The Shadow Wing

by Sarah Painter

  She shot him a look. He held up his hands. ‘Joking. What do you need?’

  ‘You remember the effect that the silver statue had on Robert Sharp and Yas Bishop? I was wondering whether whoever picked up the Silver cup might have suffered the same problems.’

  ‘You want me to search arrest reports for mention of a cup?’

  ‘If someone is cognitively compromised, they might be babbling about it. That would get recorded in the report, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Should be. I could look for reports that had contacting mental health services listed as an action. There will be quite a few.’

  ‘I saw the cup with Alejandro last year in the summer. That gives us a time frame, at least.’

  ‘It’s still going to throw up a lot of results,’ Fleet said. ‘Just to warn you.’

  ‘That’s okay. And thank you.’ She turned back to kiss him and he cupped her cheek with one hand.

  She could be a little late.

  * * *

  After Fleet had gone to work, Lydia forced herself up and into a hot shower. Padding through the flat with still-damp hair, clean skin and a hoodie for comfort, she felt ready to face the rest of her day. Strong enough to make coffee, at any rate.

  Lydia was sipping from a novelty cupcake-shaped mug, the only clean one left, and contemplating the prospect of returning Maria Silver’s phone call, when Jason mercifully appeared from his room to distract her.

  ‘You know you asked me to look for Maddie’s handiwork? I’ve got something,’ Jason was carrying his laptop. He didn’t need to sleep so didn’t look any different to usual, even though Lydia knew he had been working non-stop since she asked him to trace Maddie’s movements.

  ‘In Albania. Just over the Greek border.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s Maddie?’

  ‘Location, partly, this was just two weeks after the hit and run in Greece. But also because of this,’ Jason spun the laptop around so that Lydia could see the screen.

  An image was open and, for a moment, Lydia thought it showed a gigantic black bird. She blinked and the picture became clear. It was a man hanging from a tree, arms spread wide. He was wearing a long black coat which was open, the material mimicking wings. Lydia squinted at the scenery. The tree had a thick trunk with peeling white bark and the sky was blue.

  ‘It’s an oriental plane,’ Jason said. ‘I looked it up. And in the next image you can see some olive trees. And a bit of old blockwork. The man was found in the Butrint national park, there’s an amphitheatre and all sorts. Looks very nice.’

  ‘Apart from the man in the tree,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Yeah. Apart from him.’

  Lydia flicked her attention back to the figure and forced herself to focus on every aspect. She used the technique her old boss had taught her of breaking the image into a grid of one centimetre squares and examining them in order. You had to look at the image overall, too, but breaking it up was important for the detail. And for not allowing emotion to cloud your vision. She realised that the long coat wasn’t just opened, the material had been cut up the back and the two long flaps folded up and attached at the wrists. The man’s arms were straight out, unnaturally so, with something cylindrical poking out of the cuff of the coat. Maybe the handle of a broom, threaded through the coat sleeves.

  The material looked dry. The man was somewhere in his forties or, at a push, fifties. Slim and in good shape. He was wearing black trousers which had an expensive cut and seemed to fit well and black socks. His shirt was also black, buttoned right up to the neck, but it looked loose on his frame.

  ‘Are there more?’

  ‘A couple,’ Jason flicked through the images. One was taken from closer to the body and at a high angle. It showed a slice of ground beneath the figure and there was something brown at the edge of the shot.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The report of the scene described a pair of shoes near the trunk of the tree. Could be those?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Lydia said, looking at the flash of brown.

  ‘What about this makes sense?’

  ‘Brown shoes. That’s why she took them off. They didn’t match the aesthetic.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s Maddie, then?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘I mean, look. She’s dressed him up as a crow.’

  ‘He might have just liked wearing black.’

  ‘Not with brown shoes. And I don’t think he was wearing the shirt or the coat when he turned up to meet Maddie. The shirt doesn’t fit him properly. She guessed on the size.’

  ‘It’s not bad,’ Jason said, squinting at the picture. ‘Could have been something he bought himself.’

  ‘She guessed well,’ Lydia said.

  ‘So who is he?’

  ‘Sergio Bastos. The report doesn’t give much detail and he’s got a severely minimal online presence. Jobs listed as a stint in the SAS and “analyst” for GCHQ and then he drops off the net. And there’s a note on the report which indicates the file was closed almost as soon as it was opened.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I think it means he was Maddie’s handler.’

  Lydia leaned back in her chair. ‘You are amazing. How hard was it to break into the Albanian police database?’

  Jason looked embarrassed. If he was alive, he probably would have blushed, but instead he began hovering slightly above the ground. ‘I only hacked the staff database to get some contact details. Then I bribed an officer for the report.’

  ‘All via email?’

  Jason smiled paternally, like she was a toddler. ‘It’s a little bit more complicated than that.’

  ‘Right. Well. Well done.’ How likely was she to go to prison in the event of Jason being prosecuted for bribing an officer of the law? I mean, she could hardly say that a ghost did it. Then another thought struck her. ‘Where did you get the cash?’

  ‘I invested in bitcoin last year. Been doing a bit of trading in crypto ever since.’

  * * *

  Lydia had been checking in on Emma every day via WhatsApp, keeping it light and breezy. Still, Emma had picked up on the increased contact and invited Lydia round to the house.

  Maisie and Archie were in the living room watching CBeebies. Emma had put the kettle on and was making tea. ‘I’ve got wine if you want, but I can’t join you.’ She pulled a face. ‘Spring fair at the school tonight.’

  ‘I would have thought that meant alcohol was even more necessary.’

  ‘Tom is working and I have to drive. I’m in charge of the tombola and I’m not lugging all those tins on foot.’

  Lydia rummaged in her bag and brought out two large bags of chocolate. ‘I bought these for the kids but I wanted to check with you first. I didn’t know if they are allowed it or…’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Emma said. ‘All my sugar-free ideas went out the window as soon as they started school. Sometimes I pay Archie to do his homework with Dairy Milk.’

  Lydia laughed to show she got the joke, although she wasn’t sure how serious Emma was being. She was trying to be normal, but her face felt like she was wearing a mask and she was sure Emma would notice. She was her oldest friend. Her only friend, in fact, until she had met Jason, and nobody knew her better. At least, nobody had known her better. But she tried very hard to keep her Crow Family weirdness away from Emma and her safe, normal life. Maddie’s text flashed across her mind and she felt the roil of fury and fear in her stomach. Her own cousin, threatening Emma.

  Emma put her elbows on the table and cradled her mug with both hands, regarding Lydia over the rim. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Lydia said, looking at her tea. There were little bubbles on the surface and the milk hadn’t quite dissipated, yet. Her stomach turned over again.

  ‘You’re very pale,’ Emma said, reaching out a hand to her forehead.

  It made Lydia feel about five years old, but she was alarmed to discover she didn’t mind. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s what you always
say.’ Emma took a sip of tea. ‘And you’re usually lying. Let’s face it, you’re here. That means something is definitely wrong.’

  Lydia opened her mouth to say that wasn’t fair, but then she closed it. Emma had a point. And, besides, the words hadn’t been said sharply or with a single drop of malice. Emma gazed at her steadily. Accepting. Knowing. And somehow still her friend.

  ‘I love you,’ Lydia said, her eyes prickling with unexpected tears.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Emma said in alarm. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Lydia smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’

  ‘Don’t say that when it’s clearly not true,’ Emma said. ‘Are you ill? Just tell me.’

  ‘Nothing like that.’ Lydia couldn’t tell Emma about Maddie. She couldn’t run away or hide successfully and would only live in fear. ‘I’ve just been feeling a bit off recently.’ As she spoke, she realised it was the truth.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’

  ‘No!’

  Emma gave her a long look. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Stop it, yes.’

  At that moment an unearthly howling started up. ‘I’ll just…’ Emma headed to the living room to deal with whatever crisis had befallen her children, and Lydia sipped her tea and catalogued her symptoms. She had been feeling tired. And there had been a couple of almost-fainting episodes. On the other hand, her Crow abilities seemed more powerful than ever. Just that one thought and she could feel her coin in her hand. She slipped it into her pocket and tried to clear her mind, but there was a humming at the edges. A vibration in her body and mind which felt like a prelude. A tuning up. A warning.

  ‘They’re tired,’ Emma said when she returned. ‘Don’t know how they’re going to cope with the excitement of the fair.’

  Lydia wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Perhaps a school fair was exciting when you were a small child. Lydia couldn’t remember.

  ‘So, are you working too hard? I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. I mean, you’re the big boss, now, right? That’s got to be stressful.’

  When Lydia had first taken over from Charlie it had been extremely stressful. Now she had settled into a good routine. She had impressed upon the Family that there was a new order and that certain old practices were no longer acceptable. Now that had filtered through, Aiden took care of the day-to-day. She still had to speak to him regularly, though. And, worst of all, be ‘seen’ in Camberwell. Once every fortnight she sat in The Fork and people came and aired their grievances, begged favours, and offered deals. Plus, she was still trying to keep her investigation firm going, not to mention be a half-decent partner to Fleet. She shrugged. ‘It’s not so bad.’

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  For a second Ash’s face flashed in front of Lydia and her guts twisted. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your uncle,’ Emma said.

  ‘No.’ And she really didn’t. Things were tangled and tricky and Mr Smith had turned out to be very bad news indeed, but at least that was a clear kind of hatred. It was easier. Her guts twisted, again, as if to call her a liar. And then they cramped and she rose hastily.

  ‘Tummy bug?’ Emma’s face was the picture of concern.

  ‘Or something,’ Lydia said as she rushed from the room.

  Chapter Ten

  Lydia was in the training room at Charlie’s house. It had a wall of mirrors which gave her a perfect view of the coins she was spinning all around the room. She made them spin and then stop, swoop together like a flock of starlings and then disappear, leaving only her true coin. When she felt warmed up, the vibrations humming through her mind and body and the sound of wings filling her ears, she threw a bundle of energy at Charlie’s punchbag. She had hoped to knock its stand over, maybe even cause some damage to the bag itself. What she hadn’t expected was for the metal stand and weighty bag to fly back into the mirrored wall with such impact that a large starburst crack appeared.

  She bent over, breathing heavily, but she didn’t feel light-headed. For a few moments, she felt clear headed and strong, like an unexpected pause in a hangover, but then the fog and sickness crept back. She sat on the floor cross-legged and looked at her fractured reflection in the broken mirror. Her power definitely seemed to refill. It wasn’t something that got used up and that was good. The problem was, she hadn’t meant to hit the punchbag with that amount of force. It was like the burst of energy she had thrown through the lift doors killing the hitman, Felix. And if the punchbag had been a person, they would also be dead. The point of training was to stop that from happening, not to repeat it.

  ‘What do I do?’ She asked out loud, but none of the multiple Lydias in the mirror answered.

  * * *

  Lydia had intended to do another hour of training, but the cracked mirror was mocking her so she trailed downstairs to make some coffee instead. She switched on the machine and downed a glass of water while it warmed up. What she really wanted was a proper drink. The last few months of laying off the whisky hadn’t left her feeling any healthier. If anything, she felt worse. Although her power seemed much stronger. Either she was an alcoholic in withdrawal or the whisky had been dampening her power to a manageable level and now she was suffering as it grew. The unanswered questions made her head hurt, so she helped herself to a swig of Charlie’s single malt. The burn in her stomach and the smoky aftertaste was soothing, so she took another swig. And another.

  ‘Day drinking,’ a voice said from behind her, making her jump. ‘Not a good sign.’

  Maddie was lounging in the entrance to the hall. She wasn’t wearing a wig this time, but she still looked different to the girl Lydia remembered. Her brown hair was expertly highlighted and fell in shiny curls below her shoulders and there was a hardness in her face.

  Lydia gripped the bottle tightly. ‘It’s nice that you care.’ She was making a quick inventory of her chances. She had no gun, the knives were held on a magnetic strip next to the cooker, too far away for comfort, and she was still feeling exhausted and odd after her training session. She was facing an experienced killer with nothing but a glass bottle. She relaxed her hold on the neck, letting her arm fall to her side, as if this might make Maddie forget she was holding it.

  ‘So,’ Maddie moved into the room and looked around. ‘You really have taken over.’

  ‘Aiden’s on his way,’ Lydia said, ‘we have meetings here.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘Gotta hope that isn’t true. For Aiden’s sake.’

  There was a block of ice in Lydia’s stomach, the cold radiating along her limbs and creeping into her chest. It was dread. She instinctively knew that dread would paralyse her. Root her feet to the floor and leave her helpless. She reached instead for bright hot fear. That she could work with.

  ‘Don’t look so tense,’ Maddie said. ‘I’m not here to kill you.’

  ‘Change of orders?’

  Anger flashed across her face and Lydia mentally kicked herself. This wasn’t the time to annoy the woman. Old habits died hard, though.

  ‘I told you,’ Maddie had opened the fridge and was gazing inside. ‘I don’t follow orders.’

  ‘You’ve been working for the government, though. Their top international assassin by all accounts.’ Maybe flattery would get her off guard.

  She closed the fridge door and prowled to the large glass doors overlooking the garden. ‘I hated it here.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Lydia said. ‘I still do.’

  Maddie was turned away, gazing out into the garden, and Lydia took an experimental step back toward the hall. An image of Sergio Bastos’s dead eyes flashed into her mind and she pushed it away.

  ‘Why do you come here?’

  ‘Duty.’ Another step back. ‘And the training room is handy.’

  ‘I only did the jobs because they coincided with my own plans. It suited me. When it didn’t suit me anymore I stopped.’

  The entrance to the hall was close. Then it was a short run past the stairs and the living room. She couldn’t remember if
she had locked the front door. ‘They’re not too happy about that,’ Lydia said. ‘You make them nervous.’

  Maddie shrugged, still looking out to the garden. ‘They know what I can do.’

  Lydia was calculating whether she could get out of the front door and down the street ahead of Maddie. How much of a head start she would need to get somewhere busy and safe. Or safer. Perhaps Maddie would happily shoot her in a crowd.

  ‘I can see you in the glass,’ Maddie’s voice was conversational. ‘It’s rude to leave the party early. Especially without saying goodbye.’

  Lydia stopped moving. She wondered whether Sergio had known Maddie was going to kill him before she did, or whether it was a surprise. That split second when he saw the clothes she had brought, perhaps. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Answers.’

  Maddie turned away from the window and Lydia was struck by how much older she looked. There was nothing physical, no fine lines on her skin, but there was a new knowledge in her eyes. Perhaps it was because Lydia knew what she had been doing for the last year or so, and that coloured her view, but she didn’t think so. Looking into Maddie’s eyes was like staring into the entrance to a long dark tunnel.

  ‘Why are you on a hit list?’ Maddie tilted her head very slightly. There was a cleaver in her right hand and Lydia had no idea when it had appeared. Or from where.

  ‘I told you,’ Lydia said, swallowing. There was no point in lying. ‘I wouldn’t join Mr Smith so he opted to take me out, instead. I refused to be his weapon, and he obviously decided he didn’t want me to be a threat.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Maddie held the cleaver up and carved strokes through the air. ‘This is a well-balanced blade. Charlie splashed out.’

  Lydia licked her lips. They were as dry as her mouth. ‘I’ve been looking into a company called JRB. They seemed to be behind a number of attacks on the Families. I assumed they were trying to destabilise us, disrupt alliances and maybe start a war. I found out that Smith is part of that company. High up. Maybe he even is the company. I’m still looking.’