The Running Grave — страница 15 из 179

‘Six,’ said Robin, ‘but—’

‘Perfect. Same as me.’

‘—you really don’t have to—’

‘If you’re trying to look wealthy, accessories count,’ said Prudence. ‘Quite exciting really, helping someone go undercover. Corm’s very cagey about what you two get up to – professionally, I mean,’ she added.

She began pulling out day dresses and various tops and handing them to Robin, who saw labels she could never have afforded: Valentino, Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent.

‘… and that would really suit you,’ Prudence said five minutes later, adding a Chloé dress to the heavy load Robin was already holding. ‘Right, try it all on and see what works. You’ll be completely private in here, Declan’s not home for another hour.’

As the bedroom door closed behind Prudence, Robin put the pile of clothes down on the double bed, then took off her sweater and jeans, looking around at the room as she did so. From the oak floorboards and the wide mahogany sleigh bed to the sleek, modern chandelier, long gauze curtains and wall-mounted flat-screen television, everything spoke of good taste and plenty of money. Strike might be living like this, Robin thought, if he’d swallow his pride and rage, and accept his father’s largesse – though, of course, she couldn’t be sure it was Jonny Rokeby who’d bought this house.

Downstairs, Prudence had rejoined Strike in the sitting room, holding two books.

‘For Robin,’ she said, putting them on the coffee table between them.

‘Cheers,’ he said, as she refilled his wine glass. ‘Listen, can I ask you something?’

‘Go on,’ said Prudence, sitting down opposite him.

‘Did this client of yours ever witness supernatural events at Chapman Farm?’

‘Corm, I can’t talk about that.’

‘I’m not going to go looking for your client,’ he assured her. ‘I’m just interested.’

‘I’ve probably said too much already,’ said Prudence.

‘I get it,’ said Strike. ‘No more questions.’

Leaning forwards, he picked up Combatting Cult Mind Control, turned it over and read the blurb on the back.

‘You’ve got me more worried about Robin going in there now than I was half an hour ago,’ he admitted.

‘Good,’ said Prudence. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean “good, you’re worried”, I just think it’s best she understands what she’s getting into.’

‘Why the hell do people join cults?’ mused Strike. ‘Why would anyone give over that amount of control of their lives?’

‘Because they don’t realise total control is where it’s going to end,’ said Prudence. ‘It happens incrementally, step by step, after they’ve been offered approval and validation and a sense of purpose… surely you can see the allure of discovering a profound truth? The key to the universe?’

Strike half-shrugged.

‘OK, well, what about believing you can make a real difference to the world: alleviate suffering, cure social ills, protect the weak?’

‘Why d’you need to be in a cult to do any of that?’

‘You don’t,’ said Prudence, smiling, ‘but they’re very good at convincing people membership is the best possible way of achieving paradise on earth, not to mention heaven afterwards.

‘The only kind of people the UHC probably couldn’t do much with, not that they’d want to recruit them in the first place, are apathetic, couch-potato types. The UHC’s after idealists they can turn into evangelists, although I believe they have lower grades of recruit at Chapman Farm, just to get the actual farming done… my poor client knows only too well that other people think they’re stupid and weak-willed for having fallen for it all, which is part of the reason they feel so much shame. But the truth is, being idealistic and intellectually inquiring makes you much more vulnerable to ideologies like the UHC’s… will you two stay for dinner? It’s pasta, nothing fancy.’

‘You don’t have to feed us as well,’ said Strike.

‘I want to. Please stay, Declan will be home soon. Robin seems lovely, by the way.’

‘Yeah, she is,’ said Strike, glancing up at the ceiling.

Upstairs, Robin had decided on her three outfits, though she still felt diffident about taking such expensive clothes away with her. She’d just got back into her own jeans and top when Prudence knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ called Robin.

‘Chosen?’

‘Yes. If it’s OK, I’d like to borrow these.’

‘Great,’ said Prudence, scooping up the rest of the clothes and heading back towards the rails to put them back on hangers. ‘You know what?’ she said, over her shoulder, ‘You should just keep them. It’s easier.’

‘Prudence – I can’t,’ said Robin weakly. She knew perfectly well that the clothes she’d selected were worth at least two thousand pounds, even second-hand.

‘Why not? If you’d wanted this,’ said Prudence, holding up the Chloé dress, ‘I’d’ve asked for it back, because Declan really likes me in it, but honestly, I easily can do without what you’ve chosen. I’ve already got too much stuff, you can see that. Please,’ she said, as Robin opened her mouth to protest again, ‘it’ll be the first time any of us have been allowed to give Corm anything, even by proxy. Now let’s find shoes.’

‘I really don’t know what to say,’ Robin said, flummoxed. She was worried Strike wouldn’t be happy she’d accepted the gift. As though she’d read Robin’s mind, Prudence said,

‘I know Corm’s touchy as hell about taking anything from Dad, but none of this was bought by Jonny Rokeby, I promise. I make very good money and Declan earns a mint. Come here and choose shoes,’ she added, beckoning Robin back into the dressing room. ‘These look great with that dress. Try them.’

As Robin slid a foot into a Jimmy Choo pump, she asked,

‘Are you close to your dad?’

‘Um…’ said Prudence, now on her knees as she rifled through her boots, ‘… I suppose as close as you can ever be with someone like him. He’s kind of juvenile. They say you remain forever stuck at the age you got famous, don’t they? Which means Dad’s never really aged out of his late teens. His whole mindset’s instant gratification and letting other people pick up the pieces. I am fond of him, but he’s not a parent in the usual sense, because he’s never really needed to look after himself, let alone anyone else. I can see exactly why Corm’s pissed off at him, though. You could hardly imagine two more different people. Try these,’ she added, handing Robin a pair of boots. As Robin pulled them on, Prudence added,

‘Dad’s got a genuinely guilty conscience about Corm. He knows he behaved really badly. He tried to reach out a couple of years ago. I don’t know exactly what was said—’

‘Rokeby offered him money to meet,’ said Robin baldly.

Prudence winced.

‘Oh God, I didn’t know that… Dad would’ve thought that was generous or something… bloody idiot… he’s so used to throwing money at problems… Those look too tight.’

‘They are, a bit,’ Robin admitted, unzipping the boots again. ‘You know,’ she added impulsively, ‘I’m really glad you and Cormoran are in touch. I think you might be… I don’t know… what he’s missing.’

‘Really?’ said Prudence, looking pleased. ‘Because I’ve wanted to meet him for years. Years. It isn’t easy, being the biracial illegitimate among the rest of them. We all get on all right, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always been sort of half-in, half-out of the Rokeby clan, and knowing Corm was out there, not giving a damn, making his own way…

‘Of course, he’s perennially scared I’m going to start psychoanalysing him,’ added Prudence, now handing Robin a pair of Manolo Blahniks. ‘I’ve explained to him multiple times that I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. The relationship’s too… it’s just too complicated… he’s been a kind of talisman to me for a long time. Just the idea of him. You can’t be objective with somebody like that, ever… You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I’ve just asked Corm.’

‘I – are you sure?’ said Robin, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

‘God, yes, it’ll be fun. Declan really likes Corm and he’ll be thrilled to meet you. OK, so you’re going to take these three, right?’ said Prudence, setting aside another few hundred pounds’ worth of footwear. ‘Now let’s find a handbag…’

Downstairs in the silent sitting room, Strike was again poring over the photograph of Kevin Pirbright’s room that Wardle had given him, and which he’d brought with him to show Robin. For several minutes, he’d been squinting at it, trying to make out a few things that puzzled him. Finally he glanced around and spotted exactly what he required: an antique magnifying glass lying decoratively on top of a pile of art books.

Ten minutes later, Robin reappeared in the sitting room and emitted a surprised laugh.

‘What?’ said Strike, looking up.

‘Sherlock Holmes, I presume?’

‘Don’t mock it until you’ve tried it,’ said Strike, holding out both photo and magnifying glass. ‘This is Kevin Pirbright’s room, as the police found it. Wardle got it for me.’

Oh,’ said Robin. She sat back down on the sofa beside Strike and took both picture and magnifying glass from him.

‘Have a shufti at what he’s written on the walls,’ said Strike. ‘See whether you can read any of it. That picture’s all we’ve got, unfortunately, because I called the landlord this afternoon. Once the police had finished with it, he repainted the room.’

Robin moved the magnifying glass to and fro, trying to make out the scrawled words. She was concentrating so hard, the sound of the front door banging open made her jump.

‘Hi, new uncle,’ said a dark teenaged boy, poking his head into the room. He seemed disconcerted to find Robin there, as well.

‘Hi, Gerry,’ said Strike. ‘This is my detective partner, Robin.’

‘Oh,’ said the boy, looking vaguely embarrassed. ‘Cool. Hi.’

He disappeared again.

Robin resumed her close examination of the photo. After a minute’s intense concentration, she began to read aloud.