Fleet didn’t raise his gaze from his phone screen where he was still reading the file. ‘Fear, professionalism, and a dose of being a lucky bastard.’
‘All that. Plus, he destroyed incriminating evidence, including a few body parts, by slipping them into medical waste at Liverpool General.’
Fleet looked up, then. ‘And it ended up in the incinerator?’
‘Yep, back when hospitals dealt with their own mess. Nowadays it’s done by waste management companies under contract, apparently.’ Lydia held his gaze. ‘Maria’s alibi was a hospital appointment that morning. What if she lied about the time by an hour or so?’
‘I don’t get you…’ Fleet began.
‘What if she took a leaf out of his book?’
* * *
The next afternoon, Lydia was massaging her temples, trying to get rid of a headache. She couldn’t blame the weather anymore, and she didn’t have any pressing cases. Much as she wanted to storm into Maria Silver’s office and accuse her face-to-face, she knew it wouldn’t help. And Fleet had taken her hunch to MIT. He promised her they would take it seriously. That he would make them take it seriously.
April Westcott had replied to Lydia’s emailed report with a couple of terse sentences. Lydia didn’t blame her and didn’t take it personally. That was the nature of being the bearer of bad news. It sucked. Lydia logged into her business account and saw a transfer from April for the final invoice amount. A case closed. Another payment gained from the slurry of messed-up human relationships. Lydia stared into space for a moment, trying to work out if she truly felt bad about the Westcott case or whether it was something else bringing her down. It was something else. Emma.
* * *
It was strange to see Tom. Lydia couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken, and it was stranger still to see him without Emma. ‘Thanks for meeting me,’ Lydia said, as Tom slid into the seat opposite Lydia. It was a little Italian place just around the corner from Tom’s office, halfway to the tube station he would use to get home to suburbia, and his wife and children.
At some point during the debacle of the Lee case, Lydia had realised that she had a third option with Emma’s request. Refuse to investigate Tom and just talk to him as a friend. It gave her a tilting, terrified sensation in her stomach, but she knew it was the right thing to do. At least, she hoped it was the right thing to do. She didn’t want to make things worse, or betray Emma’s confidence, but at least if she messed up it would be because she was muddling through as a friend, not treating their lives as a case to be solved.
The smiley Hungarian who had brought Lydia an intense cup of coffee appeared to take Tom’s order. He asked for hot water with a slice of lemon and Lydia raised an eyebrow.
‘Cutting down on caffeine.’ Tom put his work bag on the empty chair next to him and folded his hands on the table. ‘I know what this is about.’
‘You do?’
‘Emma said you were worried that I didn’t like you.’
Well that was blunt. ‘Oh. Right.’
‘I won’t lie,’ Tom said. ‘I was concerned about her getting involved with your life. Your work. It sounds a bit, I don’t know, like it might be risky. But I know you wouldn’t put her in any bad situations and I’m not saying-’
‘That’s not why I’m here,’ Lydia interrupted him.
Tom’s hot water arrived in a slim glass mug on a saucer and Lydia waited until they were alone before continuing. ‘This is difficult. I never get involved like this, unless it’s in a professional capacity, and I don’t want to stick my nose in, but you and Emma are my friends and I want to help. Emma’s worried about you and her mind is going through all kinds of wild possibilities. I’ve told her that she’s got nothing to worry about but I wanted to let you know, so that you can reassure her.’ Every part of Lydia was hoping that Tom was going to say ‘oh, yeah, I’ve been a bit stressed at work’ or ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, everything’s fine.’ Something simple. Not serious. Something, if Lydia was being honest, to let her off the hook cleanly and quickly. Instead, Tom crumpled in front of her.
‘Oh, God.’ He bent low over his drink, the steam from the water fogging up his glasses, and then took them off to polish them.
Lydia waited. When he spoke next, his voice was thick and he had to clear his throat and start again. ‘I thought I was hiding it. I thought she hadn’t noticed. I mean, we’re pretty busy. It’s not like we get much time together.’
‘It’s Emma,’ Lydia said, as gently as she could. ‘Of course she knows something is wrong.’
‘I didn’t want her to worry. She’s got enough with the kids and everything. It’s not fair on her.’
‘I’ve been away a long time, and I know I’m the last person who should be advising on relationships, but you two have always been a team. That means you can lean on each other. What can be so bad that you can’t tell her?’
‘I’ve been having tests,’ Tom said quietly. ‘They thought it might be colon cancer.’
Lydia sat back. ‘Hell Hawk. That’s stressful.’
He nodded. ‘It’s okay. It’s not. Cancer, I mean. They think ulcerative colitis but I’m seeing the consultant next week to confirm. I was going to tell Ems, I was just waiting for the diagnosis, getting through the tests and stuff, first. I didn’t want to freak her out when it might be nothing. And I didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘Telling Emma would have made it real,’ Lydia said.
Tom looked at her then. He wasn’t crying but his eyes were damp. The expression on his face was pure naked relief, though. ‘Exactly.’
‘But why not tell her now? I mean, I don’t know much about colitis…’
‘It’s a chronic condition. Lifetime of medication, but the symptoms shouldn’t be as unpleasant when they get it under control. If it gets bad or the medications don’t work, there’s surgery to remove part of the colon and there’s a slightly increased risk of bowel cancer. I could end up with a stoma bag.’ He pulled a face. ‘Sexy.’
‘You shouldn’t be dealing with this on your own. What were you thinking?’
‘I’m lucky,’ Tom said, quickly. It had the ring of words which had been rehearsed, repeated. A mantra to help Tom through a life-altering diagnosis. ‘I mean, it’s not a lottery ticket, but it could be much worse.’
‘It’s shit, Tom,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
He managed a weak smile. ‘You have no idea how apt a statement you just made.’
‘See? You’ve been depriving Emma of all your toilet-based gallows humour. She’ll be furious.’
‘You think?’ He was suddenly serious.
‘No, you idiot. She will be relieved you’re talking to her. Have you told your work?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve needed time for appointments and stuff. And I needed to explain my longer-than-usual toilet breaks. Didn’t want to get the sack for slacking.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lydia said, wincing. ‘I’m really sorry you are going through this. Is there anything I can do?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll talk to Emma tonight. What must she be thinking?’
Lydia decided not to mention infidelity or talk of strip clubs. ‘She’s just worried about you and she knows you’re hiding something which worries her more. She’s been imagining the worst.’
‘It’s not fair on her,’ Tom said. ‘She’s got so much on her plate already, looking after two kids, working, everything. She doesn’t need this.’
‘Still. You’ve got to tell her. She’s your wife, she deserves to know what’s going on. And she will feel better knowing. And you’ll feel better, too. This is something you two need to face together. That’s the deal with marriage, right?’
* * *
On her way home, Fleet texted to say he was going to finish late, but that he wanted to see her. Lydia ducked out of the stream of people on the street and texted back. ‘Come to mine whenever you’re done’.
Seconds later, he replied. ‘You s
till haven’t seen my place. I have a coffee table.’
Smiling, Lydia texted back. ‘Boasty McBoasterson.’ Then she called into the Tesco Metro at the end of her street and bought some good bread and cheese and a bottle of red wine. She would show Fleet that she wasn’t a complete animal.
The Fork was closed for the day and she unlocked the door to get inside. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she did so, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. She looked around, but the street was deserted.
Not long after, Fleet arrived with a six-pack of beer and a takeaway pizza. ‘I assumed you wouldn’t have any food in.’
Lydia considered taking offence but she didn’t want to jeopardise future pizza offerings. After they had eaten, chatting about their days in a way which felt entirely natural, Lydia chucked the box into the recycling tub and washed her hands in the kitchen. She hadn’t told Fleet about the business with Emma and Tom, it was private, but she had alluded to finishing up a client case and told him how relieved she was to have found a resolution which hadn’t made her want to scrub herself in bleach. ‘I had started to think I wasn’t cut out for this job, so it’s good to work out my own way of doing it. I can have my own code and, if I stick to that, I will be able to run my business and sleep at night.’
‘You’re providing a service for people,’ Fleet had said. ‘If you didn’t do it, somebody else would. Better they come to you for help than someone with fewer scruples.’
After drying her hands with a tea towel, Lydia walked back into the living room. The subject they had both been avoiding over dinner was front and centre in her mind.
As was so often the way, Fleet’s opening words let her know he was on the same page.
‘Are you sure you want your name kept out of the Yas Bishop report? It doesn’t feel right that you won’t get any credit.’
‘It’s fine,’ Lydia said. ‘You know and that’s enough.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re gutted really, aren’t you?’
‘Little bit,’ Lydia said. ‘I would love to look Maria Silver in the eye and let her know that I sussed her.’
Fleet was stretched out on Lydia’s sofa, cradling a bottle of beer to his chest. It had been an exceedingly long day, even by his standards, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. For her part, Lydia felt keyed-up. Fleet had explained that MIT had taken the information seriously enough to get the details of Maria Silver’s hospital appointment and were in the process of reviewing CCTV from the area. Lydia had been so worried that they still wouldn’t have agreed to go after somebody as powerful and respected as Maria Silver, but the relief was tinged with a sense of anti-climax. ‘Tell me again,’ she said, twisting the top off a cold bottle of lager. ‘Tell me how you convinced Ian.’
‘You’re insatiable,’ Fleet said. He smiled fondly but then dug in his pocket for his phone, which was vibrating. He stood up from the sofa and paced the room as he spoke. Lydia didn’t even pretend not to be listening. Fleet’s responses were short, though, giving nothing away. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, finishing the call, and turning to Lydia with the second-biggest smile she had ever seen on his face. ‘Bloody got her!’
‘Tell me.’ Lydia was pacing, too. Unable to stay still, energy fizzing.
‘Right. So. The waste management company for the Bayswater district is First Hygiene. They visited this afternoon and located a bag filled with a heavily blood-stained blouse and skirt. They’ve just rushed the lab work and it’s Yas Bishop’s blood. No doubt.’
Lydia felt a rush of adrenaline and relief. She wanted to shout, to punch the air, to hug Fleet.
He was still talking, clearly as keyed up as she was. ‘Maria must have taken a change of clothes to the scene and changed before leaving Yas’s house. The bloody clothes were contained in a plastic bag from a boutique. Then the CCTV shows her attending a women’s health check-up appointment at her private hospital, cool-as-you-like. She’s captured going in with several shopping bags, presumably to hide the fact that one of them contains gore.’
‘While in the facility, she found a medical waste bin and added the clothes she had been wearing earlier. Probably during her appointment with her doctor, as the bins are only in treatment rooms or wards.’
‘CCTV,’ Lydia said, ‘so the police would have found her eventually.’
‘They wouldn’t have been looking at her for a long time, possibly never. And by then, the clothes would have been long-since incinerated. Don’t explain away your achievement.’
Lydia could feel her wide smile. ‘Okay,’ she said.
It was a nice moment. Something like pride was flooding her body and, for the first time in months, she felt like she was taking a full and satisfying breath. There was a cold beer in her hand and a ridiculously hot man lying on her sofa… A hot man who was suddenly looking very tense. He slowly put his beer down and swung his legs around until he was sitting up right. The whole time, his gaze was fixed just to the left of Lydia. ‘What?’
Fleet didn’t stop staring and Lydia twisted around to follow his gaze, into the corner of the room. Jason was there, in his pale grey eighties-tastic suit, looking like an extra from a Wham video. He was standing stock still, a look of sheer panic on his face.
‘Um,’ Lydia said hoping that something helpful would follow. It didn’t.
‘Sorry,’ Fleet said, dragging his gaze back to Lydia’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I saw something for a moment.’ He shook his head, then frowned. ‘Light playing tricks or something.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘You’re exhausted.’ Lydia ushered Fleet out of the flat. ‘You should head home and get some sleep.’
Fleet attempted a half-hearted leer. ‘I’d rather stay here and not get some sleep,’ but he ruined it by yawning at the end.
‘See? Go sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
After the door closed behind Fleet, Jason stepped out from his room where he had been waiting. ‘What. Was. That?’
‘I have no idea,’ Lydia said. ‘Did you do something different?’
‘Like what? Sparkle? Shout? Smile?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lydia snapped. She was shaken and trying not to show it. It made her cranky.
She followed Jason back into his bedroom. ‘Okay,’ Jason picked up a blue Sharpie from his bedside table and began writing on the wall, his movements fast and jerky. Jason’s writing had become smaller as his fine motor control improved, but number, letters and symbols covered almost every inch. Lydia knew she would have to start painting over some of his older work to give him more space. Or convince him to start using paper. He turned back and Lydia realised he had been writing a small list of possibilities. ‘Either I’ve got stronger and more visible. More widely visible to the general population, I mean. Or there’s something weird about your man Fleet.’
‘He’s not my man,’ Lydia said automatically.
‘This is not about your strange relationship,’ Jason said severely. ‘This is about whether DCI Fleet can see ghosts. You need to focus.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said. ‘He couldn’t before. So something has definitely changed.’
Jason tapped his lip with the end of the pen. ‘You know, this makes perfect sense. If our original theory is correct and you are like a battery, powering up latent ability. Like the way your dad is worse around you and the way that I’m stronger. If Fleet has some small ability or potential, then the more time he spends with you, the stronger it gets.’
‘That’s a big ‘if’. It’s not like magical potential is common, that’s why the Families are so crazy about it. And Fleet isn’t Pearl, Silver, Crow or Fox. I would know. And what do you mean strange relationship?’
‘There was high emotion,’ Jason said, his voice thoughtful. ‘You had a breakthrough with the Maria case, right?’
Lydia nodded, the tiny flame of pride growing a little brighter.
‘Will they be able to get her for Robert Sharp, too?’
The flame exti
nguished. ‘I doubt it. Nobody is going to talk on the record, which means there’s no evidence of her ordering the hit. Professional jobs rarely get successfully prosecuted.’
‘And why did JRB have him killed, again? Wasn’t he working for them?’
Lydia shrugged, hating the incompleteness of it. The gaps in her knowledge itched like half-healed wounds. ‘He was a valuable asset for JRB until he wasn’t. Either he made a mistake or he tried blackmailing them or he tried to get out of the business. Could be anything, really. Anything which pissed them off.’
‘It seems a bit extreme. Especially if he just made a mistake.’
‘JRB wanted to send a nice public message. Make an example of him for all the other people they have in their pockets. It’s a power thing.’
Jason was quiet for a moment, thinking. ‘Maria ordered the hit on behalf of JRB because Silver and Silver represent them?’
‘Bingo.’
Another silence.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want you to investigate me,’ Jason said.
‘Okay,’ Lydia agreed, wondering at the change of topic and the look of guilty panic which was plastered across Jason’s pale face.
‘You know my wife?’
Jason had died on his wedding day. All Lydia knew was that it had happened at the wedding breakfast which had been held at The Fork which was, presumably, why he was tied to the building. ‘Sure. Amy.’ Lydia said, keeping her voice respectfully soft.
‘Yeah. Amy.’ Jason wasn’t looking at Lydia directly. ‘Her maiden name was Amy Silver.’
* * *
Lydia sat in the ground-floor bar in the neighbouring office block and waited for Milo Easen to leave Silver and Silver after a long day fielding phone calls. She sipped at her soda and lime and thanked Feathers for the trend in massive plate glass windows. Through the lightly smoked glass of the bar, she could see across the narrow street and into the reception area of Silver and Silver. Of course, there was every chance that Milo would take a different exit out of the building and Lydia would miss him, have to try again the next day, but that was half of her job. Waiting and watching and hoping. You didn’t have to be particularly skilled to be an investigator. Just really patient.
The Silver Mark Page 20