Shah, Midge and Barclay all said, ‘Good.’ Pat, Strike noticed, remained silent.
‘Where’s he now?’ asked Midge.
‘On the Franks,’ said Strike.
‘Speakin’ of which, I’ve got somethin’ on them,’ said Barclay, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket for two sheets of paper which, when unfolded, proved to be photocopied news articles. ‘I’ve been wonderin’ whether we could get them on a benefits scam an’ I ended up findin’ this.’
He pushed the papers towards Strike. Both news items were small, though one featured a headshot of the older brother. The surname given wasn’t the one the Frank brothers were currently living under, though the forenames remained the same.
‘The younger one was done fer flashin’,’ Barclay told Shah and Midge, while Strike was reading. ‘Got a suspended sentence. The older one’s supposedly the younger one’s carer. No idea what’s s’posed to be wrong wi’ him.’
‘And the older one’s been done for stalking,’ said Strike, now reading the second article, ‘of another actress. Judge let him off with a suspended sentence, because he’s his brother’s carer.’
‘Typical,’ said Midge angrily, banging her glass down on the table to the slight consternation of Shah, who was sitting beside her. ‘If I saw that once, I saw it fifty fookin’ times when I was in the force. Men like them get cut too much fookin’ slack, and everyone’ll act surprised when one of the fookers is charged with rape.’
‘Good job finding this, Barclay,’ said Strike. ‘I think—’
Strike’s mobile rang and he saw Littlejohn’s number. He answered.
‘Just seen Frank One posting something in an envelope through the client’s front door,’ said Littlejohn. ‘I’ve sent you video.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Walking away.’
‘OK, I’ll call the client and warn her. Stay on him.’
‘Righto.’
Littlejohn hung up.
‘Frank One’s just posted something through the client’s letter box,’ Strike told the rest of the team.
‘More dead birds?’ asked Midge.
‘Not unless they’d fit in an envelope. I think we should tip off the police that the Franks have got form under previous names. A visit from Plod might make them back off. I’ll take care of that,’ Strike added, making a note. ‘What’s the latest on Bigfoot?’
‘He was back at Chelsea Cloisters yesterday,’ said Shah.
‘That young girl you photographed him with in the street isn’t going to give us anything,’ Midge told Strike. ‘I got talking to her in a sandwich place up the road. Thick East European accent, very nervous. They tell those girls they’re coming to London to get modelling contracts, don’t they? I was hoping she might fancy a nice press payday for selling him out, but I think she’d be too scared to talk.’
‘One of us needs tae get intae that place, posing as a punter,’ said Barclay.
‘I’d have thought the pictures of him going in and out of there would be enough for his wife,’ said Shah.
‘She thinks he’ll explain it away somehow,’ said Strike, who’d received a tetchy email that morning from the client. ‘She’s after something he can’t wriggle out of.’
‘Like wha’, a picture of him actually bein’ sucked off?’ said Barclay.
‘Couldn’t hurt. Might be better to get in the building as some kind of tradesman or safety inspector, instead of a punter,’ said Strike. ‘More freedom to move around and maybe catch him coming out of a room.’
There followed a discussion as to which detective should undertake the job, and possible covers. Shah, who’d successfully posed as an international art dealer during a previous case, was finally assigned the job.
‘Bit of a comedown, heating engineer,’ he said.
‘We’ll get you fake ID and documentation,’ said Strike.
‘So, are we going to take a new case from the waiting list yet?’ asked Midge.
‘Give it a bit longer,’ said Strike. ‘Let’s make sure we’ve got a replacement for Littlejohn first.’
‘Who’s off tae visit the plastic rock tomorrow?’ asked Barclay.
‘I am,’ said Strike.
‘She must be nearly ready to come out,’ said Midge. ‘It’s a month now.’
‘She hasn’t got anything Edensor can use against the church yet,’ said Strike. ‘You know Robin: no half measures. OK, I think that’s everything. I’ll let you know about the Littlejohn replacement as soon as I do.’
‘Can I have a word?’ Shah asked Strike, as the others headed for the door.
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Strike, sitting back down. To his surprise, the subcontractor now took a copy of Private Eye out of his back pocket.
‘Have you read this?’
‘No,’ said Strike.
Shah flicked through the magazine, then handed it across the table. Strike saw a column circled in pen.
Andrew ‘Honey Badger’ Honbold QC, UK slebs’ favourite defamation litigator and self-proclaimed moral arbiter, may soon be in desperate need of his own services. Honey Badger’s longstanding preference for pretty young juniors is, of course, entirely avuncular. However, a mole at Lavington Court Chambers informs the Eye that a curvaceous young brunette has been spreading tales of the Badger’s prowess and stamina in a context other than the courtroom. The legal lovely has even been heard predicting the imminent demise of the Badger’s marriage to the saintly Lady Matilda.
Stalwarts of the London charity circuit, the Honbolds have been married for 25 years and have four children. A recent Times profile emphasised the personal probity of the UK’s most prominent anti-sleaze brief.
‘I’ve seen close up the effect slurs and insinuations have on undeserving people,’ thundered the Honey Badger, ‘and I personally would strengthen the existing defamation laws to protect the innocent.’
The indiscreet lady in the case is now rumoured to be bestowing her favours upon one Cormoran Strike, the increasingly newsworthy private detective. Has she been getting tips on hidden cameras and microphones? If so, the Hon Honbold QC had better hope slurs and insinuations are all he has to deal with.
‘Fuck,’ said Strike. He looked up at Shah and could find nothing better to do than repeat ‘fuck’.
‘Thought you should know,’ said Shah.
‘It was a one-night – no, two-night stand. She never said a word to me about this Honbold.’
‘Right,’ said Shah. ‘Well, y’know – he’s not popular with the papers, so I think they might run with this story.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ said Strike. ‘She’s not dragging me into her mess.’
But he was well aware he’d already been dragged into Bijou’s mess, and Shah looked as though he was thinking exactly the same thing.
They parted outside the Flying Horse, Shah returning to the office to finish some paperwork, leaving Strike consumed with rage and self-recrimination outside the pub. He’d had enough experience of both kinds of misfortune to know that there was a vast difference between feeling yourself a victim of random strokes of fate and having to accept that your troubles had been brought about by your own folly. He’d been warned by Ilsa that Bijou was mouthy and indiscreet, and what had he done? Fucked her a second time. After avoiding the spotlight for years, giving testimony in court cases only in a full beard, refusing every offer of a press interview and ending a previous relationship with a woman who’d wanted him to pose with her at high-profile events, he’d knowingly bedded a loudmouth with, it turned out, a well-known married lover in the background.
He called Bijou’s number, but reached voicemail. After leaving a message telling her to ring him as soon as possible, he called Ilsa.
‘Hi,’ she said, sounding cold.
‘Calling to apologise,’ said Strike, which was only partially true. ‘I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. I know you were only trying to look out for me.’
‘Yes, I was,’ said Ilsa. ‘All right, apology accepted.’
‘Well, you’ve been proven right in spades,’ said Strike. ‘I’m in today’s Private Eye, linked to her and to her married boyfriend.’
‘Oh shit, not Andrew Honbold?’ said Ilsa.
‘You know him?’
‘Only slightly.’
‘The Eye’s implying that in addition to shagging her, I’ve been helping her bug Honbold’s bedroom.’
‘Corm, I’m sorry – she’s been trying to get him to leave his wife for ages. She’s completely open about it.’
‘I can’t see Honbold marrying her if he thinks she’s put a private detective on him. Where is she right now, d’you know?’
‘She’ll be at Lavington Court Chambers,’ said Ilsa.
‘OK, I’ll go and wait for her there,’ said Strike.
‘Is that wise?’
‘It’ll be easier to put the fear of God into her in person than over the phone,’ said Strike grimly, already heading towards the Tube station.
44
A man must part company with the inferior and superficial. The important thing is to remain firm.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
This, Strike thought, was the first time he’d been glad that Robin was currently at Chapman Farm. He’d done something bloody stupid, and while the consequences were likely to be more severe for himself than the agency as a whole, he preferred Robin to remain in ignorance of the mess he’d got himself into.
Having looked up the address, Strike made the short journey on the Central line, exiting the Tube at Holborn and heading for Lincoln’s Inn. He then took up a position behind a tree in the gardens from which he could watch the neo-classical façade of Lavington Court Chambers, and waited.
He’d been there for an hour, watching a few people enter, and more leave the building, when his mobile rang. Expecting to see Bijou’s number, he instead saw Shanker’s.
‘Wotcha, Bunsen, just callin’ to say you’re in, wiv Reaney. Twenny-eighth of May. Couldn’t do nuffin’ earlier.’
‘Cheers, Shanker, that’s great news,’ said Strike, still keeping his eyes trained on the entrance of Bijou’s building. ‘He knows I’m coming, right?’