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‘At least we know, now.’
‘Know what?’
‘The lengths they’re prepared to go to. I can imagine Wace crying as he pressed the trigger of a gun. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”’
‘You think they killed Kevin Pirbright?’
‘I do, yes.’
Strike decided not to debate the point, tempting though it was. Letting Robin vent was one thing, theorising about murder was a step too far at nearly midnight, when she was pink-cheeked from alcohol but hollow-eyed with exhaustion.
‘You’re sure about sharing the—?’
‘Yez, no problem,’ said Robin, now slurring slightly.
So Strike repaired to the bathroom himself, emerging ten minutes later in boxer shorts and the T-shirt he’d worn all day. Robin appeared to have fallen asleep where she sat.
Strike turned off all the lights and eased himself into bed, trying not to wake her, but when he’d finally settled his full weight onto the mattress, Robin stirred, and groped in the darkness for his hand. Finding it, she squeezed.
‘I knew you were there,’ she murmured drowsily, half-asleep. ‘I knew you were there.’
Strike said nothing, but continued to hold her hand until, five minutes later, she gave a long sigh, released him, and rolled over onto her side.
PART SEVEN
Fu/Return (The Turning Point)
Going out and coming in without error.
Friends come without blame.
To and fro goes the way.
On the seventh day comes return.
It furthers one to have somewhere to go.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
90
Now it is the time of struggle.
The transition must be completed.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Five days after Robin had left Chapman Farm, Strike set out from the office at midday to meet Sir Colin Edensor for a full update on the UHC case. Over Robin’s protestations, Strike had insisted she take a full week off work, because he remained concerned about both her mental and physical health, and was glad to hear that her parents had come down from Yorkshire to stay with her.
Sir Colin, who’d only just returned from a week’s holiday with his eldest son’s family, naturally wanted a full update on Robin’s discoveries without delay. As he was coming into central London for a charity board meeting, he offered Strike lunch at Rules restaurant in Covent Garden. While Strike feared the comfortable glamour of the old restaurant would provide an incongruous backdrop for revelations that were certain to dismay the retired civil servant, he had no objection to being offered a full cooked lunch and therefore accepted. However, he resolved to resist pudding, and chose to walk to Covent Garden from the office, in tribute to his continued commitment to weight loss.
He’d been en route for five minutes, enjoying the sunshine, when his mobile rang and he saw Lucy’s number.
‘Hey,’ he said, answering, ‘what’s up?’
‘I’ve just got back from the specialist, with Ted.’
‘Oh Christ, sorry,’ said Strike, with a familiar gut-twist of guilt. ‘I should’ve called you. It’s been a very busy week. What’s the news?’
