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Mazu twisted one bare foot around Robin’s leg and succeeded in toppling both of them, but Robin still had her in a tight grip, refusing to let her pull free or far enough away to shoot. With every ounce of her strength, Robin managed to flip the older woman over onto her back and straddled her as they both struggled for possession of the rifle. A torrent of filthy curses issued from Mazu’s lips; Robin was a whore, trash, a demon, a slut, filth, shit—
Over the screams of Yixin, Robin heard her name shouted from somewhere inside the building.
‘HERE!’ she bellowed. ‘MIDGE, I’M HERE!’
Mazu forced the rifle upwards, catching Robin on the chin, and Robin drove it back down, hard, on the woman’s face.
‘ROBIN?’
‘HERE!’
The gun went off; the bullet shattered the window and blew out the lamp outside. Robin heard screams from Wardour Street; for a second time, she rammed the rifle down on Mazu’s face, and as blood spurted from the woman’s nose, Mazu’s grip loosened and Robin succeeded in wrenching the gun from her grasp.
The door banged open as Mazu raised her hands to her bleeding nose.
‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Midge.
Panting, Robin scrambled off Mazu, holding the rifle. Only now did she realise she was holding part of the black cord of Mazu’s pendant in her hand. The mother-of-pearl fish lay broken on the floor.
Behind Midge, holding two Boots bags, was Becca Pirbright. Aghast, she looked from Mazu, whose hands were clasped to the nose Robin sincerely hoped she’d broken, to Robin, and back again.
‘Violence, Mazu?’ whispered Becca. ‘In the temple?’
Robin, who was still holding the rifle, let out a genuine laugh. Becca stared at her.
‘Can someone do something about that baby?’ said Midge loudly.
‘You do it,’ Robin told Becca, pointing the rifle at her.
‘You’re threatening to shoot me?’ said Becca, dropping the bags and moving to the carry cot. She scooped up the screaming Yixin and tried to soothe her, without much success.
‘I’m calling 999,’ said Midge, phone in hand.
‘Not yet,’ said Robin. ‘Just cover the door.’
‘Well, I’m telling Strike you’re all right, at least,’ said Midge, rapidly texting. ‘He’s not happy you came in here without back-up.’
Robin now looked Becca in the eye.
‘It was you I came for.’
‘What d’you mean, “came for”?’ said Becca.
She spoke as though Robin was unspeakably impertinent. No matter that she’d interrupted attempted murder, or that press were swarming at the gates of Chapman Farm, or that police were raiding the church – Becca Pirbright remained what she’d always been: utterly convinced of her own rectitude, confident that everything, even this, could be put right by Papa J.
‘You’re already facing child abuse charges,’ Becca said contemptuously, ineffectually trying to quell Yixin’s screams by jiggling her. ‘Now you’re taking us hostage at gunpoint.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to wash in court, coming from the person who colluded in covering up infanticide,’ said Robin.
‘You’re unbalanced,’ said Becca.
‘You’d better hope psychiatrists find you are. Where were you for three years, after Daiyu died?’
‘That’s no business—’
‘You weren’t in Birmingham. You were either in the Glasgow centre, or some rented property where Jonathan Wace could keep you well away from other people.’
Becca’s smile was patronising.
