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‘No,’ she said, but she looked edgy as he drew out his notebook.
‘I just want to make one thing clear,’ said Strike. ‘I believe your mother’s death was an accident. I’m only asking the following questions to make sure I’ve covered everything. Was there a life insurance policy on her?’
‘No. We was broke after she died. She was always the one wiv the steady job.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Anyfing – worked in shops, did a bit of cleaning. We moved around a lot.’
‘Did your parents own property?’
‘No, we always rented.’
‘Couldn’t either of your parents’ families have helped out, financially?’ asked Strike, remembering the old Harrovian background.
‘My farver’s parents emigrated to Souf Africa. ’E didn’ get on wiv ’em. Probably ’cause they sent ’im to ’Arrow, but ’e turned out a grifter. I fink ’e used to weasel bits of money out of ’em, but they got sick of ’im.’
‘Was he ever employed?’
‘Not properly. There was a few dodgy schemes, get-rich-quick stuff. It was all gettin’ by on the accent and the charm. I remember a luxury car business what went bust.’
‘And your mother’s family?’
‘Workin’ class. Skint. My muvver was very pretty but I fink my farver’s family fort she was rough – probably annuver reason they didn’ approve. She was a dancer when they met.’
Well aware that the word ‘dancer’ might not necessarily imply the Royal Ballet, Strike chose not to enquire further.
‘How soon after your mother died did your father take you to Chapman Farm?’
‘Coupla monfs, I fink.’
‘What made him move there, d’you know?’
‘Cheap place to live.’ Abigail swigged more wine. ‘Off the grid. ’Ide from ’is debts. An’ it was a group wiv a power whatsit at the top… vacuum… you know abou’ that? Abou’ the people ’oo was at Chapman Farm, before the church started?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘I do.’
‘I only found ou’ after I left. There was still a few of ’em there, when we arrived. My farver got rid of anyone ’e didn’t want, but ’e kept people ’oo’d be useful.’
‘Took charge immediately, did he?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Abigail, unsmiling. ‘If ’e’d been a businessman or somefing… but that was too ordinary for ’im. But ’e knew ’ow to make people wanna do fings, an’ ’e was good at spotting talent. ’E kept the creepy old guy ’oo said ’e was a doctor, an’ this couple ’oo knew ’ow to run the farm, an’ there was this guy called Alex Graves, ’oo my farver kept because ’is family was rich. An’ Mazu, of course,’ said Abigail, with contempt. ‘’E kept ’er. The police shouldn’ of let any of ’em stay behind,’ she added fiercely, before taking another large gulp of wine. ‘It’s like cancer. You’ve gotta cut the ’ole fing out, or you’ll jus’ be back where you started. Sometimes, you get sumfing worse.’
She’d already drunk most of her second glass of wine.
‘Mazu’s Malcolm Crowther’s daughter,’ she added. ‘She’s the spit of ’im.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. When I got out, I looked ’em up. An’ I found out what the ovver bruvver did, too, an’ I fort, “Ah, thass where she learned it all. ’Er uncle.”’
‘What d’you mean “learned it all”?’ asked Strike.
‘Gerald was a kids’ magician before ’e wen’ to live at the farm.’
Another memory came back to Strike at that moment, of the fatter of the two Crowther brothers showing little girls card tricks by firelight, and in that moment he felt nothing but sympathy for Abigail’s comparison of the community to cancer.
‘When you say “that’s where she learned it all”—?’
