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‘Someone did burn something in those woods,’ said Robin. ‘Rope.’
‘Rope,’ repeated Strike.
‘There was a lump of charred rope near those stumps I told you about. The posts someone chopped down. They were in a circle – it looked pagan.’
‘You think someone at Chapman Farm was conducting secret rituals in the woods?’
‘Daiyu was supposedly doing secret magic with the big kids, don’t forget. Oh, and we’re also forgetting the axe. The one hidden in the tree, which Jiang says was Daiyu’s.’
‘Does it seem plausible a seven-year-old had her own pet axe?’
‘Not really,’ said Robin. ‘I’m only telling you what Jiang said.’
Strike sat in silence for a few seconds then said, ‘I need a pee now,’ and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt.
His first words on re-entering the office a few minutes later were,
‘I’m hungry.’
‘You’ve literally just eaten about five thousand calories,’ said Robin in disbelief.
‘Well, I’m doing a lot of brain work here.’
Strike refilled the kettle. The birds were singing more loudly outside. The hour was fast approaching when Daiyu Wace had supposedly entered the sea at Cromer, never to be seen again.
‘Why the same stretch of beach?’ Strike said, turning to look at Robin. ‘Why the hell was Daiyu – or whoever the kid was – taken to exactly the same stretch of beach where Jennifer Wace died?’
‘No idea,’ said Robin.
‘And why did Jordan Reaney try and kill himself?’
‘Again – no idea.’
‘Come on,’ said Strike bracingly.
‘Well… presumably because he was afraid of retribution,’ said Robin.
‘Retribution,’ repeated Strike. ‘Exactly. So what did whoever was on the phone threaten Reaney with?’
‘I suppose… being hurt in some way. Exposed as involved in something serious and criminal. Beaten up. Killed.’
‘Right. But nobody’s hurt Reaney so far except Reaney.’
Strike made two more coffees, passed one to Robin, then sat back down at Pat’s desk.
‘How’s this for a theory?’ he said. ‘Reaney overdosed because he knew he’d be in deep shit once whoever phoned him realised he’d blabbed to me.’
‘Blabbed what?’
‘Good question. He was cagey about nearly everything. He did say he’d had to “clean up” after the Waces, and that things he’d done played on his mind…’
‘Maybe,’ said Robin suddenly, ‘he was supposed to destroy those Polaroids? Just the fact that they’re still in existence might be what’s got him in trouble?’
‘Possible. Likely, even, given that those Polaroids definitely put the fear of God into him.’
Strike got up again and entered the inner office, reappearing with the noticeboard. Closing the dividing door, he propped the board against it and sat back down. For the longest time yet, the pair sat in silence, staring at the pictures, cuttings and notes.
‘Some of this,’ said Strike at last, ‘has got to be irrelevant. People were there, but not involved. Things get misremembered. Accidents do happen,’ he said, his gaze travelling yet again to Jennifer Wace.
