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‘How many important religious figures would you say end up hanged?’ asked Strike. ‘Offhand, I can only think of Judas.’
‘Cherie wasn’t hanged,’ said Becca. Her eyes flickered towards Wace as she said it.
‘Do you mean that in a metaphysical sense?’ asked Strike. ‘Same as Daiyu didn’t really drown, but dissolved into pure spirit?’
‘Papa J,’ said Jackson unexpectedly, pushing himself off the wall, ‘I wonder whether there’s much point—?’
‘Thank you, Joe,’ said Wace quietly, and Jackson fell immediately back into line.
‘Now, that’s what I like to see,’ said Strike approvingly. ‘Military-level discipline. Shame it doesn’t extend to the foot soldiers.’
The door behind Strike opened. He glanced round. Taio entered the room, large, greasy-haired, rat-faced and dressed in a UHC tracksuit that strained across his belly. On seeing Strike, he stopped dead.
‘Cormoran’s here at my invitation, Taio,’ said Wace, smiling. ‘Join us.’
‘How’s the head?’ said Strike, as Taio took up a standing position beside Jackson. ‘Need stitches at all?’
‘We were talking about Cherie,’ said Wace, again addressing Strike. ‘As a matter of fact – I know this may be hard for you to understand – Becca’s perfectly right in what she said: Cherie played a divine role, a necessarily difficult role, in the ascension of Daiyu as a prophet. If she has indeed hanged herself, that, too, may have been ordained.’
‘You’ll be hanging up a second thrashing straw figure in temple to celebrate, will you?’
‘I see you’re one of those who prides themselves on disrespecting rites, mysteries, and religious observance,’ said Wace, smiling again. ‘I shall pray for you, Cormoran. I mean that sincerely.’
‘I’ll tell you one book I’ve read, that’s right up your street,’ said Strike. ‘Came across it in a Christian mission where I was spending a night, just outside Nairobi. This was when I was still in the army. I’d drunk too much coffee, and there were only two books in the room, and it was late, and I didn’t think I’d be able to make much of a dent in the Bible, so I went for Who Moved the Stone? by Frank Morison. Have you read it?’
‘I’ve heard of it,’ said Wace, sitting back in his chair, still smiling. ‘We recognise Jesus Christ as an important emissary of the Blessed Divinity, though, of course, he’s not the only one.’
‘Oh, he had nothing on you, obviously,’ said Strike. ‘Anyway, Morison was a non-believer who set out to prove the resurrection never happened. He did an in-depth investigation into the events surrounding Jesus’ death, drawing on as many historical sources as he could find, and as a direct result, was converted to Christianity. You see what I’m driving at?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Wace.
‘What questions d’you think Morison would’ve wanted answered, if he set out to disprove the legend of the Drowned Prophet?’
Three people reacted: Taio, who let out a low growl, Noli Seymour, who gasped, and Mazu, who, for the first time, spoke.
‘Jonathan.’
‘My love?’ said Wace, turning to look at the face on screen.
‘The sage casts out all that is inferior and degrading,’ said Mazu.
‘Well said.’
It was Dr Zhou who’d spoken. He’d drawn himself up to his full height, and unlike the absent Harmon, he looked undeniably impressive in his robes.
‘Is that from the I Ching?’ asked Strike, looking from Zhou to Mazu. ‘Funnily enough, I’ve got a few questions on the subject of degradation, if you’d rather hear those? No?’ he said, when nobody answered. ‘Back to what I was saying, then. Let’s suppose I fancy writing the new Who Moved the Stone? – working title, “Why Paddle in the North Sea at Five a.m.?” As a sceptical investigator of the miraculous ascension into heaven of Daiyu, I think I’d start with how Cherie knew Jordan Reaney would oversleep that morning. Then I’d be finding out why Daiyu was wearing a dress that made her as visible as possible in the dark, why she drowned off exactly the same stretch of beach as your first wife and – parallels with Who Moved the Stone? here – I’d want to know where the body went. But unlike Morison, I might include a chapter on Birmingham.’
‘Birmingham?’ repeated Wace. Unlike everyone else in the room, he was still smiling.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike. ‘I’ve noticed there’s a lot of going to Birmingham round about the time Daiyu disappeared.’
‘Once again, I have literally no—’
‘You were supposed to be in Birmingham that morning, but you called it off, right? You sent your daughter Abigail up to Birmingham, shortly after Daiyu died. And I think you were banished to Birmingham, too, weren’t you, Miss Pirbright? For three years, is that correct?’
Before Becca could answer, Wace had leaned forwards, hands clasped between his knees, and said quietly,
‘If the mention of my eldest daughter is supposed to worry me, you’re shooting wide of the mark, Cormoran. The most of which I can be reproached regarding Abigail is that I spoiled her, after the – after the dreadful death of her mother.’
