The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  ‘Or they showed her the knife and the threat was enough to make her comply,’ Lydia said, thinking about her brush with the gun-toting hitman. She took a slug of cola to wash down the wonton. ‘But you think it was a love interest?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘Worth considering. No relationships have emerged as yet, she seems to have been married to her work, but you never know. Could be something new, or a bit of wish fulfilment.’

  ‘Wish fulfilment?’

  ‘Professional services,’ Fleet said. ‘Or a casual pick-up online.’

  ‘Doesn’t feel right, does it? What line is Ian taking on it?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘Could be a breakdown of some kind. Irrational behaviour. Her family haven’t seen her for weeks. They’re in Norfolk, so it’s not particularly unusual, but her sister did say that she hadn’t been FaceTiming on Sundays, the way they usually did.’

  ‘So I was right about another change of personality? Altered behaviour pattern, just like Robert Sharp.’

  ‘Seems that way,’ Fleet said, nodding. ‘Which reminds me, I spoke to Ian about your mysterious statue.’

  ‘Not my statue,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Yas Bishop had several pictures of the statue on her mobile phone. Not just plain shots, like you might take to show the object to someone else, but these weird tableau and selfies. In one of them, she was naked and cuddling it.’

  ‘That sounds like altered behaviour. Unless she had a fetish about statuary before this whole thing began.’

  ‘You don’t want to know where its sword was pointing,’ Fleet said.

  ‘Any news on her job?’ Lydia asked. ‘Did the police have any more luck with the elusive JRB?’

  Fleet pulled a face. ‘Not a lot. Company directors claim no knowledge, say that it’s HR’s job, middle management don’t actually manage stuff, just client accounts.’

  ‘They’re saying they don’t know her at all? When they employ her? What about Human Resources? Records? They have to know.’

  ‘The number given for HR is just an answer machine.’

  ‘Well that's dodgy.’

  ‘As fuck,’ Fleet agreed. ‘But it's also an effective stonewall. If we don’t have enough details or a name, we can’t get a warrant. And without a warrant we can’t get more details. And you know we can’t go to the Silvers. Top brass wouldn’t be too pleased. Not without a hell of a lot more due cause.’

  ‘You know who else Yas would trust?’ Lydia had been waiting, hoping the Murder Investigation Team had more to go on, that she wouldn’t have to reveal what she knew in order to push them in the right direction, but there was nothing for it.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her lawyer.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lydia decided to pay a housecall to her client. It didn’t feel like the kind of conversation she ought to have on the phone and she really couldn’t put it off any longer. She rang first, to check it was a good time. ‘Not really,’ Dr Lee had said, but Lydia told him it was important.

  Dr and Mrs Lee’s garden flat in Denmark Hill was tastefully decorated and had an enormous modern extension at the back with a bright open-plan kitchen and dining room. Following the current trend, the rear wall was all glass, giving a view of the neat garden with a covered seating area at the bottom. The sun was belting through the vast expanse and had made the kitchen uncomfortably warm. Lydia wondered if, in ten years’ time, the monied middle-classes would be busy bricking-in glass walls all over the city when the fashion changed. Dr Lee offered tea and Lydia accepted to give her a moment to look around the kitchen while he made it.

  There was a landline on a console table in the dining room part, and above it a small pinboard with takeaway menus, business cards, and an emergency contact list. Lydia could hear the kettle boiling at the other end of the massive space, and she searched methodically through the layers of pinned papers, not really sure what she expected to find. Until she found it.

  ‘Milk? Sugar?’ Dr Lee said when Lydia joined him in the light-filled kitchen.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me your wife wasn’t well?’ She held up the hospital appointment slip, which had been half-buried on the board. The clinic was in the oncology department, the date next month. Terrible though it was to admit, she was filled with relief that she wouldn’t actually be breaking the news of his wife’s illness. ‘This process works a lot better if I have all the available information.’

  ‘She is well,’ Dr Lee said, frowning at the paper. ‘I mean, she wasn’t well. Breast cancer. But they caught it early and it was successfully treated. She has to have a regular check-up, that’s what you’ve got there, but it’s only once a year, now. She’s been completely clear for six years.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news.’ Lydia kept her tone neutral, hiding her confusion.

  ‘Why did you think she was ill? Have you seen her go to the hospital?’ Fear was gouged into the lines on Dr Lee’s face.

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Lydia waved the paper. ‘I just saw this. That’s all.’

  Dr Lee sagged against the counter. ‘Oh, thank God.’

  Lydia wasn’t sure what to do or where to look but Dr Lee was already straightening his spine. He occupied himself with the business of the kettle and the mugs. Lydia didn’t bother to say that she wasn’t going to stay for tea, now, she knew it was more important that Dr Lee had something on which to focus. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ Dr Lee said, putting a used teabag into the compost bin. ‘What was it you wanted to discuss. What have you found?’

  And there it was. Lydia has a responsibility to her client, the broken-looking man who was wiping a pool of tea from the counter, but there was no reason to make things worse within a marriage than they had to be. Do no harm didn’t just apply to doctors. Lydia’s old boss, Karen, had often said that being an investigator was like being a therapist half the time. Lydia wasn’t a fan of that half, but looking at Dr Lee she knew she couldn’t let that make her thoughtless or cavalier. She had chosen a job which inserted her into people’s lives, into their most intimate relationships. Lydia had to work out a way of doing that that would still allow her to sleep at night. ‘I haven’t found anything to suggest that your wife is having a romantic or sexual affair.’

  Dr Lee smiled hesitantly. ‘Is there a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?’

  ‘Nope,’ Lydia said. ‘I can send you a full report of my surveillance, but it might be better if you take the details on trust.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When your wife asks you if you trust her, you can look her in the eye and say ‘yes’.’

  Dr Lee still looked confused and Lydia wondered if he thought she was trying to wriggle out of writing a detailed report, or whether he was starting to wonder if she had, in fact, done the work she was going to bill him for. She tried again. ‘Right now, you have a choice. You’ve already breached your wife’s trust by hiring me. But I’m the one who has invaded her privacy, I’m the one who has followed her and observed her without her knowledge. That’s my job. As her husband, though, you can choose not to invade her privacy in that way. I’m not married and I’ve never had a long-term relationship, but I’ve seen a fair few in my professional capacity and I know this; there is a line in every marriage that, once crossed, breaks it. You might have already done so, but if there’s a chance you haven’t, don’t you want the chance to avoid it?’

  Dr Lee looked stricken and Lydia honestly wasn’t sure if he was about to shout at her for lecturing him or start sobbing. Finally, he nodded. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘I’ll send over my invoice in the next couple of days,’ Lydia said, already heading for the door.

  * * *

  Lydia had found a parking space for her tank-like old Volvo and had no wish to lose it unless absolutely necessary. Instead, she walked back to Church Street and waited in a cafe until Mrs Lee finished work. Bang on time, she emerged from the
office and headed to her car. Lydia was ready, though, and intercepted Mrs Lee with one hand on the driver’s door.

  ‘Can I have a quick chat?’ Lydia said. ‘I’m an investigator.’ She handed Mrs Lee her card.

  ‘What is this about?’

  ‘Can I buy you a cup of tea?’ Lydia indicated the cafe she had just left. ‘Or a coffee? This won’t take long but I’d rather not stand in the street.’

  Mrs Lee shook her head and opened the car door. She got in quickly and Lydia stepped back, expecting her to drive away. Instead, she stared out of the windscreen, motionless, for a minute and then wound down her window. ‘Get in.’

  Lydia walked around to the passenger side and obeyed the command.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Mrs Lee said. And, then. ‘I know why you’re here.’

  Lydia tilted her head. ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘I assume it’s about Gerald.’

  ‘Gerald?’

  ‘Gerald Horner. My boss.’ When Lydia still looked blank, Mrs Lee added. ‘I work at Horner Insurance. You’re not here about Gerald?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘No reason,’ Mrs Lee said quickly. ‘I just assumed he was dodgy. He comes across that way. You know the type. And he’s been having meetings with some very rough-looking people recently. I thought he must have got into trouble. He visits casinos, that sort of thing.’ Mrs Lee’s lip was curled in distaste.

  ‘Right. Well, no. It’s not about Gerald. I shouldn’t be here, really. I’m looking into alternative therapists and I believe you have been visiting Kirsty Thomas. On Tindal Street.’

  Mrs Lee’s eyes widened in shock. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘Trade secret,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s nothing to worry about and I’m not looking into Kirsty specifically, it’s a wide-ranging case and she has come up as a peripheral. I’m working for a journalist who is working up a big piece on alternative health care, stuff like acupuncture, aromatherapy, energy healing.’ Lydia was making up this nonsense on the fly but Mrs Lee seemed happy enough to take her word for it. ‘It would just be really helpful to get a patron’s view and my job is to rustle up a few leads, members of the public who would be happy to chat to the journalist about their experience. Whether it’s helped you, how you feel about the process, whether you would be interested in seeing regulation across the industry, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Would my name appear in the article?’

  ‘Not unless you wanted,’ Lydia said. ‘And you’d be paid for your time, of course.’

  ‘I don’t want to get anybody into trouble,’ Mrs Lee said. ‘Kirsty has been brilliant.’

  ‘May I ask why you’ve been seeing her? I’m trying to source a range of interviewees.’ Lydia flipped open her notebook. ‘Don’t worry if it’s too personal. Or too painful. If you’d rather not say-’

  ‘I was ill a few years ago,’ Mrs Lee said. ‘Breast cancer.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Six years clear,’ she said. ‘I still feel frightened, though. It changes you. And not the way they show on the TV. It’s not always bucket lists and seizing the day. Sometimes it’s just fear. I get a sore back and I think it’s a spinal tumour.’

  Lydia nodded sympathetically. ‘Is that what you see Kirsty for? The anxiety?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Mrs Lee looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘It’s completely understandable. After what you’ve been through.’

  Mrs Lee took an audible breath in and then let it out slowly. ‘I go for help with the cancer.’

  Lydia made a squiggle on the pad, not making eye contact in the hope that Mrs Lee would continue to open up.

  ‘When I was really sick, my husband was amazing. Everyone was. And now I’m not… I sort of miss it. I know that sounds awful. I mean, I’m not ill and I should be grateful, but I’m supposed to just get on. Like it never happened.’

  ‘Have you talked to your husband about how you feel?’

  Mrs Lee was staring out of the windscreen. She shook her head slowly. ‘I can’t have my name in this piece. He doesn’t know I go to Kirsty. He wouldn’t understand. And I am grateful. I really am. I know I’m lucky to be here.’

  ‘Maybe he would,’ Lydia began. ‘Maybe-’

  ‘No. He’s a doctor. He hates alternative medicine. Says they’re all charlatans and crooks. Besides, it would look like I was dismissing his career choice, his life. He’d say I was being ungrateful to the real medics who saved my life. And he wouldn’t understand why I’m pretending to still be ill for an hour a week… I mean, who would understand that? It’s completely mad.’

  ‘It’s giving you something you need,’ Lydia said briskly. ‘It’s none of my business, but I think you should tell him.’

  Mrs Lee snapped back to the conversation. Her shoulders straightened. ‘When will I hear from the journalist? What’s their name?’

  ‘If you’re chosen as an interviewee, it will be tomorrow.’

  ‘And they won’t use my name?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ Lydia said.

  Mrs Lee was chewing her bottom lip. Lydia could see her brain catching up with the situation, now that the surprise was wearing off, her self-preservation was kicking in. Lydia tried to calm her down. ‘If this is going to stress you out, I don’t have to pass on your name. You don’t have to take part, either. It’s completely up to you.’

  ‘Maybe not, actually,’ Mrs Lee said. ‘Is that okay? I’m not sure I want-’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘Thank you for your time.’ She made to get out of the car, pausing halfway out of the door. ‘Sorry. Can I just give you some advice?’

  Mrs Lee had already turned on the engine and flicked the indicators.

  ‘Don’t invite strangers to get into your car with you. That’s a really bad idea, safety-wise.’ She smiled to soften the words, but Mrs Lee just gave her a blank look, like she wasn’t really listening. ‘And talk to your husband. Trust me, it’s better coming from you.’

  ‘Wait, what do you mean?’ Mrs Lee stopped mid-manoeuvre and focused on Lydia, but she was already walking away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lydia was dreaming. The sun was shining onto the roof terrace and the sky above was the perfect blue of childhood memory. There was a pressure at the base of her spine but instead of a gun pressing into her back, she knew it was just her Dad’s hand, steering her over to a cluster of white plastic garden chairs with some familiar figures.

  Maddie was sitting next to Jason. She was smoking a cigarette and holding one elbow like a fifties starlet. Jason looked entirely solid and alive. He was smoking, too, and clouds began billowing across the terrace. He smiled and stood up when he saw Lydia, wreathed in grey blue smoke. ‘Have you met everyone, yet?’

  ‘What?’ Lydia felt relaxed.

  ‘Everything is going to be different, now,’ Jason was saying, as part of Lydia’s brain recognised that the dream had changed. Nobody was throwing her off her terrace, which was a great improvement. Maddie was calm, although she was looking studiously away from Lydia. Jason was here and chatting happily.

  Lydia wanted to turn her head to look at her Dad, see the man she instinctively knew would be young and whole. The father of her memories. She wanted to talk to him, but her attention was caught by a third seated figure.

  The man from her circuits class. The one who had brought with him a burst of unidentifiable power. Maddie was blowing extravagant smoke rings, obstructing her view so she couldn’t get a good look at him. Then she exhaled a stream of smoke which formed into the unmistakable shape of a raven in flight. It was larger and more detailed than was possible from a cigarette, and it floated through one of the dissipating smoke rings. Lydia’s eyes were stinging badly, now. They began streaming, so she blinked to clear them. And woke up.

  * * *

  The next day, Lydia prepared the invoice for Dr Lee and emailed it over. She was relieved the job was complete, but felt an overwh
elming sadness which took her by surprise. Mrs Lee was cheating on her husband in one sense; she was lying to him about where she was going after work and all to cover up the fact that he wasn’t giving her something she needed. Why couldn’t people just talk to each other? It would be so much cheaper and easier than hiring Lydia. Of course, then she would be out of job, so there was that.

  * * *

  Lydia met Fleet in The Hare. He was just off work, but had taken off his suit jacket and his tie was loose. He had a pint of something dark and stood up when she arrived. Lydia waved away his offer of a drink. ‘I can’t stay.’

  Fleet sat down. ‘You wanted to talk, though?’

  Lydia took a deep breath. ‘I think the Silver Family paid a professional crew to carry out the hit on Robert Sharp.’

  Fleet had been lifting his pint to his lips but he put it back down onto the table untouched. ‘Why do you think that?’

  Lydia shook her head automatically and then stopped. She had to trust him sometime. She had to trust somebody. So she told him about her meeting with Dhruv.

  ‘And he told you that Maria Silver tried to engage his services to kill Robert Sharp?’ Fleet took a sip of beer. ‘You know that’s not the most reliable testimony I’ve ever heard?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t take the job. He doesn’t know who did, but he could hazard a guess.’

  ‘What a surprise. Rival gang, by any chance?’

  ‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘He said it was a professional set-up. Nothing personal. I didn’t ask him for the name, though.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’d already used my one question.’

  Fleet nodded, thinking. ‘It’s your word. That’s all we’ve got. I’m assuming your contact will deny all knowledge if we haul him in?’

  ‘You haven’t got my word, either,’ Lydia said. ‘I can’t be involved. Not officially. If I’m seen attacking Maria Silver it could break the truce between the Families. That can’t happen.’