The Running Grave — страница 142 из 179




‘It’s really good of Pat,’ said Robin the following afternoon, as she and Strike headed out of London in the latter’s BMW to meet Sir Colin Edensor at his home in Thames Ditton. ‘We should give her that pay rise, you know.’

‘Yeah, fine,’ sighed Strike, winding down the window so he could vape.

‘How did Sir Colin take it, when you told him Will’s out?’

‘Er – “stunned” sums it up, I think,’ said Strike, who’d rung their client the night before with the news, ‘but then I had to tell him Will doesn’t want to see him, so that poured a few gallons of cold water on the celebrations. I didn’t tell him Will’s determined to go to jail, or that he’s convinced the Drowned Prophet’ll come for him, once he’s interviewed by the police. Thought all that might be best discussed in person.’

‘Probably wise,’ said Robin. ‘Listen, while I’m thinking about it, I’ve swapped my evening surveillance on Hampstead Heath with Midge, if that’s OK. I’ve got something I need to do this evening.’

‘No problem,’ said Strike. As Robin didn’t elaborate on the ‘something’ she needed to do, he assumed it had to do with Murphy. Home-cooked dinner, or something even worse, like viewing a house together?

Robin, who was glad not to be questioned about her evening plans, because she doubted Strike would like them, went on,

‘I’ve got some case news, too – although now Will’s out, it might not matter.’

‘Go on.’

‘I ordered copies of Walter Fernsby’s out-of-print books, and one of them arrived yesterday while I was at work.’

‘Any good?’

‘Couldn’t tell you. I didn’t get further than the dedication: To Rosie.’

‘Ah,’ said Strike.

‘I already knew his daughter’s name was Rosalind, but I didn’t twig,’ said Robin. ‘Then I remembered something else. When we were all being told to write and tell our families we were staying at Chapman Farm, we were asked which people would object most. Walter said his son wouldn’t like it, but his daughter would be understanding.’

‘Really?’

‘So I went back online to look for Rosalind Fernsby. She’s listed as living with her father in West Clandon between 2010 and 2013, but I can’t find any trace of her after that – no death certificate,’ she added. ‘I checked.’

‘Where’s West Clandon?’

‘Just outside Guildford,’ said Robin. ‘But the house has been sold now.’

‘You said you contacted her brother and he hung up on you?’

‘Immediately I mentioned his father, yes. I’ve tried the mother’s landline, but she’s not answering. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Sir Colin probably won’t want to pay for any more of this.’

‘The case isn’t closed yet. He still wants us to find Lin. Speaking of which, did you get the email about Tasha Mayo?’

‘I did, yes,’ said Robin. ‘Fantastic news.’

Tasha Mayo had not only agreed to go undercover at Zhou’s clinic for a week, she’d evinced real gusto for the job and unless something unexpected had happened, might already have arrived in Borehamwood. Her email enquiry had led within half an hour to a call from Dr Zhou in person, who’d taken a long history of her imaginary ailments over the phone, diagnosed her as in need of immediate treatment, and told her she’d need to stay a week and possibly longer.

‘You wouldn’t think she was that gutsy, looking at her,’ said Robin.

‘Appearances are definitely deceptive there,’ said Strike. ‘You should’ve seen her braving the Franks… can’t say I’m over-happy about her and Midge, though.’

‘You think they’re—?’

‘Yeah, I think they’re definitely,’ said Strike, ‘and it’s not a good idea to sleep with clients.’

‘But she’s not a client any more.’

A brief silence fell. As far as Strike was aware, Robin had no idea how seriously his entanglement with Bijou Watkins had threatened to compromise the agency and he hoped to keep it that way. Little did he know that Robin had had the whole story from Ilsa the previous evening, by phone. Their mutual friend, who’d been cross at learning that Robin was out of Chapman Farm and that nobody had told her, had regaled Robin with everything she knew about the saga of Strike and Bijou. Robin therefore had a fairly shrewd idea as to why Strike would currently be sensitive about any subcontractor sleeping with people who might expose them to gossip.

‘Anyway,’ said Strike, keen to usher in a fresh topic of conversation, ‘Edensor’s got a second motive to keep digging for dirt on the church, unless he hasn’t realised yet.’

‘Which is?’

‘His Wikipedia page has undergone a lot of overnight modifications, too.’

‘Shit, really?’

‘Exactly the same m.o. as they used on the Graves family. Brutal abuse towards Will by his father, family dysfunction, etc.’

‘Edensor might think lawyers are a better way of dealing with that, than us trying to take down the church.’

‘He might,’ said Strike, ‘but I’ve got counter-arguments.’

‘Which are?’

‘For one: does he really want Will hallucinating the Drowned Prophet and killing himself?’

‘He might argue psychotherapy would sort that out better than us trying to solve the mystery of Daiyu’s death. I mean, it’s not really even a mystery to anyone except us, is it?’

‘That’s because everyone else is a bloody idiot.’

‘The police, the coastguard, the witnesses and the coroner? They’re all bloody idiots?’ said Robin, amused.

‘You’re the one who said the UHC have got away with it because everyone thought them a “bit weird, but harmless”. Too many people, even intelligent ones – no, especially intelligent ones – presume innocence when they meet weirdness. “Bit odd, but I mustn’t let my prejudices cloud my judgement.” Then they over-correct, and what d’you get? A kid disappears off the face of the earth, and the whole story’s bloody odd, but the robes and the mystic bullshit get in the way, and nobody wants to look like a bigot, so they say, “Strange, going paddling in the North Sea at five in the morning, but I s’pose that’s the kind of thing people like that do. Probably something to do with moon phases.”’

Robin made no response to this speech, partly because she didn’t want to express aloud her real opinion, which was that her partner, too, was prejudiced: prejudiced in the opposite direction to the one he was describing, prejudiced against alternative lifestyles, because large parts of his own difficult and disrupted childhood had been spent in squats and communes. The other reason Robin didn’t respond was because she’d noticed something vaguely disquieting. After a full minute of silence, Strike noticed her regular glances into the mirror.

‘Something up?’

‘I’m… probably being paranoid.’

‘About what?’

‘Don’t look back,’ said Robin, ‘but we might be being followed.’

‘Who?’ said Strike, now watching the wing mirror.

‘The red Vauxhall Corsa behind the Mazda… but it might not be the same one.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘There was a red Corsa right behind us as we drove away from the garage in London. That one,’ said Robin, glancing in the rear-view mirror again, ‘has been keeping a car between us and it for the last few miles. Can you see the number plate?’

‘No,’ said Strike, squinting into the wing mirror. The driver was a fat man in sunglasses.

‘Weird.’

‘What?’

‘There’s another adult in there but they’re in the back seat… try speeding up. Overtake this Polo.’

Robin did so. Strike watched the Corsa in the wing mirror. It pulled out, overtook the Mazda, then settled back in behind the Polo.

‘Coincidence?’ said Robin.

‘Time will tell,’ said Strike, his eyes on the pursuant car.

105

Conflict within weakens the power to conquer danger without.

The I Ching or Book of Changes




‘I was being paranoid,’ said Robin.

She’d just taken the turning onto the A309 leading to Thames Ditton, but the red Vauxhall Corsa had continued along the A307 and vanished.

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Strike, checking the pictures he’d taken covertly of the Corsa in the wing mirror. ‘They might just’ve wanted confirmation we’re visiting the Edensors.’

‘Which we’ve just given them, by turning off,’ said Robin anxiously. ‘Maybe they think Will and Qing are staying with Sir Colin?’

‘They might,’ agreed Strike. ‘We’d better warn him to keep a lookout for that car.’

The house in which Sir Colin and Lady Edensor had raised their three sons lay on the banks of the Thames, on the edge of a suburban village. Though its street face was unpretentious, its considerable size became apparent when Sir Colin led the two detectives through the house to the rear. A succession of airy rooms full of comfortable furniture culminated in a modern kitchen-cum-dining area, with walls composed largely of glass, revealing a long lawn running at a gentle slope down to the river.

Will’s older brothers were waiting silently in the kitchen: James, dark and scowling, was standing beside an expensive-looking coffee machine, while the younger and fairer son, Ed, was sitting at a large dining table, his walking stick propped against the wall behind him. Robin sensed tension in the room. Neither brother looked as though they’d been rejoicing that Will had, at last, left the UHC, nor did they make any noise or sign of welcome. The strained atmosphere suggested that hot words had been exchanged, prior to their arrival. With unconvincing cheeriness, Sir Colin said,

‘James and Ed wanted to be here, for the full update. Please, sit down,’ he said, gesturing towards the table where Ed was already sitting. ‘Coffee?’

‘That’d be great,’ said Strike.

Once five coffees had been made, Sir Colin had joined them at the table, although James remained standing.

‘So, Will’s staying with your office manager,’ said Sir Colin.