‘You can’t be sure of that,’ said Will, who now appeared deeply uneasy.
‘The Drowned Prophet isn’t real,’ Flora told Will. ‘She’s not.’
‘If you honestly believed that,’ said Will, with a trace of his former anger, ‘if you genuinely believed it, you’d reveal the Divine Secrets.’
‘You mean, the Dragon Meadow? The Living Sacrifice? The Loving Cure?’
Will glanced nervously towards the window, as though he expected the eyeless Daiyu to be floating there.
‘If I speak about them now, and I don’t die, will you believe she’s not real?’ said Flora.
Flora had shaken the hair out of her face now. She was revealed as a beautiful woman. Will didn’t answer her question. He looked frightened.
‘The Dragon Meadow is the place they bury all the bodies,’ said Flora in a clear voice. ‘It’s that field the horses are always ploughing.’
Will emitted a little gasp of shock, but Flora kept talking.
118
In danger all that counts is really carrying out all that has to be done…
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Strike had been waiting in Prudence’s sitting room for nearly three hours. Shortly after Prudence, Robin and Will had disappeared into the consulting room, he’d heard raised voices from behind the closed door, but since then there’d been no indication of what was happening in the meeting from which he’d been excluded. Prudence’s husband seemed to be out for the evening. Both teenage children had made brief appearances, en route to the kitchen where they’d got themselves snacks, and Strike had wondered, while listening to them opening and closing the fridge, how odd they found the sudden presence of this hulking new uncle on the family tree and thought it possible they hadn’t thought much about it. Happy families, he thought, didn’t seem to brood on the significance and power of blood ties; it was only voluntarily fatherless mongrels like him who found it strange to see a faint trace of himself in people who were almost strangers.
In any case, whatever his half-niece and nephew’s feelings about him, neither had offered Strike anything to eat. He didn’t take it personally; as far as he could remember, offering food to adults he barely knew wouldn’t have figured high on his list of priorities at their age, either. Half an hour previously, he’d sneaked into the kitchen and, not wanting to be accused of taking liberties, helped himself to a few biscuits. Now, still extremely hungry, he was thinking of suggesting to Robin that they stop off at a drive-in McDonald’s on the way back to Pat’s when his mobile buzzed. Happy to have something to do, Strike reached for it and saw Midge’s number.
Tash just texted me. She hasn’t found the note. The robe was taken away before she got back to the massage place. Nobody’s asked her about tapping on the window. What do you want her to do?
Strike texted back:
Nothing. Police now know Lin’s being held against her will there. Just cover the exit, in case they move her.
He’d barely finished typing when the door of Prudence’s consulting room opened. His sister left the room first. Then came Will, who looked slightly shell-shocked.
‘Is it all right,’ he muttered to Prudence, ‘if I use your bathroom?’
‘Of course,’ said Prudence. ‘Down the hall, second left.’
Will disappeared. Now a large, curly haired woman dressed all in black emerged from the room, followed by Robin. Prudence had gone to open the front door, but Flora turned to Robin and said shyly,
‘Can I hug you?’
‘Of course,’ said Robin, opening her arms.
Strike watched the two women embrace. Robin muttered something in Flora’s ear, and the latter nodded, before casting a nervous look in Strike’s direction and moving out of sight.
Robin immediately entered the sitting room and said, in a rapid whisper,
‘Loads – loads of information. The Loving Cure – Papa J screws gay and mentally ill women, to cure them. The Dragon Meadow: they bury people who’ve died at Chapman Farm in the ploughed field, and Flora’s certain the deaths aren’t registered. But the big one’s the Living Sacrifice. It—’
Will entered the sitting room, still looking vaguely disorientated.
‘All right?’ said Strike.
‘Yeah,’ said Will.
They heard the front door close. Prudence now entered the room.
‘Sorry that went on so long,’ she said to Strike. ‘Did Sylvie or Gerry get you something to eat?’
‘Er – no, but it’s fine,’ said Strike.
‘Then let me—’
‘Really, it’s fine,’ said Strike, who’d now mentally committed to a burger and chips. ‘We need to get Will back to Qing.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Prudence. She looked up at Will.
‘If you ever want to talk to someone, Will, I wouldn’t charge you. Think about it, OK? Or I can recommend another therapist. And do read the books I lent Robin.’
‘Thanks,’ said Will. ‘Yeah. I will.’
Prudence now turned to Robin.
‘That was a massive breakthrough for Flora. I’ve never seen her like that before.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Robin, ‘I really am.’
‘And I think, you sharing your own experience – that was crucial.’
‘Well, there’s no rush,’ said Robin. ‘She can think over what she wants to do next, but I meant what I said. I’d be with her every step of the way. Anyway, thanks so much for arranging this, Prudence, it was really helpful. We should probably—’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, whose stomach was loudly rumbling.
Strike, Robin and Will walked in silence back to the car.
‘You hungry?’ Strike asked Will, very much hoping the answer was yes. Will nodded.
‘Great,’ said Strike, ‘we’ll swing by a McDonald’s.’
‘What about Cedar Terrace?’ said Robin, turning on the engine. ‘Are we going to check whether Rosie Fernsby’s there?’
‘Might as well,’ said Strike. ‘Not a big detour, is it? But if we see a McDonald’s, we’ll do that first.’
‘Fine,’ said Robin, amused.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ said Strike, as they pulled away.
‘I think I got used to less food at Chapman Farm,’ said Robin. ‘I’m acclimatised.’
Strike, who very much wanted to hear Robin’s new information, gathered from her silence that she considered it inadvisable to dredge up everything that had happened in the consulting room with Will present. The latter looked exhausted and troubled.
‘Have you heard from Midge?’ Robin asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘nothing new.’
Robin’s heart sank. She could tell from Strike’s tone that ‘nothing new’ meant ‘nothing good’, but in deference to Will’s feelings, she forwent further questions.
They crossed Twickenham Bridge with its bronze lamps and balustrades, the Thames glinting, gunmetal grey, below, and Strike wound down the window to vape. As he did so, he glanced in the wing mirror. A blue Ford Focus was following them. He watched it for a few seconds, then said,
‘There’s—’
‘A car following us, with dodgy number plates,’ said Robin. ‘I know.’
She’d just spotted it. The plates were fake and illegal, the kind that could be ordered easily online. The car had been moving steadily closer since they’d moved into Richmond.
‘Shit,’ said Robin, ‘I think I saw it on the way to Prudence’s, but it was hanging back. Shit,’ she added, looking into the rear-view mirror, ‘is the driver—?’
‘Wearing a balaclava, yeah,’ said Strike. ‘But I don’t think it’s the Franks.’
Both remembered Strike’s bullish assertion earlier that they’d stop and confront anyone who seemed to be tailing them. Each, watching the car, knew this would be exceptionally unwise.
‘Will,’ said Robin, ‘duck down, please, right down. And hold on – you too,’ she told Strike.
Without indicating, Robin accelerated and took a hard right. The Ford’s driver was caught off guard; they swerved into the middle of the road, almost colliding with oncoming traffic as Robin sped off, first through a car park, then down a narrow residential road.
‘The fuck did you know you’d be able to get out the other side of the car park?’ said Strike, who was holding on as best he could. Robin was twenty miles over the speed limit.
‘Been here before,’ said Robin, who, again failing to indicate, now turned left onto a wider road. ‘I was following that cheating accountant. Where are they?’
‘Catching up,’ said Strike, turning to look. ‘Just hit two parked cars.’
Robin slammed her foot on the accelerator. Two pedestrians crossing the road had to sprint to get out of her way.
‘Shit,’ she shouted again, as it became clear that they were about to rejoin the A316, going back the way they’d come.
‘Doesn’t matter, just go—’
Robin took the corner at such speed she narrowly missed the central barrier.
‘Will,’ she said, ‘keep down, for God’s sake, I—’
The rear window and windscreen shattered. The bullet had passed so close to Strike’s head he’d felt its heat: with blank whiteness where there’d been glass, Robin was driving blind.
‘Punch it out!’ she shouted at Strike, who took off his seat belt to oblige. A second loud bang: they heard the bullet hit the boot. Strike was thumping broken glass out of the windscreen to give Robin visibility; fragments showered down upon both of them.
A third shot: this time wide.
‘Hold on!’ Robin said again, and she skidded around the turn into the other lane, making it by inches, causing Strike to smash his face into the intact side window.
‘Sorry, sorry—’
‘Fuck that, GO!’
The passing bullet had flooded Strike’s brain with white-hot panic; he had the irrational conviction that the car was about to explode. Craning around in his seat, he saw the Ford hit the barrier at speed.
‘That’s fucked them – no – shit—’
The crash hadn’t been disabling. The Ford was reversing, trying to make the turn.