The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  ‘She’s homeless?’ Lydia felt sick.

  ‘Nah, it’s her place of business.’ Charlie said. ‘But not anymore, isn’t that right, Candy darling? No more sweeties for the kiddies.’

  Candy’s mouth was half-open but instead of swearing, she nodded.

  ‘Good girl,’ Charlie said. ‘And you,’ he said to Lydia. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow for that favour,’ Lydia said.

  Charlie made a little mock bow. ‘Your wish is my command.’

  Lydia locked the door behind Charlie and climbed the stairs to her flat. She didn’t knock on Jason’s door or wash her face, just fell face-first into bed and was asleep in seconds.

  * * *

  Lydia was on the roof terrace. Not again, she thought. Not tonight. She walked to the edge of the terrace, ignoring the fear. Let’s get this over with. Get back to dreaming about skateboarding kittens or getting stuck in quicksand.

  ‘Everyone thinks I’m the bad guy,’ Maddie’s voice was so clear that Lydia turned around. Even though she was never there to see. Just a voice in her ear before she felt the shove, or during the following, sickening fall.

  Maddie was next to her on the terrace. She looked the same as she had the last time Lydia had seen her in real life. When Maddie had tried to kill her. She was wearing the same clothes and her hair was falling across her face at exactly the same angle. She still had enviable eyebrows and the most-perfect flick of eyeliner Lydia had ever seen. She raised her hands and smiled. ‘Surprise!’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ Maddie said, her mouth a twist of disappointment.

  If Lydia hadn’t known she was a stone-cold psychopath, she might have felt bad.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  Lydia turned away, sick of playing games. Dream or not. She gripped the railing and leaned over. The pavement looked closer than it did in reality. Or her dream eyesight was strangely acute. She could see every detail of the concrete slabs. The marks and divots, the patch of liquid that was probably urine.

  ‘Are you going to jump?’ Maddie sounded genuinely curious.

  ‘Why not?’ Lydia kept her eyes on the pavement. ‘This is a dream. I can’t die. And I want to wake up.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Maddie said. ‘But don’t come crying to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day Lydia updated Jason over her morning coffee before phoning Charlie. ‘I don’t like it,’ Jason said. ‘I thought you weren’t one of those Crows. I thought we were staying independent.’

  ‘We are,’ Lydia said. ‘But Charlie has his uses. And it’s not like I know anybody else with contacts in organised crime. I can’t just start asking randoms whether they happen to know anybody who could organise a professional hit. I’m pretty sure that would be a bad idea.’

  ‘I know. You’re right. It just… It feels like a bad idea.’

  ‘Aren’t you the same man who was telling me I needed help, that I couldn’t do everything on my own?’

  ‘I didn’t mean him,’ Jason said. He went back to his room. ‘And I need more pens.’

  ‘Right,’ Lydia said to the empty air. The sun was up and shining through the blinds. She stabbed the call button on her mobile, and felt her shoulders tense up at the sound of her uncle’s voice.

  She walked through the flat as she spoke, needing the movement to release the pent-up energy that was suddenly fizzing through her body. Too much caffeine. A thought which floated through her mind approximately three hundred times every single day.

  ‘Always good to hear from you,’ Charlie was saying.

  Lydia cut across the niceties. ‘I need that name.’

  ‘Who do you need?’

  Lydia told him, while being careful not to spell it out in incriminating language. It was a phone call, after all, and she knew at least that much. She was in her bedroom now, and she crossed to the external door, pulled aside the thin curtain and looked out on the terrace, drenched in the early morning sunshine.

  ‘Any point in me asking why? Or warning you not to tangle with them?’

  ‘None at all,’ Lydia said, A fat London pigeon landed on the terrace and began its distinctive bobbing walk.

  ‘At the risk of stating the obvious, these are not people to mess about with.’

  Lydia stayed quiet. That pigeon wasn’t going to last long. Lydia might have been a weak link in the Crow Family line, but she was still a Crow. And this whole building belonged to the family. Sure enough, a raven swooped down and landed a foot away from the chubby grey bird.

  ‘Fine,’ Charlie said. ‘But tread carefully.’

  ‘Can you arrange for me to have a friendly conversation? Is that possible?’ As Lydia expected, phrasing the request in such a manner spiked Charlie’s pride.

  ‘Of course,’ Charlie said.

  The raven took a step toward the pigeon and it flew up in a panicked flutter, leaving a couple of dusty down feathers in its place. ‘Today would be perfect.’

  ‘I bet,’ Charlie said, his voice dry as kindling. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Ready to finish the call, Lydia hesitated. ‘About last night-’

  ‘Our mutual friend is perfectly healthy.’

  ‘Right. I know,’ Lydia said, as if the idea that Charlie might have chucked Candy in the Thames had never crossed her mind. ‘What was that about, though?’

  ‘She was selling without a permit,’ Charlie said. ‘Running a whole crew doing the same.’

  Lydia tried to match the vision of Candy with her idea of a drug lord. ’And she told you she was Pearl?’

  ‘Which would have caused complications, yes.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Be careful today,’ Charlie said. ‘These are not our people.’

  * * *

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that the text from Charlie came through. A time and a location. Lydia looked it up on StreetView and found herself gazing upon the perfect murder spot. A warehouse district in north London, just off the Seven Sisters Road. Jason also had reservations. ‘I wish I could go with you,’ he said, adding quickly. ‘I’m not trying to start an argument.’

  ‘I do, too,’ Lydia said and she meant it. Adultery cases seemed suddenly alluring. But she was damned if she was going to flinch. She was a Crow. And what had happened to Robert Sharp and Yas Bishop wasn’t right. It was that simple.

  She allowed plenty of time to get across the city in the Volvo. It didn’t feel like quite the right make of car for the job, but her finances were going to have to improve a great deal before she could change up her motor. Pulling up on the designated location, Lydia distracted herself by trying to work out what would be the ideal car for a private investigator. Something roomy and comfortable but not too ostentatious. Not memorable.

  The meeting place was on a quiet back road running behind three large, low warehouse buildings. The first building had a fleet of vans parked behind it, but the other two had the sad air of desertion. Empty car parks, a few broken windows. Sparse security. Lydia looked around for cameras, but she knew they would be disabled by the crew she was meeting if they had anything planned. They weren’t amateurs.

  Idling the engine and trying not to freak out, Lydia heard the car coming before it turned onto the road. A black SUV, sunlight bouncing off its highly polished panels and the windscreen, making it difficult to see inside at a distance. The car had turned onto the road at a crawl and continued at the same pace, exhaust roaring as it came. It was either an intimidation tactic or they were checking the vicinity. Eventually, the car slid alongside and Lydia found herself locking eyes with the driver, a young man with a shaved head and a neck tattoo. She wound down her window. His was already open.

  ‘Dhruv?’

  He smiled showing very white, even teeth. Like a movie star. ‘Ms Crow.’

  There were two white men in the backseat of the car. They were huge and wearing bulky
jackets, despite the warm weather. They looked wedged in and they were staring straight ahead, like they were in power-down mode. Lydia didn’t really want to see them animated.

  ‘Beautiful day,’ Dhruv said. He had a surprisingly soft and pleasant voice.

  Lydia produced her gold coin in one closed hand, gripping it so hard the edges were digging into her palm. ‘I want to ask you about Robert Sharp.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I think it was a professional job and I’m wondering if you know the crew responsible?’

  Dhruv tilted his head. ‘And why would I tell you? If I did know anything, that is.’

  He pronounced ‘anything’ with a thick Laahndahn accent. ‘Anyfink’.

  ‘I’m not after the crew,’ Lydia was trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact. Reassuring and professional. She had no idea if it was the correct tactic or not. ‘I know it was just a job.’

  ‘Oh, you know that, do you?’ The beginnings of a smile played on Dhruv’s face.

  ‘But I want the person responsible. The one who made it happen, ordered it. I’m hoping you might have heard something.’ Lydia didn’t know if she was insulting or complimenting Dhruv with this suggestion. She hoped, fervently, that it was the latter.

  ‘I don’t have much to do with Camberwell, but I know your uncle. Owe him a favour so I’m here to answer one question. You’re not recording this meeting and anything I say will not come back on me or my people.’

  ‘Understood,’ Lydia said.

  ‘And you’re sure that’s your one question? Nothing else is coming to mind?’

  Lydia opened her mouth to say ‘yes’, then paused, searching for the trick. Had she phrased it correctly? Was Dhruv going to get away with giving her no information while simultaneously satisfying his ‘one question answered’ favour? He was staring at her, a challenge in his face. The two men in the back were still looking blankly ahead, as if they were running cartoons in their minds for entertainment or were heavily sedated. Lydia wasn’t fooled. Then it occurred to her, why was he giving her this chance? He could have answered her first question and been done. She re-ran the brief conversation, gripping her coin to keep herself from spinning away with the fear of the situation. If this went badly, the three men could kill her easily. They would all be armed and the thought of meeting another loaded gun turned every part of Lydia to liquid. She had asked if Dhruv knew the crew responsible. He could say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and be done. He clearly didn’t want to take advantage of that loophole. Which meant he wasn’t worried about incriminating himself or his crew. And that he didn’t care much about protecting the person Lydia was searching for.

  ‘In your own time,’ Dhruv said. ‘I’ve got places to be.’

  ‘Who tried to engage your services with regard to Robert Sharp?’

  Dhruv smiled as if she had passed a test.

  * * *

  Lydia knew she was dreaming. She was almost sure she was dreaming.

  She was on the roof terrace and there was cool air on her skin. She could sense the man behind her. He wasn’t pressing anything into her back, but she knew he had a gun and that it was pointed at the base of her spine, and her fear was thick like feathers stuffed into her mouth. The sky was black as a wing, but then it split with crackling lightning which lit up the terrace in stark white light. This isn’t how it happened, she thought. I’m definitely dreaming.

  ‘Go on,’ the man spoke although Lydia didn’t hear his words. Just felt them. Next thing she was at the edge, the railing pressing into her stomach and the grey concrete far below. Maddie was next to her and she knew that this was when she would be tipped over. Sent screaming through the air and she willed herself to wake up early. She would wake before she hit the ground, so why not avoid those horrible few seconds of terror. Wake up, now. She tried to say the words, but nothing came out.

  Maddie had a hand on her shoulder and another around her waist. She was hauling Lydia up and over the railing with impossible strength.

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘Please. Don’t-’

  ‘Fly!’ Maddie screamed in her ear.

  And she woke up.

  Clammy with sweat and shaking with adrenaline, Lydia stared into the darkness of her bedroom. Orange light from the street lights spilled through her curtains and the noise of the city slowly covered the hammering of her heart, the clamour of fear and the sound of Maddie’s harsh voice in her head. She had left her window open, trading quiet for air flow, and the sounds of a fox or rat scrabbling through rubbish floated in. An unearthly female screech, not unlike dream-Maddie, solved the puzzle. Definitely a fox.

  Enough. Lydia rose from the bed and pulled on cotton pyjama bottoms and a shirt. She would exorcise this nonsense once and for all. She stepped into her unlaced Doctor Marten’s and unlocked the door to the terrace. Not letting herself hesitate, she walked through the doorway and into the night air. Her hand slid automatically into her pocket and found the coin she knew would be waiting there, and she gripped it for strength.

  There was a full moon riding low in the sky, wisps of cloud flowing across it. The roofscape was just as she remembered, and so were the unloved-looking terracotta pots along the side of the building. Minus one, of course, which had been used by Jason to protect Lydia from the hit man. Despite being the middle of the night, it was still mild. The heatwave refusing to release the city from its grip, even in the darkness. Nevertheless, Lydia’s skin was goosepimpled and she had to clench her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. That was fear, not cold, and Lydia had had enough. She was a Crow and Crows did not jump at shadows. Henry Crow’s daughter would not remain hostage to a memory, however bad.

  She walked deliberately to the edge of the terrace. Gripping the railing, she leaned over it and yelled ‘piss off’ as loudly as she could.

  Lydia straightened up, feeling faintly foolish, but no longer frightened. It was just a place. There was nothing here to be afraid of. A beat of wings and Lydia looked up in time to see a raven swooping low over the roof. It landed a foot away and fixed her with a beady stare. Lydia felt a shudder rip through her body. It was a raven. Just a normal bird. The night raven had no eyes, just black holes where they ought to be. This wasn’t Madeleine Crow. This wasn’t a mythic horror. This was just a raven. A beautiful sleek majestic raven. ‘Greetings,’ Lydia said, bowing her head in respect. ‘I hope you are having a good night. ‘ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt ridiculous.

  The raven cocked its head, as if listening. Then took what looked like a deliberate hopping step closer to her. The feeling of foolishness fled in the face of the bird. It was looking at her intently and Lydia was overcome with the sense that it was waiting for her to speak. She cleared her throat. ‘Did Uncle Charlie send you?’

  The bird stayed motionless.

  After another moment, Lydia said: ‘Maddie?’

  The raven shifted, its black feathers ruffling.

  ‘What do you want?’ Lydia tried. She was frustrated at her own inability to communicate. The air was thrumming and every nerve ending felt alive. This was important, she knew that much. Three crows, cut-out black shapes against the ink-blue of the night sky, circled the terrace, cawing.

  The raven let out a screech and then took off into the air.

  ‘Come back!’ Lydia felt a sudden desperation. And the dreadful notion that she had just missed something vital. She waited for a while, her arms wrapped around her body against the sudden cold, hoping the raven would return. The three crows wheeled in the sky, like a patrol, but there was no sign of the raven.

  * * *

  Knowing something was no good without being able to prove it. Not what Charlie would say, of course. He had a thousand ways of extracting justice and not a single one of them involved anything resembling due process, but Lydia was not her uncle. She didn’t know if it was the desire to prove this or just her innate pig-headedness, but she was determined to do this according to the official laws. The ones her new boyfriend bel
ieved in and had dedicated his life to upholding.

  The SOCO report and post mortem had both come in. Fleet wasn’t supposed to be sharing the details with Lydia. He wasn’t even supposed to know them, but his friend Ian seemed keen for his opinion on the case.

  ‘Knife was recovered from the scene. It’s confirmed as the murder weapon.’

  ‘Definitely ruled out suicide, then?’

  Fleet nodded. ‘It looks like she was taken by surprise. No defensive wounds on arms or hands.’

  ‘That’s some surprise. The killer must have been very quick.’

  ‘And the move must have been very unexpected. It wasn’t even from behind. Forensics show an arcing movement, taken from somebody who was probably taller than Ms Bishop. Now, she’s not short for a woman, so someone taller is likely to be a man. Plus, you know, violent crime statistics skew for that probability.’

  ‘Or a woman in high heels,’ Lydia said. ‘Yas didn’t have shoes on and presumably the killer did.’

  ‘True,’ Fleet said. He chewed for a moment, staring into space.

  ‘House wasn’t broken into, right?’ Lydia said to Fleet, putting thoughts of sorting this out via a handy backchannel like Dhruv’s gang firmly out of her mind.

  ‘Right,’ he dug around in the takeaway carton of Kung Pao chicken with a pair of chopsticks and Lydia tried not to get distracted by his manual dexterity. It took effort.

  ‘So, Ms Bishop either knew her attacker or was presented with a good enough reason to trust them and open the door. Depends on her level of security consciousness, but that could include someone posing as a gas or broadband engineer.’

  Lydia speared a wonton. ‘Not a woman living on her own. Not likely.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Fleet said. ‘Whoever it was, they got her upstairs with minimal fuss. No signs of a struggle, so either they were large enough to overpower Yas immediately and leave no evidence, or they were invited to her bedroom.’