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Understandably, there was a short pause.
‘What d’you want?’ said the voice on the end of the line suspiciously.
‘I’ve been hired by somebody who’s very concerned about a relative of theirs, who’s a member of the Universal Humanitarian Church. I was hoping you might talk to me about the UHC. Just for background. You used to live at Chapman Farm, didn’t you?’
‘How d’you know that?’ said Sheila Kennett sharply; she certainly seemed to have all her faculties.
‘Just from records,’ said Robin, deliberately vague: she didn’t want to bandy about the fact that Strike had obtained census reports.
‘That was a long time ago,’ said Sheila Kennett.
‘We’re really just after background,’ said Robin. ‘I think you were there at the same time as the Pirbright family?’
‘I was, yeah,’ said Sheila, still sounding suspicious.
‘Well, we’re looking into some claims Kevin Pirbright made about the church, so we wondered whether—’
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘I – yes, he is,’ said Robin.
‘Yeah, I saw it in the paper. Wondered if it was our Kevin,’ said Sheila. ‘Have they got who did it yet?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ said Robin.
There was another short pause.
‘All right,’ said Sheila. ‘I don’t mind talking. I’ve got nothing to lose, not any more.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Robin, then thought how insensitive that had sounded and added, ‘I mean, thank you. You’re up in Coventry, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How would next Thursday suit you? A week tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Sheila. ‘Robin, did you say your name was?’
‘That’s right. Robin Ellacott.’
‘Man’s name,’ said Sheila. ‘Why did your parents give you a man’s name?’
‘I’ve never asked,’ said Robin, with a laugh.
‘Hm. All right then. What time?’
‘Would midday be all right?’ asked Robin, rapidly calculating the distance to Coventry.
‘Yeah. All right. I’ll have the kettle on.’
‘Thank you so much. I’ll see you then!’ said Robin.
Robin texted Strike to tell him she’d arranged the interview with Sheila Kennett, then crossed the road, the better to watch the comic-book storefront.
The day was cool and cloudy, and Robin was glad of her beanie hat. She’d only just registered how close she was to the Rupert Court Temple when she spotted four young people with collecting tins, heading into Berwick Street.
Robin recognised Will Edensor at once. He looked ill and defeated, not to mention very thin. The shadows under his eyes, which Robin could see even from the other side of the street, gave him an unpleasant likeness to the image of the Stolen Prophet she’d seen on the temple ceiling. Like his companions, he was wearing an orange tabard printed with the church’s logo, which was repeated on their collecting tins.
The other man in the group seemed to be giving instructions. Unlike the other three, he was overweight, and wore his hair in a straggly bob. He pointed along the street, and the two girls headed off obediently in the direction indicated, whereas Will remained where he was. His demeanour made Robin think of a donkey, used to abuse, and no longer capable of protest.
