The Running Grave — страница 108 из 179

Wace removed his right hand from her breast, placed it between her legs and began to rub.

At the exact moment Robin jumped backwards, the door behind her opened. She and Wace both turned, his hand falling from her breast. Becca and Mazu entered the room, the former in her white tracksuit, the latter wearing long white robes, a witch bride with her long black hair. With the door open, baby Yixin could be heard crying from upstairs.

It would have been hard to say which woman looked more furious and outraged. Neither Mazu nor Becca seemed to have learned the lesson of materialist possession: both, it was clear, were incensed to find Wace’s hands upon Robin. After a few frozen moments of silence, Becca said in a high, cold voice:

‘Giles has a query.’

‘Then send him in. You may go, Artemis,’ said Wace, entirely relaxed and now smiling again.

‘Thank you,’ said Robin.

She smelled Mazu’s particular odour of grime and incense as she passed the two furious women. Down the hall Robin hurried, the baby wailing overhead, her mind a hum of panic, her body burning where Wace had touched her, as though he’d branded her through her clothes.

Run, now.

But they’ll see me on the cameras.

Robin pushed through the dragon-carved doors. The sun was sinking bloodily in the sky. People were criss-crossing the courtyard, busy about their after-dinner tasks. Robin headed automatically for Daiyu’s pool, its dimpled surface glittering like rubies in the sunset, the constant patter of the fountain in her ears.

‘The Drowned Prophet will bless—’

But Robin couldn’t get the words out. Knowing she was going to vomit and not caring whether she drew curious eyes, she set off at a run towards the dormitory where she just made one of the toilets, where she threw up the small amount of ragout and polenta she’d swallowed with Jonathan Wace, then fell to her knees to dry-heave, her flesh clammy with revulsion.

74

Nine at the top means…

Perseverance brings the woman into danger.

The moon is nearly full.

The I Ching or Book of Changes




Two days passed, during which fear was with Robin constantly, to a degree she’d never felt before. There was no refuge, no place of safety: she knew an order must have gone out to keep her under close, constant watch, because one or other of the female church members was constantly at her side throughout her waking hours, even when she went to the bathroom. The only positive in her environment was that Taio, who’d taken Lin to some unknown location, still hadn’t returned to the farm.

It took more courage than ever before for Robin to leave her bed on Thursday night to write to Strike. She waited far longer than usual to set off, determined to make sure everyone was fast asleep, in no danger of dozing off herself because her adrenalin level was so high. Having slipped out of the dormitory, she sped across the field towards the woods, convinced that she’d hear a shout behind her at any moment.

When she reached the perimeter wall she found two letters in the rock. Murphy’s told her he was off to San Sebastian for two weeks, and while he’d written affectionately, she’d noted the undertone of displeasure that she wouldn’t be going with him. Strike’s note detailed the attempted suicide of Jordan Reaney.

After writing her two responses, Robin remained sitting on the cold ground, paralysed with indecision. Should she leave, now, while she had the chance? Clamber over the barbed wire and wait for whoever was going to collect her letters to pick her up? It was too late to get an ambulance for Lin, but the intensity of the surveillance she was currently under made her wonder whether she’d be able to achieve anything more if she stayed. She was losing hope that she’d ever be able to talk to Emily Pirbright again, given that both of them were constantly surrounded by other church members.

Yet there was Will, who’d shown definite signs of doubting the church during his conversation with Noli in the kitchen. Now she’d learned that this was no anomaly, that Will kept faltering at step six to pure spirit, she understood at last why a clever, educated young man with a large trust fund was being kept at Chapman Farm instead of being fast-tracked to conducting seminars and travelling the world with Jonathan Wace. If she could only engineer one last conversation with Will, it would be worth staying.

So Robin folded her letters and placed them in the plastic rock, ripped up Strike’s and Ryan’s notes and threw them into the road, spent another two minutes devouring the Double Decker the agency had left her, then set off back through the woods.

She’d only gone ten yards when she heard a car slow behind her and darted behind a tree. By the car’s interior light, she saw Barclay, and watched as he got out of his Mazda, climbed carefully over the barbed wire fence and extracted Robin’s messages from the plastic rock. Still hidden, peering through the branches, Robin considered calling out to him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Separated from her colleague by only ten yards, she felt like a ghost who had no business conversing with the living. She watched Barclay climb back over the wall, get into the car and drive away, then turned slowly away, fighting the urge to weep.

She crossed the chilly field and finally regained her dormitory bed without detection. Partly because of the sugar in her system, but also because the panic engendered by her journey was so slow to subside, Robin remained awake for the rest of the night, and was almost relieved when the bell rang to wake everyone else up.

75

Thus the superior man controls his anger

And restrains his instincts.

The I Ching or Book of Changes




‘What d’ye think?’

Strike, who’d just finished reading Robin’s latest missive from Chapman Farm, looked up at Barclay, who’d brought the letter back from Norfolk twenty minutes previously and now stood in the doorway of the inner office, holding a mug of coffee Pat had made him.

‘It’s time for her to come out,’ said Strike. ‘We might have enough here for a police investigation, if they haven’t taken this Lin girl to hospital.’

‘Aye,’ said Barclay, ‘and that’s before ye get tae the sexual assault.’

Strike said nothing, dropping his eyes again to the last few lines of Robin’s letter.

and Wace groped me. He didn’t get far, because Mazu and Becca came in.

I know you’ll say I should come out, but I’ve got to find out whether Will could be persuaded to leave. I can’t come out now, I’m too close. One more week might do it.

Please, if you can, check and see whether Lin was admitted to the local hospital, I’m worried sick about her.

Robin x

‘Yeah, she definitely needs to come out,’ said Strike. ‘Next letter, I’ll tell her to wait by the rock and we’ll pick her up. Enough’s enough.’

He was worried, not only by what Robin termed Wace’s grope – what exactly did that mean? – but by the fact she’d witnessed something that was highly incriminating of the church. This, of course, was exactly what she’d gone to Chapman Farm to do, but Strike hadn’t anticipated Robin hanging around afterwards, a dangerous witness to serious wrongdoing. While he understood why she’d admitted seeing Lin with those plants, she’d seriously compromised herself by doing so, and ought to have got out immediately that had happened. There was a board on the wall behind him showing how many people had died or disappeared in the vicinity of Papa J.

‘What?’ he said, under the impression that Barclay had just spoken to him.

‘I said, what’re ye up tae this morning?’

‘Oh,’ said Strike. ‘Sacking Littlejohn.’

He brought up a photograph on his phone, then handed it to Barclay.

‘First thing he did when he got back from Greece was go and see Patterson. About bloody time I got something for all the money I’ve been shelling out.’

‘Great,’ said Barclay. ‘Can we replace him wi’ whoever took this picture?’

‘Not unless you want this office stripped of everything sellable by Tuesday.’

‘Where ye gonnae do it?’

‘Here. He’s on his way.’

‘Can I stay an’ watch? Might be my one and only chance tae hear his voice.’

‘Thought you were on Frank Two?’

‘I am, aye,’ sighed Barclay. ‘Which means I’ll be watchin’ him watchin’ Mayo for hours. If they’re gonnae make a move, I wish they’d fuckin’ hurry up.’

‘Keen to see our client kidnapped, are you?’

‘Ye know what I mean. This could go on for months.’

‘I’ve got a feeling it’s going to hot up pretty soon.’

Barclay left. Strike heard him pass Littlejohn in the doorway with pleasure: he was looking forward to this.

‘Morning,’ said Littlejohn, appearing in the doorway Barclay had just vacated, his short salt-and-pepper hair as neat as ever, his world-weary eyes fixed on Strike. ‘Can I get a coffee before—?’

‘No,’ said Strike. ‘Come in, sit down and close the door.’

Littlejohn blinked, but did as he was bid. Now looking wary, he crossed to Robin’s chair at the partners’ desk and sat down.

‘Care to explain that?’ asked Strike, pushing his phone across the desk, face up, displaying a photograph taken the previous day of Littlejohn and Patterson outside the latter’s office in Marylebone.

The silence that ensued lasted nearly two minutes. Strike, who was inwardly debating whether Littlejohn was about to say ‘I just bumped into him’ or ‘OK, fair cop,’ allowed the silence to spool through the room undisturbed. At last, the subcontractor made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. Then, which Strike hadn’t anticipated, he began to cry.

If Strike had been asked to rank everyone he’d witnessed crying recently according to how much sympathy he felt for their distress, he’d have given Bijou last place without hesitation. Now, however, he realised there was a category of weeper he despised even more than a woman who’d played a duplicitous game that had blown up in her face: a man who’d done his best to take down another person’s business, destroy that person’s reputation, undermine an investigation into men stalking a woman, and cause that woman additional fear and alarm, all of which he’d presumably done for money, but who now seemed to expect pity for being found out.