ll be out of here soon enough, it’s a seventy-two hour hold they said, and then I can go to the bank. I can pay you. I had a job at the newsagents. I was saving up all summer. It will still be there, the money, won’t it?’

  Lydia had her fair share of crank calls and time-wasters. This didn’t feel like either, but it also didn’t feel right. It sounded like a mental health issue. Plus, she was up to her neck in her own Family business and her investigation into JRB. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m fully booked at the moment. And I don’t think this is something an investigator should handle. If you decide you really want one, I can give you a number for another investigator. Really good guy, excellent work and very reliable.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ Ash said. Not distressed, just in a monotone. ‘You’re not listening. I need your help. This isn’t normal. This isn’t for just any one. This is for you. You’re a Crow, you’ll know what to do.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lydia said, thoroughly rattled by that. ‘I’m fully booked. I’m sorry I can’t help.’

  Lydia thought that she had successfully put Charlie off for a few days at least, but he was the next phone call of the day, telling her to ‘get herself downstairs pronto’.

  ‘I’m working,’ she tried, but Charlie was having none of it.

  ‘Just a little outing with your uncle. I’ll buy you lunch. You need feeding.’

  It was smart to know when to choose your battles, so Lydia laced up her DMs and headed down to The Fork.

  Seeing Uncle Charlie happy was a new experience for Lydia. Walking down Denmark Hill he seemed even taller than usual and when they got to their destination, an unpretentious pizzeria, he had barely stopped talking. ‘African, Lebanese, Persian, fish and chips,’ he was listing the restaurants as they passed. ‘You can get anything here. And there’s another pharmacy. And a Co-Op. It’s a proper neighbourhood. A real place for people to live and thrive. You can get your clothes dry-cleaned, your haircut, visit the doc, place a bet, walk in the park, get a decent coffee.’

  Lydia wanted to say ‘you love Camberwell, I get it,’ but there was no point poking the bear. She would let him enjoy his ebullience and bide her time. Eventually, he would tell her the real reason for their impromptu lunch.

  Outside La Pietra Charlie paused. ‘Quick stop,’ he said, and led the way next door, into Aristotle’s MiniMart. It was one of those shops which is packed from floor to ceiling and seems to sell everything from cigarettes and groceries to screwdrivers and haberdashery, plus an ever-changing stock of oddments which had clearly spent most of their lives on a slow cargo ship from China or Hong Kong. Small ceramic pigs painted with splotchy blue flowers, Japanese-style lucky cats, bumper packs of cocktail umbrellas and paper fans, and whatever was the latest craze amongst the tween crowd. Fidget spinners or loom bands or Pokémon cards.

  ‘Mr Crow!’ The man behind the counter was already half-way out to greet them. He was half Charlie’s height and twice as wide, but he squeezed through the narrow aisles of the shop with practised grace. He was smiling and Lydia couldn’t help but smile back.

  ‘Tea? Lemonade?’

  Charlie leaned down and hugged the man, clapping him on the back. ‘We’re not staying. Just wanted to introduce you to my niece, Lydia. Lydia, this is Ari.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Lydia said. She knew that Charlie was teaching her something, but she hadn’t worked out what, yet.

  ‘Place looks great,’ Charlie said, looking around. ‘You can’t even tell.’

  ‘I know,’ Ari was beaming. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mr Crow-’

  ‘Charlie, please,’ Charlie said. ‘And you don’t have to thank me. That’s what I’m here for.’

  Ari ducked his head. ‘Still,’ he said.

  Charlie nodded. He took Ari’s hand in both of his for a moment and there was a moment of silent communication between them. Or benediction. Lydia spent the moment wondering how many £2.50 china pigs Ari had to sell in order to make the rent.

  It was the same story at the restaurant. Wide smiles, manly hugs, and clasped hands. The chef came out to pay his respects to Charlie and the manager, a woman with enormous hoop earrings and perfect eyebrows, poured their table water herself. ‘I will leave you in the capable hands of Mark,’ the woman indicated a waiter who was hovering nervously to her left. It sounded like a question, not a statement, and Charlie nodded very slightly. ‘I’m sure you are very busy.’

  ‘The books,’ the woman said, nervous energy pouring from her. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘I do,’ Charlie said. ‘I have a guy, though. I could get him to swing by, help you out a bit.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ the woman said, taking a step back. ‘I mean, that’s so kind. So kind. But I can manage them.’ She gave a laugh which wasn’t a laugh. ‘I just need a few hours in my office and a strong coffee.’

  Charlie nodded and the weird tension dissipated.

  After Mark had given the menus and taken their drinks order, Lydia lowered her voice to ask: ‘What was that about?’

  Charlie hadn’t opened his menu. ‘You should have the sea bass. It’s very good here. Or the Linguini.’

  Lydia pointedly opened her menu and took her time perusing it. Annoyingly sh
e did fancy the fish, but she chose a risotto instead, just to be contrary. She had already lost the battle to choose her own drink, as Charlie had ordered wine for them both.

  He took a sip and nodded to Mark who was hovering. ‘Run along, son.’

  ‘The books,’ Lydia prompted.

  ‘You know we run a fund for the good of the community?’

  Lydia nodded. She knew that if people needed money in Camberwell and they couldn’t get it from the bank, they came to the Crow Family. Specifically Uncle Charlie. She also knew that every business, even those who hadn’t been loaned their start-up money, owed an extra business tax. Some people might call it a protection racket and in the bad old days that might have been accurate, but now it was more like a non-optional Rotary Club. At least, that was Lydia’s understanding. Her Dad had been light on the details of the business, having abdicated his position when she was born, choosing a life of safe normality in suburbia.

  ‘Well, it’s my responsibility is to make sure it’s fair. It only works because everybody pays in their percentage. Everybody benefits, so everyone has to play their part.’

  Lydia nodded to show she understood.

  Charlie smiled as if she was endorsing the whole system. ‘But sometimes I hear little whispers. Maybe this person is doing better than they are reporting. Maybe they are trying to keep their percentage amount as low as possible, so they are padding out their expenses, making it look like they’re making less than they really are.’

  ‘So you look at their books?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Charlie said. ‘I send someone.’

  At that moment, Mark appeared with their meals. Lydia wasn’t at all surprised when he put down two plates of sea bass. This entire day was a performance exercise. Charlie was setting out the new world order, one in which he said ‘jump’ and Lydia said ‘how high?’.

  ‘Really?’ she said, indicating her plate.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ Charlie said. ‘Brain food.’

  Lydia picked up her cutlery and began to separate fish from bone. ‘What happens if you find out the whispers are true?’

  Charlie stopped, a fork of sea bass halfway to his mouth. ‘They don’t do it again,’ he said flatly.

  Chapter Six

  It was a cold morning with the promise of rain as Lydia skirted Kennington Park. She had a coffee in a reusable takeaway cup, courtesy of Angel, and was wearing fingerless gloves and a gigantic scarf along with her usual leather jacket and jeans. It was late November and the shop windows were filled with decorations and every retailer was playing the Christmas Greatest Hits album. Lydia had retained a childlike love of Christmas but she didn’t like to shout about it. It was unseemly for a hard-bitten private eye. She also knew that not everybody had the Crow Christmas memories. The burning log, candles filling the house for the special Christmas Eve dinner. If you went back far enough, Crows were Nordic and they still held onto the old Yul traditions. Light in the long darkness of winter was very important. That and strong alcohol.

  The address was off Kennington Road, in a large red-brick Georgian terraced building with uniform rows of sash windows. It didn’t have the feel of a residential building, more one which had long ago been subdivided into offices. There were plain blinds visible at some of the windows, no curtains, and Lydia glimpsed strip lighting. Letting herself in using the key, Lydia was not surprised to find herself in an anonymous entranceway with beige carpeted stairs leading up and a printed notice on the first door to her right which said ‘Kennington Council Reception. Appointments Only.’ To the best of Lydia’s knowledge, there was no ‘Kennington Council’ as the area fell under the jurisdiction of Lambeth.

  She took the stairs up and up again, arriving on the third floor and in front of an unmarked door with a Yale lock. Using the second key, she opened the door. Inside was a plainly furnished flat. Living room with a black leather sofa and matching armchair, kitchen-diner with a square beech-effect table and chairs which looked like they had been bought in IKEA ten years ago, and two bedrooms, both with twin beds. If it was a safe house, it would make sense that it would be set up to sleep the maximum number of people, Lydia supposed.

  Having deliberately arrived an hour before her appointed time, Lydia spent the next forty minutes going over every inch of the flat. She looked in the drawers and cupboards, not really expecting to find clues to Mr Smith’s employers, but knowing she had to try. Then she did a sweep of every light fitting, smoke alarm, plug-socket, and switch, looking for surveillance equipment. She didn’t find anything. Of course, if Mr Smith was MI5 or MI6, the chances of them using the same level kit as Lydia has access to and would recognise, was slim, but Lydia felt more in control, anyway. She heard the key in the front door and straightened up from her position in the kitchen. She had just prised the baseboard off from under the built-in oven to check the space beneath the kitchen units, and she kicked it back into place before crossing the room to sit in one of the chairs and picking up her coffee. It was cold now, but she took a small sip as Mr Smith walked into the kitchen.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said, his gaze roaming the room before settling back on Lydia.

  ‘So are you,’ Lydia put her coffee down but didn’t move to stand up.

  Mr Smith nodded and took the seat opposite her.

  Lydia had braced herself for the effect of his strange signature and was pleased to find it definitely wasn’t having as strong an effect as before. She was getting used to him. Or developing an immunity. A pleasant thought.

  ‘I was hoping you could do me a favour?’ Lydia said, having decided offence was the best defence. He might have dragged her to this meeting but she wasn’t going to let him set the agenda.

  His lips quirked into a smile. ‘So much for the pleasantries.’

  ‘This isn’t social,’ Lydia said. ‘And you are putting me in danger by insisting on these meetings.’

  ‘What danger?’ He said forward. ‘Have there been threats?’

  Lydia glared at him. ‘I was recently attacked by Maria Silver and her hired help, arrested on suspicion of murder after being set up by the Fox Family, and you have coerced me into passing on information, an activity which carries a health warning in my world. Trust is everything. This,’ Lydia waved a hand. ‘Could get me killed.’

  Mr Smith smiled. ‘I think you exaggerate. But please don’t think I’m unaware of the sacrifice you are making.’

  ‘Against my will,’ Lydia said. ‘You blackmailed me.’

  ‘I offered a deal. You took it.’

  Annoyingly, he wasn’t wrong. Lydia glared at him, anyway. She had taken the deal to get out of the police cell. It didn’t mean that she had to play nicely.

  ‘If you follow simple rules, you will stay quite safe. I promise you. What favour?’

  ‘I want to know what Alejandro Silver is up to.’

  ‘What makes you think I know anything about this man? Other than the obvious. He runs Silver and Silver. He is a lawyer. He has extremely deep pockets.’

  ‘The Silvers were looking after JRB. You told me you were working undercover for them both.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Smith said. ‘So I was.’

  ‘You’ve stopped?’ Lydia said. ‘You’re no longer pretending to be a courier?’

  ‘I wasn’t pretending,’ Mr Smith said. ‘I was an excellent courier.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Mr Smith had a rucksack slung over one shoulder and he took it off and put it onto the table between them. ‘You requested pastries,’ he said, producing a bakery box from within. It was a little squashed, but the pastries inside were intact. Portuguese tarts, Lydia’s favourite.

  ‘Pasteis de Nata,’ he said. ‘Passionfruit and cocoa, blueberry, and classic.’

  Lydia picked up the classic version. They were perfection already and didn’t need any adornment or adulteration. She could smell the buttery pastry and vanilla custard, but she hesitated before taking a bite.

  Mr Smith read her mind. �
�Please. Why would I go to this much trouble to poison you? I could just pay Angel to slip something into your coffee.’

  Lydia decided to ignore this disturbing idea. She took a large bite, savoured it, and then continued as if nothing had happened. ‘I just want to keep an eye on what the Silver Family are up to and it’s unwise for me to be seen to be keeping an eye. After the unpleasantness with Maria Silver, I need to let things settle down.’

  ‘I’m more than happy to do you a favour, Lydia,’ Mr Smith said. ‘But it would be the third one. Are you sure you can pay your debt?’

  ‘Third?’

  He counted on his fingers. ‘Getting you out of jail, reporting on the Silvers, and healing your wounds.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you for the last one. That doesn’t count.’

  He nodded. ‘Quite right. My mistake.’

  At least the man was going to be reasonable. Superficially, at any rate. She could tell he had been working closely with the Families as he seemed to know how to conduct himself. The modes of conversation were very familiar, which was alarmingly comforting. It was undoubtedly part of his training to emulate speech patterns to put his subject at ease. Knowing that didn’t stop it being effective, though, which was irritating.

  ‘Are you going to ask your questions, then?’ Lydia said. ‘Collect your debt.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ Mr Smith said. ‘This is a long-term indenture, you will return your obligation in small pieces, once a week. I thought I had made that clear?’

  Lydia finished the pastry instead of replying. She chased it down with some coffee, forgetting that it had gone cold, and stood up. ‘Great. See you next time, then.’

  Mr Smith sat down and selected a blueberry pastry. ‘You’ve been very busy with Charlie Crow this week. How is your training going?’

  ‘Training?’

  ‘For the Family Business. Or has he started to test you in other ways?’

  Lydia gritted her teeth. It went against everything she had ever known. You didn’t reveal anything about your Family to an outsider, not even something innocuous. You never knew the importance of the smallest detail, so it was safest to just keep your mouth shut.