‘Still,’ he shrugged. ‘You are the person I want to hear it from.’
‘Yes, then,’ Lydia said. ‘I will consider it.’
Chapter Five
Lydia’s landline rang while she was in the shower. It was eight forty-five which was a little early for a client. They often called at nine, the moment the day switched from personal to professional time. She could imagine them, waiting and watching the seconds tick by until they imagined her walking into her office or a receptionist donning a headset, ready to take their call. A lot of people rang first thing and Lydia understood it. The decision to contact a PI wasn’t an easy one and was usually born from desperation. Once a person had made that leap, they were anxious to get on with it.
Whoever it was didn’t leave a message which was, again, not unusual. When the same number called again, half an hour later, it was definitely not a run of the mill conversation.
‘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.’