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‘What’s happening?’ said Midge, answering on the first ring.
‘They’re parked two blocks from the gym in that cul-de-sac on the left as you head towards her house. Are you with Mayo?’
‘Yes,’ said Midge.
‘Put her on.’
He heard Midge say something to the actress, then Tasha’s nervous voice.
‘Hello?’
‘You know what’s happening?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve got a choice. I can pick you up from the gym and take you straight home, but if we do that, they’re going to try it another day, or—’
‘I want it to end tonight,’ said Tasha, but he could hear the tension in her voice.
‘I swear you won’t be in any danger. They’re idiots and we’ll be ready for them.’
‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘When I give the word, you’ll leave the gym alone. I want to get them on film trying to get you into that van. We won’t let it happen, but I can’t guarantee you won’t have an unpleasant few seconds and possibly a bruise or two.’
‘I’m an actress,’ said Tasha, with a shaky little laugh. ‘I’ll just pretend someone’s going to yell “cut”.’
‘That would be me,’ said Strike. ‘All right, hand me back to Midge.’
When Tasha had done so, Strike said,
‘I want you to leave the gym now, alone, walk straight up the cul-de-sac and take up a good vantage point behind their van, but somewhere where they can’t see you until things hot up. I want this on camera in case it doesn’t get picked up on CCTV.’
‘Could Barclay not do that and I’ll—?’
‘What did I just say?’
‘Fine,’ said Midge huffily, and rang off.
Strike turned into the road where Tasha’s gym was, parked, then called Barclay.
‘Move so you’ll be walking towards Tasha when they come at her. I’ll be behind her. I’ll let you know when she’s on her way.’
‘Righto,’ said Barclay.
Strike watched Midge leaving the gym in the gathering darkness. He could just make out Barclay, ambling along on the other side of the road. He waited until both had vanished from view, then got out of the BMW and phoned Tasha.
‘Head for the door but don’t come out until I tell you. You’ll have me right behind you, and Barclay ahead. Pretend to be texting. Midge is already behind their van. They’ve chosen a place where they shouldn’t see either of us coming.’
‘OK,’ said Tasha nervously.
‘Right,’ said Strike, now fifteen yards from the gym entrance, ‘go.’
Tasha emerged from the gym, a bag over her shoulder, head bowed over her phone. Strike followed, keeping a short distance between himself and the actress. His mobile rang again: he pulled it out, refused the call and shoved it back into his pocket.
Tasha was approaching the cul-de-sac. As she passed beneath a street light, Strike heard the van doors open.
The balaclavaed men were running, the foremost with a large mallet in his gloved hand. As he broke into a run, Strike heard Barclay bellow ‘OI!’ and Tasha’s scream.
