Robin told the story of her ten hours looking after Jacob. She described the boy’s convulsions, his laboured breathing, his attenuated limbs, his pitiful fight to remain alive in spite of starvation and neglect.
‘Somebody’s got to hold them accountable,’ Robin said. ‘Credible people – and more than one. I can’t do it alone, I’m too compromised by the job I went in to do. But if two or three intelligent people were to take the stand, and say what goes on in there, what happened to them and what they witnessed happening to others, I’m certain others would come forward. It would snowball.’
‘So you want me to ask Flora to back up your client’s relative?’
‘And he’d back her up,’ said Robin. ‘There’s also a chance of two more witnesses, if we can get them out. They both want to leave.’
Prudence took a large gulp of red wine, but half of it dribbled out of the side of her mouth.
‘Shit.’
She dabbed at the stain with her napkin. Robin watched, unmoved. Prudence could afford the dry-cleaning, and indeed a new dress, if she wanted it.
‘Look,’ said Prudence, chucking down her wine-stained napkin and lowering her voice again, ‘you don’t realise: Flora’s deeply troubled.’
‘Maybe it would help her to testify.’
‘That’s an incredibly glib thing to say.’
‘I’m speaking from personal experience,’ said Robin. ‘I became agoraphobic and clinically depressed after I was raped, strangled and left for dead when I was nineteen. Testifying was important in my recovery. I’m not saying it was easy, and I’m not saying it was the only thing that helped, but it did help.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Prudence, startled, ‘I didn’t know—’
‘Well, I’d rather you still didn’t know,’ said Robin bluntly. ‘I don’t really enjoy talking about it, and people have a tendency to think you’re using it, when you bring it up in discussions like this.’
‘I’m not saying you’re—’
‘I know you’re not, but most people would rather not hear it, because it makes them uncomfortable, and some people think it’s indecent to mention it at all. I’m trying to tell you that I can very much sympathise with Flora not wanting the worst time in her life to define her forever – but the fact is, it’s already defining her.
‘I got back a sense of power and self-worth from getting that rapist sent down. I’m not claiming it was easy, because it was horrible – it was hard, and to be honest, I frequently felt like I didn’t want to live any more, but it still helped, not while I was going through it, but afterwards, because I knew I’d helped stop him doing it to anyone else.’
Prudence now looked deeply conflicted.
‘Look, Robin,’ she said, ‘obviously I sympathise with you wanting to take the church to court, but I can’t say what I’d like to say, because I’ve got a duty of confidentiality – which,’ she added, ‘as you’ve already pointed out, it might be argued I’ve broken merely by telling you and Corm I’ve got a client who’s ex-UHC.’
‘I never said you’d broken—’
‘Fine, maybe that’s my guilty conscience talking!’ said Prudence, with sudden heat. ‘Maybe I felt bad, after you and Corm left, that I’d said that much! Maybe I did wonder whether I hadn’t said it for exactly the reason you’ve just suggested: to bind myself closer to him, to be part of the investigation, somehow.’
‘Wow,’ said Robin. ‘You must be a really good therapist.’
‘What?’ said Prudence, disconcerted.
‘To be that honest,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve had therapy. To be totally honest, I only liked one of them. Sometimes there’s a… a smugness.’
She drank more Prosecco, then said,
‘You’re wrong about me wanting to be a heroine in Corm’s eyes. I’m here because I thought he’d mess it up if he did it, and he might get personal.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Prudence, looking tense.
‘You’ll have noticed he’s got a massive chip on his shoulder about people with unearned wealth. He’s down on Flora for not working, for – as he sees it – sitting at home doing drawings of what she experienced, rather than reporting it. I was worried, if you pushed back at him the way you’re pushing back now, he’d start having a go at you for – oh, you know.’
‘For taking our father’s money?’
‘Whether you do or you don’t is none of my business,’ said Robin. ‘But I didn’t want you two to fall out any worse than you have already, because I meant what I said to you before. I think you might be exactly what he needs.’
The waiter now reappeared to clear away the antipasti, of which only Robin had partaken. Prudence’s expression had softened somewhat, and Robin decided to press her advantage.
‘Let me tell you, from my experience of Chapman Farm, what factors I think might make Flora afraid of testifying. Firstly,’ she said, counting on her fingers, ‘the sex stuff. I empathise. I’ve already told Strike she’ll have been effectively raped for five years.
‘Secondly, all sex is unprotected, so there’s a possibility she had children in there.’
She saw the tiniest flicker of Prudence’s left eye, but pretended she hadn’t noticed.
‘Thirdly, she might have done things in there that are criminal, and be terrified of prosecution. It’s well-nigh impossible not to end up coerced into criminal behaviour at Chapman Farm, as I know.’
This time, Prudence’s hand rose, apparently unconsciously, to obscure her face, as she brushed her hair unnecessarily out of her face.
‘Lastly,’ said Robin, wondering whether she was about to ruin the interview entirely, but certain she ought to say it, ‘you, as her therapist, might have urged caution about testifying or going to the police, because you’re worried she’s not mentally strong enough to cope with the fallout, especially as a lone witness.’
‘Well,’ said Prudence, ‘let me repay the compliment. You’re clearly very good at your job, too.’
The waiter now brought their main courses. Too hungry to resist, Robin took one mouthful of her tagliatelle with ragu and let out a moan of pleasure.
‘Oh my God, you weren’t wrong.’
Prudence still looked tense and anxious. She started on her own spaghetti and ate in silence for a while. Finally, having cleared half her plate, Robin said,
‘Prudence, I swear to you I wouldn’t say this if it weren’t true. We believe Flora witnessed something very serious inside the church. Very serious.’
‘What?’
‘If she hasn’t told you, I don’t think I should.’
Prudence now put down her spoon and fork. Judging it best to let Prudence speak in her own time, Robin continued to eat.
At last, the therapist said quietly,
‘There’s something she won’t tell me. She skirts around it. She comes close, then backs off. It’s to do with the Drowned Prophet.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, ‘it would be.’
‘Robin…’
Prudence appeared to have reached a decision. In a whisper, she said,
‘Flora’s morbidly obese. She self-harms. She’s got a drink problem. She’s on so many anti-depressants she barely knows what day it is.’
‘She’s trying to block out something terrible,’ said Robin. ‘She witnessed something most of us will never witness. At best, it was gross negligence manslaughter. At worst, it was murder.’
‘What?’
‘All I wanted to say to you tonight,’ said Robin, ‘all I wanted to ask, is that you bear in mind how much good she could do, if she testified. We’re certain immunity from prosecution could be arranged. Flora and our client’s relative were both young and vulnerable, and I can testify as to what the church does to enforce silence and obedience.
‘The thing is,’ said Robin, ‘I was a nice intelligent middle-class girl with a steady boyfriend when I was raped. The only two other girls who survived him – they weren’t like that. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. One of the girls fell apart completely under questioning. They made out the other one was so promiscuous, she’d almost certainly had sex with him consensually – all because she’d once worn a pair of fluffy handcuffs to have sex with a man she met in a club.
‘Flora’s well educated and wealthy. Nobody can paint her as some chancer who’s after a pay-out.’
‘There’d be other ways to discredit her, Robin.’
‘But if our client’s relative testifies, she’d have back-up. The trouble is, our other two potential witnesses have been in the church pretty much all their lives. One of them’s sixteen at most. They’re going to struggle to reorientate themselves, even if we get them out. No clocks, no calendars, no normal frames of reference – I can see the church’s lawyers making mincemeat out of them, unless they’re given cover by people with more credibility.
‘Think about it, Prudence, please,’ Robin said. ‘Flora’s got the power to set thousands of people free. I wouldn’t ask, if I didn’t know lives are depending on it.’
107
Nine at the beginning means:
Waiting in the meadow.
It furthers one to abide in what endures.
No blame.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
While Robin was in Kensington, Strike was back in the Denmark Street office, eating his second Chinese meal in two weeks, this time a takeaway. He was finding the last stone to go before hitting his target weight very hard to shift, and while he supposed a nutritionist might tell him the reappearance of takeaways and pub food in his diet might have something to do with that, the lure of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice had proved too strong for him this evening.
He was eating in the office rather than at his flat, because he wanted to look through the CVs of two detectives he thought might be worth interviewing. He also wanted to review the UHC case file within view of the board now covered in pictures and notes relating to the church. He was staring at the board while eating, willing his subconscious to make one of those unexpected leaps that explained everything, when his mobile rang.