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As Robin slid a foot into a Jimmy Choo pump, she asked,
‘Are you close to your dad?’
‘Um…’ said Prudence, now on her knees as she rifled through her boots, ‘… I suppose as close as you can ever be with someone like him. He’s kind of juvenile. They say you remain forever stuck at the age you got famous, don’t they? Which means Dad’s never really aged out of his late teens. His whole mindset’s instant gratification and letting other people pick up the pieces. I am fond of him, but he’s not a parent in the usual sense, because he’s never really needed to look after himself, let alone anyone else. I can see exactly why Corm’s pissed off at him, though. You could hardly imagine two more different people. Try these,’ she added, handing Robin a pair of boots. As Robin pulled them on, Prudence added,
‘Dad’s got a genuinely guilty conscience about Corm. He knows he behaved really badly. He tried to reach out a couple of years ago. I don’t know exactly what was said—’
‘Rokeby offered him money to meet,’ said Robin baldly.
Prudence winced.
‘Oh God, I didn’t know that… Dad would’ve thought that was generous or something… bloody idiot… he’s so used to throwing money at problems… Those look too tight.’
‘They are, a bit,’ Robin admitted, unzipping the boots again. ‘You know,’ she added impulsively, ‘I’m really glad you and Cormoran are in touch. I think you might be… I don’t know… what he’s missing.’
‘Really?’ said Prudence, looking pleased. ‘Because I’ve wanted to meet him for years. Years. It isn’t easy, being the biracial illegitimate among the rest of them. We all get on all right, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always been sort of half-in, half-out of the Rokeby clan, and knowing Corm was out there, not giving a damn, making his own way…
‘Of course, he’s perennially scared I’m going to start psychoanalysing him,’ added Prudence, now handing Robin a pair of Manolo Blahniks. ‘I’ve explained to him multiple times that I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. The relationship’s too… it’s just too complicated… he’s been a kind of talisman to me for a long time. Just the idea of him. You can’t be objective with somebody like that, ever… You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I’ve just asked Corm.’
‘I – are you sure?’ said Robin, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
‘God, yes, it’ll be fun. Declan really likes Corm and he’ll be thrilled to meet you. OK, so you’re going to take these three, right?’ said Prudence, setting aside another few hundred pounds’ worth of footwear. ‘Now let’s find a handbag…’
Downstairs in the silent sitting room, Strike was again poring over the photograph of Kevin Pirbright’s room that Wardle had given him, and which he’d brought with him to show Robin. For several minutes, he’d been squinting at it, trying to make out a few things that puzzled him. Finally he glanced around and spotted exactly what he required: an antique magnifying glass lying decoratively on top of a pile of art books.
Ten minutes later, Robin reappeared in the sitting room and emitted a surprised laugh.
‘What?’ said Strike, looking up.
‘Sherlock Holmes, I presume?’
‘Don’t mock it until you’ve tried it,’ said Strike, holding out both photo and magnifying glass. ‘This is Kevin Pirbright’s room, as the police found it. Wardle got it for me.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin. She sat back down on the sofa beside Strike and took both picture and magnifying glass from him.
‘Have a shufti at what he’s written on the walls,’ said Strike. ‘See whether you can read any of it. That picture’s all we’ve got, unfortunately, because I called the landlord this afternoon. Once the police had finished with it, he repainted the room.’
Robin moved the magnifying glass to and fro, trying to make out the scrawled words. She was concentrating so hard, the sound of the front door banging open made her jump.
‘Hi, new uncle,’ said a dark teenaged boy, poking his head into the room. He seemed disconcerted to find Robin there, as well.
‘Hi, Gerry,’ said Strike. ‘This is my detective partner, Robin.’
‘Oh,’ said the boy, looking vaguely embarrassed. ‘Cool. Hi.’
He disappeared again.
Robin resumed her close examination of the photo. After a minute’s intense concentration, she began to read aloud.
‘“Five prophets”… what’s that over the mirror? Is it “retribution”?’
‘I think so,’ said Strike, shifting closer to her on the sofa, so their thighs were almost touching.
Many of the scrawls on Pirbright’s walls were illegible, or too small to read from the photograph, but here and there, a word stood out.
‘“Becca”,’ read Robin. ‘“Sin”… “stra” something… straw? “I think that’s “plot”, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
