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‘Think about it, Prudence, please,’ Robin said. ‘Flora’s got the power to set thousands of people free. I wouldn’t ask, if I didn’t know lives are depending on it.’
107
Nine at the beginning means:
Waiting in the meadow.
It furthers one to abide in what endures.
No blame.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
While Robin was in Kensington, Strike was back in the Denmark Street office, eating his second Chinese meal in two weeks, this time a takeaway. He was finding the last stone to go before hitting his target weight very hard to shift, and while he supposed a nutritionist might tell him the reappearance of takeaways and pub food in his diet might have something to do with that, the lure of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice had proved too strong for him this evening.
He was eating in the office rather than at his flat, because he wanted to look through the CVs of two detectives he thought might be worth interviewing. He also wanted to review the UHC case file within view of the board now covered in pictures and notes relating to the church. He was staring at the board while eating, willing his subconscious to make one of those unexpected leaps that explained everything, when his mobile rang.
‘Hi,’ said Midge. ‘Tasha’s just called. She’s checked in, and she’s already been given a cold green tea enema.’
Strike hastily swallowed a mouthful of sweet and sour chicken.
‘Jesus, there was no need for her to—’
‘She had to, Dr Zhou ordered it. She says it wasn’t bad. Apparently—’
‘No details. I’m eating. What’s the place like, other than the tube up her arse?’
‘Like the lair of a Bond villain, apparently,’ said Midge. ‘All black and smoked glass – but get this. She thinks she might know where they’re keeping your girl.’
‘Already?’ said Strike, pushing away his plate and reaching for a pen.
‘Yeah. There’s an annexe with a “staff only” notice on it. A woman who’s been there before was surprised, because she told Tasha she had a room in the annexe six months ago, so it used to be for guests. Tasha’s already seen a member of the staff taking a tray of food in. Bit of a weird thing to do, unless a masseuse is ill, I suppose.’
‘This sounds promising,’ said Strike.
‘Tasha says she doesn’t want to nose around too much, seeing as she’s only just arrived. She’s gonna do a full day’s treatments tomorrow and then, in the evening, take a walk round the annexe and see whether she can get a peek through any of the windows.’
‘OK, but remind her to be very discreet. If there’s the slightest chance of discovery, she’s to back right off. We don’t want—’
‘You said all this in that forty-odd page email you sent her,’ said Midge. ‘She knows.’
‘She’d better, because it’s not just her who’ll pay if she slips up.’
When Midge had hung up, Strike returned to his takeaway, his slight irritability increased, because it was highly unsatisfactory to be relying on a non-employee in these circumstances. Having finished his food, he got up and peered down through the Venetian blind at the street below.
A tall, fit-looking black man was standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the road. He had short dreadlocks, wore jeans and a padded jacket, but his most distinctive feature, as Strike had noticed when they’d passed each other in Denmark Street earlier, were his pale green eyes.
Having taken a couple of photographs of the man on his phone, Strike let the blinds fall back into place, cleared away the takeaway things, washed his plate and cutlery, then sat down back down to look at the CVs of the two ex-Patterson potential hires. Across that of Dan Jarvis, Shah had scrawled ‘Worked with him, he’s an arsehole.’ Having faith in Shah’s character judgement, Strike tore the CV in half, put it in the bin, and picked up that of Kim Cochran.
His phone rang for a second time. Seeing it was Robin, he answered immediately.
‘Thought you had evening plans?’
‘I did, that’s what I’m calling about. I’ve just had dinner with Prudence. Your sister, Prudence,’ Robin added, when Strike didn’t say anything.
‘What did she want?’ asked Strike suspiciously. ‘Trying to send messages through you, was she? Warning me not to go near Brewster?’
‘No, the exact opposite. Dinner was my idea – not to try and get you two to make up or anything, I’m not meddling in your private life – I wanted to talk to her about Flora. Prudence says she knows Flora’s hiding something she witnessed at Chapman Farm, something connected to the Drowned Prophet. Apparently she keeps sidling up to it in therapy, then backing off again. So, anyway—’
