AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Never ’eard of it. OK, well – I’ll let you go.’
And before Strike could say anything else, she hung up.
Strike looked around at Robin.
‘What d’you think?’
‘I think she’s right,’ said Robin. ‘We should go.’
She turned the engine on and, having waited for a break in the traffic, pulled back out onto the road.
They drove on for five minutes without talking to each other. Keen to foster a more congenial atmosphere, Strike finally said,
‘I wasn’t going to bring up her nightmare. I feel bad about that.’
‘And where’s this sensitivity when it comes to Flora Brewster?’ said Robin coldly.
‘Fine,’ said Strike, now nettled, ‘I won’t go near bloody Brewster, but as you’re the one who’s experienced the full bloody horror of Chapman—’
‘I never called it “horror”, I’m not saying I went through war crimes or anything—’
‘Fuck’s sake, I’m not saying you’re exaggerating how bad it was, I’m saying, if there’s a witness to them actually killing someone, I’d have thought—’
‘The fact is,’ said Robin angrily, ‘Abigail Glover’s more your kind of person than Flora Brewster is, so you feel bad for making her choke up, whereas—’
‘What’s that mean, “more my kind of—”?’
‘Pulls herself up by her bootstraps, joins the fire service, pretends none of it ever hap—’
‘If it makes you feel any better, she’s got a borderline drink problem and seems recklessly promiscuous.’
‘Of course it doesn’t make me feel better,’ said Robin furiously, ‘but you’re chippy about rich people! You’re judging Flora because she can afford to see Prudence and she’s “sitting on her arse”, whereas—’
‘No, it’s about Brewster doing art instead of—’
‘What if she was so mentally ill she wasn’t sure what was real or not? You didn’t press Abigail on what these supposed guns looked like, did you?’
‘She’s not bloody drawing them and posting them online with UHC logos attached! I note Brewster’s not so fucking ill she didn’t go to ground the moment I mentioned Deirdre Doherty, thinking, “Shit, that got a bit more attention than I wanted!”’
Robin made no response to this, but stared steely-eyed at the road ahead.
The frosty atmosphere inside the car persisted onto the motorway, each partner consumed by their own uncomfortable thoughts. Strike had had the always unpleasant experience of having his own prejudices exposed. Whatever he might have claimed to Robin, he had formed an unflattering mental picture of the young woman who’d drawn the corpse of Deirdre Doherty, and if he was absolutely honest (which he had no intention of being out loud), he had classed her with the women enjoying reiki sessions at Dr Zhou’s palatial clinic, not to mention those of his father’s children who lived off family wealth, with expensive therapists and private doctors on hand should they need them, cushioned from the harsh realities of working life by their trust funds. Doubtless the Brewster girl had had a bad time of it, but she’d also had years in the Kiwi sunshine to reflect upon what she’d seen at Chapman Farm, and instead of seeking justice for the woman who’d drowned and closure for the children now bereft of a mother, she’d sat in her comfortable Strawberry Hill flat and indulged in a spot of art.
Robin’s inner reverie was disturbing in a different way. While she stood by what she’d just said to her partner, she was uncomfortably aware (not that she intended to admit this) that she’d subconsciously wanted to force an argument. A small part of her had sought to disrupt the pleasure and ease she’d felt on finding herself back in the Land Rover with Strike, because she’d just told Murphy she loved him, and shouldn’t be feeling unalloyed pleasure at the prospect of hours on the road with somebody else. Nor should she be thinking about the man she supposedly loved with guilt and discomfort…
The silence in the car lasted a full half an hour, until Robin, resenting the fact that she was the one to have to break the ice, but ashamed of the hidden motive that had led her to become so heated, said,
‘Look, I’m sorry I got shirty. I’m just – I’m probably more on Flora’s side than you are because—’
‘I get it,’ said Strike, relieved that she’d spoken. ‘No, I don’t mean – I know I haven’t been in the Retreat Rooms.’
‘No, I can’t see Taio wanting to spirit bond with you,’ said Robin, but the mental image of Taio trying to lead Strike, who was considerably larger, towards one of the wooden cabins made her laugh.
‘No need to be offensive,’ said Strike, reaching for the coffee again. ‘We might’ve had a beautiful thing together if I hadn’t brained him with those wire cutters.’
96
Punishment is never an end in itself but serves merely to restore order.
