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‘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.’
