gged, towards his table.
‘Abigail?’ he said, getting to his feet to shake hands.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘Timekeeping’s not me strong point. They call me “the late Abigail Glover” at work. I was in the gym, I lost track of time. ’S my stress buster.’
‘No problem, I’m grateful you agreed to—’
‘D’you wanna drink?’
‘Let m—’
‘’S’OK, I’ll get me own.’
She shrugged off her coat, revealing a Lycra top and leggings. One of the men she’d already greeted at the bar wolf-whistled. Abigail gave him the finger with one hand, which elicited gales of laughter, while rummaging in her gym bag for her purse.
Strike watched her buying a drink. Her rear view showed a lot of muscle, which made him reflect that his own daily exercises weren’t having nearly such a dramatic effect. She was almost as broad across the back as the man nearest her, who evidently found her very attractive, though she didn’t seem to return his interest. He wondered whether she was gay, then wondered whether wondering this was offensive.
Having secured her drink, Abigail returned to Strike’s table, sat down opposite him and took a large gulp of white wine. One of her knees was jogging up and down.
‘Sorry we couldn’t do this at me flat. Patrick, my lodger, ’e’s a pain in the arse about the UHC. ’E’d get overexcited if he knew you was investigatin’ ’em.’
‘Has he been your lodger long?’ asked Strike, purely to make conversation.
‘Free years. ’E’s all right, really. ’E got divorced an’ needed a room an’ I needed rent. On’y, ever since I told ’im where I grew up ’e’s been bangin’ on, “you should write a book abou’ your child’ood, make some proper money.” Wish I’d never said nuffing to ’im about it. I just ’ad too much wine one night. I’d been out to a bloody terrible ’ouse fire where a woman an’ two kids died.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Strike.
‘’S the job,’ said Abigail, with a slight shrug, ‘but sometimes it gets to you. That one did – arson – the farver did it ’imself, tryna work an insurance scam on ’is shop, downstairs. ’E got out all right, bastard… I ’ate it when there’s kids involved. We got the younger one out alive, but it was too late. Smoke in’alation done for ’im.’
‘What made you join the fire service?’
‘Adrenaline junkie,’ she said with a fleeting grin, her knee still bouncing up and down. She took another gulp of wine. ‘I got outta Chapman Farm an’ I just wan’ed to fuckin’ live, wan’ed to see some action and do somefing wiv a point to it, instead of makin’ effing corn dollies to sell for starvin’ kids in Africa – if that’s where the money even wen’. Doubt it. But I never ’ad much education. I ’ad to study for GCSEs when I got out. Scraped free of ’em. Older’n all the other kids in the class. Still, I was one o’ the lucky ones. Least I know ’ow to read.’
As she picked up her glass again, a bearded man passed their table.
‘Been on Tinder, ’ave you, Ab?’
‘Fuck off,’ said Abigail coldly.
The man smirked, but didn’t move away.
‘Baz,’ he said, holding out his hand to Strike.
‘Terry,’ said Strike, shaking it.
‘Well, you watch yourself, Terry,’ said Baz. ‘She goes froo men like diarrhoea.’
He swaggered away.
‘Bastard,’ muttered Abigail, looking over her shoulder. ‘Wouldna come in ’ere if I’d known ’e’d be ’ere.’
‘Work mate?’
‘No, ’e’s a friend of Patrick’s. I wen’ out for a drink wiv ’im a coupla times an’ then I told ’im I didn’ wanna see ’im again, an’ ’e was pissed off. Then Patrick gets drunk wiv ’im and blabs stuff abou’ what I told ’im abou’ the UHC, and now, whenever that arsehole sees me, ’e uses it to… s’my fault,’ she said angrily. ‘I should’ve kep’ me mouf shut. When men ’ear…’
Her voice trailed away and she took another gulp of wine. Strike, who assumed Baz had been told about the church’s spirit bonding practices, wondered for the first time how young girls were when they were expected to join in.
‘Well, as I said on the phone, this talk’s strictly off the record,’ said the detective. ‘Nothing’s going to be published.’
‘Unless you bring the church down,’ said Abigail.
‘You might be overestimating my capabilities.’
She was rapidly emptying her wine glass. After considering him for a moment or two out of her dark blue eyes she said, a little aggressively,
‘Fink I’m a coward, do yah?’
‘Probably the last thing I was thinking,’ said Strike. ‘Why?’
‘Don’ you fink I should try’na to expose ’em? Write one of them bloody misery books? Well,’ she said, before Strike could respond, ‘they’ve got far better lawyers than I can afford on a fire fighter’s salary, an’ I get enough grief about the UHC, just from people like that arsehole knowing.’
She jabbed an angry finger at Baz, who was now standing alone at the bar.
‘I won’t be publicising anything,’ Strike assured her. ‘I only want to—’
‘Yeah, you said on the phone,’ she interrupted, ‘an’ I wanna say somefing about that Kevin Pirbright bloke what rang me. There was this one fing ’e said an’ it really bloody upset me.’
‘What was that?’
‘It was abou’ me mum,’ said Abigail, ‘an’ ’ow she died.’
‘How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?’ said Strike, though he already knew.
‘She drowned, off Cromer beach. She was epileptic. She ’ad a fit. We was swimming back to the beach, racin’ each other. I looked round when it was shallow enough, and I fort I’d won, but… she’d disappeared.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike, ‘that sounds extremely traumatic. How old were you?’
‘Seven. But that bloody Kevin guy, on the phone…’e wanted me to say my father drowned ’er.’
Abigail drained her glass before saying forcefully,
‘’S not true. My farver wasn’ even in the water when it ’appened, ’e was buying ice cream. He come sprintin’ back when ’e ’eard me screamin’. ’E an’ anuvver man dragged Mum back onto the sand. Dad tried to give her mouf-to-mouf, but it was too late.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike again.
‘When Pirbright said Dad killed ’er… it was like ’e was taking somefing… it’s about the only good fing I’ve ever ’ad to ’old onto, from before Chapman Farm, that they loved each ovver, an’ if I ’aven’t got that, then it’s all shit, you know?’
‘Yes,’ said Strike, who’d had to work so hard to hold onto the good in his memories of his own mother, ‘I do.’
‘Pirbright kept sayin’, “’E killed her, didn’ ’e? ’E did, didn’ ’e?” An’ I was saying, “No, ’e fuckin’ didn’” an’ I ended up telling ’im to fuck off and I ’ung up. It shook me right up, ’im finding me and ringing me at work,’ said Abigail, with an air of faint surprise at her own reaction. ‘I ’ad a couple of really bad days, after.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Strike.
‘’E said ’e’d been dropped by ’is publisher. Seemed to fink, if I give ’im enough gory details, ’e’d be able to get another deal. You’ve read ’is book, ’ave you?’
‘There isn’t one,’ said Strike.
‘What?’ said Abigail, frowning. ‘Was ’e lying?’
‘No, but his laptop was stolen, presumably by his killer.’
‘Oh… yeah. I ’ad the police call me, after ’e got shot. They’d found the station number in ’is room. I didn’ understand at first. I fort ’e’d shot ’imself. ’E sounded weird on the phone. Unstable. Then I seen in the paper ’e was dealing drugs.’
‘That’s what the police think,’ said Strike.
‘It’s ev’rywhere,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s the on’y fing the UHC gets right, no drugs. I’ve dragged enough junkies outta shitholes they set on fire by accident, I should know.’
She glanced around. Baz was still standing at the bar.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Strike.
‘Oh. Cheers,’ she said, surprised.
When Strike returned with a fresh glass of wine, she thanked him, then said,
‘So ’ow d’you know abou’ these allegations ’e made about the church, if there was no book?’
‘Pirbright was emailing our client. D’you mind if I take notes?’
‘No,’ she said, but she looked edgy as he drew out his notebook.
‘I just want to make one thing clear,’ said Strike. ‘I believe your mother’s death was an accident. I’m only asking the following questions to make sure I’ve covered everything. Was there a life insurance policy on her?’
‘No. We was broke after she died. She was always the one wiv the steady job.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Anyfing – worked in shops, did a bit of cleaning. We moved around a lot.’
‘Did your parents own property?’
‘No, we always rented.’
‘Couldn’t either of your parents’ families have helped out, financially?’ asked Strike, remembering the old Harrovian background.
‘My farver’s parents emigrated to Souf Africa. ’E didn’ get on wiv ’em. Probably ’cause they sent ’im to ’Arrow, but ’e turned out a grifter. I fink ’e used to weasel bits of money out of ’em, but they got sick of ’im.’
‘Was he ever employed?’
‘Not properly. There was a few dodgy schemes, get-rich-quick stuff. It was all gettin’ by on the accent and the charm. I remember a luxury car business what went bust.’
‘And your mother’s family?’
‘Workin’ class. Skint. My muvver was very pretty but I fink my farver’s family fort she was rough – probably annuver reason they didn’ approve. She was a dancer when they met.’
Well aware that the word ‘dancer’ might not necessarily imply the Royal Ballet, Strike chose not to enquire further.
‘How soon after your mother died did your father take you to Chapman Farm?’
‘Coupla monfs, I fink.’
‘What made him move there, d’you know?’
‘Cheap place to live.’ Abigail swigged more wine. ‘Off the grid. ’Ide from ’is debts. An’ it was a group wiv a power whatsit at the top… vacuum… you know abou’ that? Abou’ the people ’oo was at Chapman Farm, before the church started?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘I do.’
‘I only found ou’ after I left. There was still a few of ’em there, when we arrived. My farver got rid of anyone ’e didn’t want, but ’e kept people ’oo’d be useful.’