The Running Grave, page 80
‘Immediately I mentioned his father, yes. I’ve tried the mother’s landline, but she’s not answering. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Sir Colin probably won’t want to pay for any more of this.’
‘The case isn’t closed yet. He still wants us to find Lin. Speaking of which, did you get the email about Tasha Mayo?’
‘I did, yes,’ said Robin. ‘Fantastic news.’
Tasha Mayo had not only agreed to go undercover at Zhou’s clinic for a week, she’d evinced real gusto for the job and unless something unexpected had happened, might already have arrived in Borehamwood. Her email enquiry had led within half an hour to a call from Dr Zhou in person, who’d taken a long history of her imaginary ailments over the phone, diagnosed her as in need of immediate treatment, and told her she’d need to stay a week and possibly longer.
‘You wouldn’t think she was that gutsy, looking at her,’ said Robin.
‘Appearances are definitely deceptive there,’ said Strike. ‘You should’ve seen her braving the Franks… can’t say I’m over-happy about her and Midge, though.’
‘You think they’re—?’
‘Yeah, I think they’re definitely,’ said Strike, ‘and it’s not a good idea to sleep with clients.’
‘But she’s not a client any more.’
A brief silence fell. As far as Strike was aware, Robin had no idea how seriously his entanglement with Bijou Watkins had threatened to compromise the agency and he hoped to keep it that way. Little did he know that Robin had had the whole story from Ilsa the previous evening, by phone. Their mutual friend, who’d been cross at learning that Robin was out of Chapman Farm and that nobody had told her, had regaled Robin with everything she knew about the saga of Strike and Bijou. Robin therefore had a fairly shrewd idea as to why Strike would currently be sensitive about any subcontractor sleeping with people who might expose them to gossip.
‘Anyway,’ said Strike, keen to usher in a fresh topic of conversation, ‘Edensor’s got a second motive to keep digging for dirt on the church, unless he hasn’t realised yet.’
‘Which is?’
‘His Wikipedia page has undergone a lot of overnight modifications, too.’
‘Shit, really?’
‘Exactly the same m.o. as they used on the Graves family. Brutal abuse towards Will by his father, family dysfunction, etc.’
‘Edensor might think lawyers are a better way of dealing with that, than us trying to take down the church.’
‘He might,’ said Strike, ‘but I’ve got counter-arguments.’
‘Which are?’
‘For one: does he really want Will hallucinating the Drowned Prophet and killing himself?’
‘He might argue psychotherapy would sort that out better than us trying to solve the mystery of Daiyu’s death. I mean, it’s not really even a mystery to anyone except us, is it?’
‘That’s because everyone else is a bloody idiot.’
‘The police, the coastguard, the witnesses and the coroner? They’re all bloody idiots?’ said Robin, amused.
‘You’re the one who said the UHC have got away with it because everyone thought them a “bit weird, but harmless”. Too many people, even intelligent ones – no, especially intelligent ones – presume innocence when they meet weirdness. “Bit odd, but I mustn’t let my prejudices cloud my judgement.” Then they over-correct, and what d’you get? A kid disappears off the face of the earth, and the whole story’s bloody odd, but the robes and the mystic bullshit get in the way, and nobody wants to look like a bigot, so they say, “Strange, going paddling in the North Sea at five in the morning, but I s’pose that’s the kind of thing people like that do. Probably something to do with moon phases.”’
Robin made no response to this speech, partly because she didn’t want to express aloud her real opinion, which was that her partner, too, was prejudiced: prejudiced in the opposite direction to the one he was describing, prejudiced against alternative lifestyles, because large parts of his own difficult and disrupted childhood had been spent in squats and communes. The other reason Robin didn’t respond was because she’d noticed something vaguely disquieting. After a full minute of silence, Strike noticed her regular glances into the mirror.
‘Something up?’
‘I’m… probably being paranoid.’
‘About what?’
‘Don’t look back,’ said Robin, ‘but we might be being followed.’
‘Who?’ said Strike, now watching the wing mirror.
‘The red Vauxhall Corsa behind the Mazda… but it might not be the same one.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘There was a red Corsa right behind us as we drove away from the garage in London. That one,’ said Robin, glancing in the rear-view mirror again, ‘has been keeping a car between us and it for the last few miles. Can you see the number plate?’
‘No,’ said Strike, squinting into the wing mirror. The driver was a fat man in sunglasses.
‘Weird.’
‘What?’
‘There’s another adult in there but they’re in the back seat… try speeding up. Overtake this Polo.’
Robin did so. Strike watched the Corsa in the wing mirror. It pulled out, overtook the Mazda, then settled back in behind the Polo.
‘Coincidence?’ said Robin.
‘Time will tell,’ said Strike, his eyes on the pursuant car.
105
Conflict within weakens the power to conquer danger without.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
‘I was being paranoid,’ said Robin.
She’d just taken the turning onto the A309 leading to Thames Ditton, but the red Vauxhall Corsa had continued along the A307 and vanished.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Strike, checking the pictures he’d taken covertly of the Corsa in the wing mirror. ‘They might just’ve wanted confirmation we’re visiting the Edensors.’
‘Which we’ve just given them, by turning off,’ said Robin anxiously. ‘Maybe they think Will and Qing are staying with Sir Colin?’
‘They might,’ agreed Strike. ‘We’d better warn him to keep a lookout for that car.’
The house in which Sir Colin and Lady Edensor had raised their three sons lay on the banks of the Thames, on the edge of a suburban village. Though its street face was unpretentious, its considerable size became apparent when Sir Colin led the two detectives through the house to the rear. A succession of airy rooms full of comfortable furniture culminated in a modern kitchen-cum-dining area, with walls composed largely of glass, revealing a long lawn running at a gentle slope down to the river.
Will’s older brothers were waiting silently in the kitchen: James, dark and scowling, was standing beside an expensive-looking coffee machine, while the younger and fairer son, Ed, was sitting at a large dining table, his walking stick propped against the wall behind him. Robin sensed tension in the room. Neither brother looked as though they’d been rejoicing that Will had, at last, left the UHC, nor did they make any noise or sign of welcome. The strained atmosphere suggested that hot words had been exchanged, prior to their arrival. With unconvincing cheeriness, Sir Colin said,
‘James and Ed wanted to be here, for the full update. Please, sit down,’ he said, gesturing towards the table where Ed was already sitting. ‘Coffee?’
‘That’d be great,’ said Strike.
Once five coffees had been made, Sir Colin had joined them at the table, although James remained standing.
‘So, Will’s staying with your office manager,’ said Sir Colin.
‘Pat, yes,’ said Strike. ‘I think it’s a good arrangement. Keeps him out of the vicinity of Rupert Court.’
‘I must give her some money for his food and board, until he… while he’s there.’
‘Very good of you,’ said Strike. ‘I’ll pass that on.’
‘Could I send over some of his clothes?’
‘I’d advise against,’ said Strike. ‘As I said to you on the phone, he’s threatened to take off again, if we tell you he’s out.’
‘Then perhaps, if I give you some extra money, you could pass that on, too, so he can buy some clothing, without saying where the money came from? I hate to think of him wandering around in that UHC tracksuit.’
‘Fine,’ said Strike.
‘You said you had more to tell me, in person.’
‘That’s right,’ said Strike.
He proceeded to give the Edensors full details of their interview the previous day with Will. When Strike had finished, there was a short silence. Then Ed said,
‘So basically, he wants you to find this Lin girl, then turn himself in to the police?’
‘Exactly,’ said Strike.
‘But you don’t know what he’s done, to warrant arrest?’
‘It could just be sleeping with Lin when she was underage,’ said Robin.
‘Well, I’ve spoken to my lawyers,’ said Sir Colin, ‘and their view is that if Will’s worried about the statutory rape charge – and we’ve currently got no reason to suppose he’s done worse than that – immunity from prosecution could be arranged, if he’s prepared to give evidence against the church, and Lin doesn’t want to press charges. Extenuating circumstances, coercion and so on – Rentons think he’d have a good chance of immunity.’
‘It’s not quite as simple as that,’ Robin said. ‘As Cormoran’s said, Will believes the Drowned Prophet will come for him if he—’
‘But he’s prepared to talk, right?’ said Ed, ‘Once this girl Lin’s found?’
‘Yes, but only because—’
‘Then we get him some psychotherapy, explain to him clearly that there’s no need for him to go to jail if immunity’s arranged—’
Robin, who’d liked Ed on their first meeting, found herself frustrated and angered by the slight trace of patronage in his voice. He seemed to think she was making difficulties about matters that, to him, were completely straightforward. While Robin had no intention of pressing charges against Will for assaulting her, the memory of him advancing on her, naked, penis in hand, in the Retreat Room was among the memories of Chapman Farm that would take a long time to fade. The Edensors were not only operating in ignorance of what Will had endured, they were also failing to comprehend the full scope of what he’d done to others; compassionate though Robin felt towards Will, she remained most worried about Lin.
‘The problem is,’ she said, ‘Will wants to go to jail. He’s institutionalised and riddled with guilt. If you offer him psychotherapy, he’ll refuse.’
‘That’s quite a presumption,’ said Ed, raising his eyebrows. ‘It hasn’t been offered yet. And you’re contradicting yourself: you just said he’s scared of the Drowned Prophet coming for him, if he talks. How’s he going to serve a prison term, if he’s – what does the Drowned Prophet do, exactly? Put curses on people? Kill them?’
‘You’re asking Robin to explain the irrational,’ said Strike, who allowed all the impatience into his voice that his partner was carefully repressing. ‘Will’s on a kind of kamikaze mission. Make sure Qing’s safely with her mother, then ’fess up to everything he’s done wrong, and either get sent down, or let the Prophet take him out.’
‘And you’re suggesting we allow him to implement this plan?’
‘Not at all,’ said Robin, before Strike could speak. ‘We’re simply saying Will needs very careful handling right now. He’s got to feel safe, and that he’s in control, and if he knows we’ve told his family he’s out, he might take off again. If we can just find Lin—’
‘What d’you mean, “if”?’ said James, from over beside the coffee machine. ‘Dad told us you know where she is.’
‘We think she’s at Zhou’s Borehamwood clinic,’ said Strike, ‘and we’ve just put someone in there undercover – but we can’t know she’s there until we’re inside.’
‘So we’re going to mollycoddle Will, and let him have it all his own way as usual, are we?’ said James. ‘If I were you,’ he said to the back of his father’s head, ‘I’d go straight over to this Pat woman’s house and tell him he’s caused enough bloody trouble and it’s time he got a grip.’
He now turned the coffee machine back on. Raising his voice over the loud grinding noise, Strike said,
‘If your father did that, the risk to Will might be bigger than you realise, and I’m not just talking about his mental health. On Monday, a masked figure holding a gun tried to break into our office, possibly to get their hands on the UHC case file,’ said Strike. Shock now registered on all three Edensors’ faces. ‘The church now knows they’ve had a private investigator undercover with them for sixteen weeks. Will had direct, one-on-one contact with Robin before he escaped, which means the UHC might assume he’s now told her everything he’s feeling so guilty about.
‘Will’s also taken off with Wace’s granddaughter. Wace doesn’t seem particularly attached to either Lin or Qing, but he values his own bloodline enough to keep all the children related to him at the farm, so I doubt he’s going to be happy Qing’s disappeared. Meanwhile, if we can get word to Lin that Qing’s out, it makes it very likely she’ll want to leave. Lin grew up in the church and is likely to know a damn sight more than Will does about what goes on in there.
‘In short, Will’s got his finger in the ring pull of a large can of worms which, incidentally, also incriminates a well-known novelist, who appears to be going to Chapman Farm to sleep with young girls, and an actress who’s been pouring money into a dangerous and abusive organisation. As far as we know, the church has no idea yet where Will is, but if family members start visiting him, or if he starts visiting family lawyers, that could change. We think we were followed here this morning—’
‘We aren’t sure,’ said Robin, in response to the increasing alarm on Sir Colin’s face.
‘—by a red Vauxhall Corsa,’ said Strike, as though there’d been no interruption. ‘I’d advise you to keep an eye out for it. It’s possible the UHC is keeping tabs on us, and on you.’
There was a brief, appalled silence.
‘You’ve been to the police about this masked intruder?’ said Sir Colin.
‘Naturally,’ said Strike, ‘but they’ve got nothing so far. Whoever it was was well disguised, right down to a balaclava, and dressed all in black – and that description tallies with the only sighting of Kevin Pirbright’s shooter.’
‘Dear God,’ muttered Ed.
James, who’d refilled his own mug without offering coffee to anyone else, now advanced on the table.
‘So, Will’s potentially put all of us in danger? My wife? My kids?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Strike.
‘Oh, wouldn’t you?’
‘They’ve never yet gone after the families of ex-members, except—’
‘Online,’ said Sir Colin. ‘Yes, I’ve seen my new Wikipedia page. Not that I care—’
‘You might not,’ said James loudly, ‘but I bloody well do! So what’s your solution to this mess?’ James threw at Strike. ‘Keep Will in hiding for a decade, while my father single-handedly funds an investigation into the whole fucking church?’
Strike deduced from this comment that Sir Colin had confided his doubts about the Daiyu line of enquiry to his elder son.
‘No,’ he began, but before he could elaborate on any course of action, Ed piped up.
‘It seems to me—’
‘Will you piss off with the bloody psychotherapy?’ spat James. ‘If they’re following and shooting people—’
‘I was going to say,’ said Ed, ‘that if this girl Lin’s prepared to give evidence against the church—’
‘She’s Wace’s daughter, she’s not going to—’
‘How the hell do you know?’
‘I know enough to know I don’t want to be beholden to her—’
‘We’ve got a duty of care—’ began Sir Colin.
‘No, we bloody don’t,’ shouted James. ‘Neither she, nor her bloody misbegotten child, are of any interest to me. That stupid little shit’s dragging Jonathan Wace’s people into our lives in place of our mother, who wouldn’t be bloody dead but for the UHC, and as far as I’m concerned, Will, this Lin and their bloody kid can go drown themselves—’
James swung his coffee mug towards the distant river, so that an arc of near-boiling black liquid hit Robin across the chest.
‘—and join his fucking prophet!’
Robin let out a shriek of pain; Strike yelled ‘Oi!’ and stood up; Ed also attempted to stand, but his weak leg gave way; Sir Colin said, ‘James!’ and while Robin was pulling scalding fabric away from her skin and looking frantically around for something to wash herself off with, Ed pushed himself back up on a second attempt and shouted at his elder brother, leaning on the table with both hands:
‘You’ve got this fucking narrative in your head – it was inoperable by the time they found it, it had been there since before Will joined the fucking church! You want to blame someone, blame me – she didn’t get herself checked because she was sitting next to me in hospital for five bloody months!’
With the two brothers yelling at each other so loudly nobody else could hear themselves speak, Robin left the table to grab some kitchen roll, which she ran under the cold tap then pressed beneath her shirt to relieve the burning on her skin.
‘Be quiet – BE QUIET!’ shouted Sir Colin, getting to his feet. ‘Miss Ellacott, I’m so sorry – are you…?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ said Robin, who, preferring not to mop hot coffee off her breasts with four men watching, turned her back on them.
James, who didn’t seem to have realised he was responsible for the large black stain across Robin’s cream shirt, began again.
‘As far as I’m concerned—’
‘Not going to apologise, then?’ snarled Strike.
‘It’s not your bloody place to tell me—’
‘You’ve just thrown boiling coffee all over my partner!’
‘What?’
‘I’m fine,’ lied Robin.
Having bathed the smarting area with cold kitchen roll, she put the wad into the bin and returned to the table, her wet shirt clinging to her. Taking her jacket off the back of her chair, she pulled it back on, silently reflecting that she’d now been injured by two Edensor sons; perhaps Ed would make it a hat trick before she left the house, and smash her round the head with his walking stick.
