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‘But she wouldn’t say – like, she didn’t give me details,’ said Henry quickly. ‘It might’ve been something she – not imagined, but – I mean, she wasn’t right. She was fucking terrified after she’d said it, though. She was drunk,’ said Henry, ‘she’d got rat-arsed on three drinks. She hadn’t had alcohol for five years, so obviously…’
‘Didn’t she tell you who’d been killed?’
‘No, the only thing she said was that more people than her had witnessed it. She said something like, “Everyone was there.” Then she got really, properly panicky, and told me she hadn’t meant it, and I should forget it, that the Drowned Prophet would come for her next, because she’d talked. I said, “It’s OK, I know you were just joking…”’
‘Did you believe that? That it was a joke?’
‘No,’ said Henry uncertainly, ‘she definitely wasn’t joking, but – like, nobody’s reported anything like that, have they? And if there were a load of witnesses, you’d think someone would have gone to the police, wouldn’t you? Maybe the church made it look like someone had been killed, to scare people?’
‘Maybe,’ said Strike.
Henry now checked the time on his watch.
‘I’m actually supposed to be somewhere in twenty minutes. Is that—?’
‘Just a couple more questions, if you don’t mind,’ said Strike. ‘This Joe individual, who recruited you. Did you see much of him, once you were at the farm?’
‘He was kind of around,’ said Henry. ‘But I never really got to talk to him again.’
‘What was he doing in a bar? Alcohol’s forbidden by the church, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Henry. ‘I don’t know… maybe he was drinking a soft drink?’
‘OK… were there a lot of children around, at the farm?’
‘Quite a few, yeah. There were some families staying there.’
‘Can you remember a man called Harold Coates? He was a doctor.’
‘Er… maybe,’ said Henry. ‘Kind of an old guy?’
‘He’d have been fairly old by then, yes. Did you ever see him around the kids?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘OK, well, I think that’s everything,’ said Strike, now pulling a business card out of his wallet. ‘If you remember anything else, anything you’d like to tell me, give me a ring.’
‘I will,’ said Henry, taking the card before gulping down the rest of his second gin and tonic.
‘I appreciate you meeting me, Henry, I really do,’ said Strike, getting to his feet to shake hands.
‘No problem,’ said Henry, also standing. ‘I hope I’ve been some use. I’ve always felt so shit about having taken Flora there in the first place, so… yeah… that’s why I agreed to talk to you. Well, bye then. Nice meeting you.’
As Henry walked towards the door, a dark woman entered the pub, and with anger and a sense of absolute inevitability, Strike recognised Charlotte Ross.
18
Thunder and wind: the image of DURATION.
Thus the superior man stands firm
And does not change his direction.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Strike had suspected Charlotte was on her way from the moment Henry had mentioned their mutual connection. Heads were turning; Strike had watched this happen for years; she had the kind of beauty that ran through a room like an icy breeze. As she and Henry made exclamations of surprise (on Henry’s side, probably genuine) and exchanged pleasantries at the door, Strike gathered up his things.
‘Corm,’ said a voice behind him.
