‘One reason could be that your father’s a paedophile, and separating Becca from her family was his way of ensuring he could have sexual access to her.’
‘’E’s not a paedo,’ said Abigail. ‘Not… not a proper one.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘’E’s not too fussy about age of consent, as long as they’re – you know – well developed, like that Rosie. Long as they look like women. But not eleven-year-olds,’ said Abigail, ‘no way. Anyway, Becca wouldn’t still be a virgin if ’e was fucking ’er, would she?’
‘I agree,’ said Strike. ‘That explanation doesn’t cut it for me, either. So if your father’s interest in Becca wasn’t sexual, we’re left with three possibilities.
‘Firstly: Becca’s really Daiyu. That can only be proved, obviously, if we get a DNA sample from Mazu. But there are objections to that theory, as you point out.
‘So we move on to the next possibility. Becca’s not Daiyu, but she is your father’s biological daughter, and with Daiyu gone, she was trained up to take her place.’
‘’Ang on,’ said Abigail, scowling. ‘No, ’ang on. Louise already ’ad kids, she brought ’em to the farm wiv ’er. Becca wasn’ born there.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not your half-sister. Nor, come to that, does Daiyu being born before you and your father went to live at the farm mean Daiyu wasn’t his child, either. You told me last time we met that your father moved around a lot when your mother was alive, and he’s done a lot of roaming around since going to live at the farm, as well. I think it’s naive to imagine that the only place your father has sex with other women is at Chapman—’
‘Daiyu wasn’ my fuckin’ sister. She was Graves an’ Mazu’s kid!’
‘Look,’ said Strike calmly. ‘I know you want to believe your father sincerely loved your mother—’
‘He fuckin’ did, all righ’?’ said Abigail, now growing pink again.
‘—but even men who love their wives have been known to be unfaithful. Were you and your parents on holiday in Cromer when your mother died, or were you living in the vicinity?’
‘Living,’ said Abigail reluctantly.
‘Don’t you think it’s possible your father and Mazu had already met, and started an affair, before your mother drowned? Isn’t it plausible he took you off to live at Chapman Farm so he could be with his mistress and have both his kids under the same roof? He’d hardly admit as much to his grieving daughter, would he?’
Abigail’s face had reddened. She looked angry.
‘The same applies to Louise,’ said Strike. ‘He could have fathered all her kids, for all you know. Business trips, interviewing for jobs, delivering luxury cars, overnight stays in different cities… I know you’d rather think your father’s promiscuity and infidelity started at Chapman Farm, but I’m trying to find out why Becca was singled out in a way no other eleven-year-old has been, before or since, and one very obvious explanation is that Jonathan Wace fathered her. He seems to value his own bloodline.’
‘You could’ve fooled me,’ snapped Abigail.
‘When I say “value”, I’m not suggesting this is a case of ordinary love. His aim seems to be to propagate the church with his own offspring. If one or two leave he probably thinks of it as a sustainable loss, given that the classroom at Chapman Farm is full of his descendants.
‘But there’s a simple way to prove all of this, or rule it out. I’ve got no authority to force DNA samples out of your father, Mazu or any of the Pirbrights, but if you were prepared—’
Abigail stood up abruptly, looking distressed, and walked out of the room.
Confident she’d return, Strike remained where he was. Taking out his phone, he checked for texts. One of them would have pleased him immensely, had he not read the second, and felt anger mixed with panic.
132
Water flows on uninterruptedly and reaches its goal: The image of the Abysmal repeated.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
The television in the upstairs temple room was no longer showing footage of Jonathan Wace or Chapman Farm. Instead, the presenter and two guests were discussing the likelihood of Britain formally leaving the EU in early 2017. Mazu paused in her manipulation of the yarrow stalks to mute the television, then continued counting.
She soon finished. Robin watched Mazu’s reflection stoop to make a last note on a piece of paper on the floor, then turn the pages of the I Ching to find the hexagram she’d made.
‘Which one did you get?’ said Robin loudly, stepping into the room.
Mazu jumped to her feet, her face ghastly white in the dim light cast by the television screen.
‘How did you get in here?’
‘I’ve gone pure spirit,’ said Robin, her heart beating so fast, she might just have run a mile. ‘The doors flew open for me, when I pointed at them.’
She was determined to seem unafraid, but it wasn’t easy. Her rational self insisted that Mazu was ruined, her power gone, that she cut a pathetic figure in her baggy sweatshirt and her dirty jeans, yet some of the terror this woman had inculcated over months remained. Mazu stood before her as the demon of fairy tales, the witch in the gingerbread cottage, mistress of agony and death, and she stirred in Robin the shameful, primitive fears of childhood.
‘So what’s the I Ching telling you?’ Robin said boldly.
To her disquiet, the familiar tight, false smile appeared on the woman’s face. Mazu ought not to be able to smile at this moment; she should be cowed and terrified
‘“Tun/Retreat,”’ she said quietly. ‘“The power of the dark is ascending.” It was warning me you were walking up the stairs.’
‘Funny,’ said Robin, her heart still hammering. ‘From where I’m standing, the power of the dark seems to be in freefall.’
As she said it, the light from the television momentarily brightened, and she saw the reason for Mazu’s confidence. A rifle, hitherto in shadow, was leaning up against the wall just behind her, within easy reach.
Oh, shit.
Robin took a step forwards. She needed to get closer to Mazu than a rifle barrel’s length, if she was to have any chance of not getting shot.
‘If you make an act of penitence now, Robin –’ This was the first time Mazu had ever used her real name, and Robin resented it, as though Mazu had somehow made it dirty, by having it in her mouth ‘– and as long as it’s given in a true spirit of humility, I’ll accept it.’ The dark, crooked eyes glinted like onyx in the gloom of the room. ‘I’d advise you to do so. Much worse will happen if you don’t.’
‘You want me to kiss your feet again?’ said Robin, forcing herself to sound contemptuous rather than scared. ‘Then what? You’ll drop the child abuse charges?’
Mazu laughed. Robin had never heard her do so before, even during the joyful meditation; a harsh caw erupted from her mouth, all pretence at refinement gone.
‘You think that’s the worst that can happen to you? Daiyu will come for you.’
‘You’re insane. Literally insane. There is no Drowned Prophet.’
‘You’ll find out your mistake,’ said Mazu, smiling. ‘She’s never liked you, Robin. She knew all along what you were. Her vengeance will be—’
‘Her vengeance will be non-existent, because she isn’t real,’ said Robin quietly. ‘Your husband lied to you. Daiyu never drowned.’
The smile vanished from Mazu’s face as though it had been slapped off. Robin was close enough now to smell the incense perfume that didn’t mask her unwashed smell.
‘Daiyu never went to the sea,’ said Robin, advancing inch by inch. ‘Never went to the beach. It was all bullshit. The reason her body never washed up is because it was never there.’
‘You are filth,’ breathed Mazu.
‘Should’ve kept a closer eye on her, shouldn’t you?’ said Robin quietly. ‘And I think you know that, deep down. You know you were a lousy mother to her.’
Mazu’s face was so pale, it was impossible to know whether she’d lost colour, but the crooked eyes had narrowed as her thin chest rose and fell.
‘I suppose that’s why you wanted a real Chinese baby girl of your own, isn’t it? To see whether you can do any better on a second att—?’
Mazu wheeled round and snatched up the gun, but Robin was ready: she seized Mazu around the neck from behind while trying to force her to drop the rifle, but it was like wrestling with an animal: Mazu had a brute strength that belied her age and size, and Robin felt as much revulsion as rage as they struggled, now terrified for the baby, in case the gun fired accidentally.
Mazu twisted one bare foot around Robin’s leg and succeeded in toppling both of them, but Robin still had her in a tight grip, refusing to let her pull free or far enough away to shoot. With every ounce of her strength, Robin managed to flip the older woman over onto her back and straddled her as they both struggled for possession of the rifle. A torrent of filthy curses issued from Mazu’s lips; Robin was a whore, trash, a demon, a slut, filth, shit—
Over the screams of Yixin, Robin heard her name shouted from somewhere inside the building.
‘HERE!’ she bellowed. ‘MIDGE, I’M HERE!’
Mazu forced the rifle upwards, catching Robin on the chin, and Robin drove it back down, hard, on the woman’s face.
‘ROBIN?’
‘HERE!’
The gun went off; the bullet shattered the window and blew out the lamp outside. Robin heard screams from Wardour Street; for a second time, she rammed the rifle down on Mazu’s face, and as blood spurted from the woman’s nose, Mazu’s grip loosened and Robin succeeded in wrenching the gun from her grasp.
The door banged open as Mazu raised her hands to her bleeding nose.
‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Midge.
Panting, Robin scrambled off Mazu, holding the rifle. Only now did she realise she was holding part of the black cord of Mazu’s pendant in her hand. The mother-of-pearl fish lay broken on the floor.