The Running Grave, page 81
‘I’m sorry,’ said James, taken aback. ‘I genuinely – I didn’t mean to do that…’
‘Will didn’t mean to do what he’s done, either,’ said Robin, feeling that if she had to get scalded, the least she was owed was to be able to capitalise on it. ‘He did a really stupid, careless thing, and he knows it, but he never meant to hurt anyone.’
‘I want this girl Lin found,’ said Sir Colin in a low voice, before James could respond. ‘I don’t want to hear another word about it, James. I want her found. And after that…’
He looked at Strike.
‘I’m prepared to fund another three months of investigation into Daiyu Wace’s death. If you can prove it was suspicious, that she’s not the deity they’ve turned her into, that might help Will – but if you haven’t found out anything after three months, we’ll drop it. In the meantime, please thank your office manager for looking after Will, and… we’ll keep our eyes open for that Vauxhall Corsa.’
106
It is true that there are still dividing walls on which we stand confronting one another. But the difficulties are too great. We get into straits, and this brings us to our senses. We cannot fight, and therein lies our good fortune.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Robin. ‘No Corsa.’
She’d been checking her rear-view mirror far more often than usual all the way back to London, and was certain they hadn’t been followed.
‘Maybe you should ring the Edensors and say it was a false alarm?’ she suggested.
‘Whoever was in that Corsa might’ve realised we’d seen them,’ Strike replied. ‘I still think the Edensors need to keep their eyes peeled… You can charge the dry-cleaning on that shirt to the agency,’ he added. He hadn’t liked to mention it, but the BMW now smelled strongly of coffee.
‘No dry-cleaner on earth’s going to get this out,’ said Robin, ‘and the accountant wouldn’t let me charge it, anyway.’
‘Then charge it to the busi—’
‘It’s old, and it was cheap when it was new. I don’t care.’
‘I do,’ said Strike. ‘Careless arsehole.’
Robin might have reminded Strike he’d once almost broken her nose when she’d tried to stop him punching a suspect, but decided against.
They parted at the garage where Strike kept his BMW. As Robin hadn’t said anything more about what she was up to that evening, Strike was confirmed in his view that it had something to do with Murphy, and set off back to the office in an irritable mood he chose to attribute to James Edensor’s barely veiled accusation that the agency was financially exploiting his father. Robin, meanwhile, headed straight to Oxford Street, where she bought a cheap new shirt, changed in a department store bathroom, then sprayed herself liberally with a perfume tester to get rid of the coffee smell, because she had no time to go home and change before she met Prudence.
She’d called the therapist the previous evening, and Prudence, who had a dental appointment, had suggested they meet in an Italian restaurant close by the surgery. Robin found herself hyper-alert as she travelled to Kensington High Street by Tube. She’d been followed before, doing this job, and Strike’s refusal to be reassured by the Corsa’s non-appearance on their return journey to London had put her slightly on edge. At one point, she thought a large man with heavy eyebrows might be following her, but on moving aside to let him pass, he merely strode past her, muttering under his breath.
On arriving at Il Portico, Robin was pleased to find it smaller and cosier than she’d imagined, given its upmarket location; her workday clothes were entirely appropriate, even if Prudence, who was already seated, looked far more elegant in her dark blue dress.
‘I’m still numb,’ Prudence said, pointing at her left cheek as she stood to kiss Robin on both cheeks. ‘I’m a bit scared of drinking, in case it all dribbles out… you’ve lost a lot of weight, Robin,’ she added, as she sat back down.
‘Yes, well, they don’t feed you a lot in the UHC,’ said Robin, taking the opposite seat. ‘Did you have to have anything awful done at the dentist?’
‘It was supposed to be replacing an old filling, but then he found another one that needed doing,’ said Prudence, fingering the side of her face. ‘Have you ever been here before?’
‘Never.’
‘Best pasta in London,’ said Prudence, passing Robin the menu. ‘What d’you want to drink?’
‘Well, I’m not driving,’ said Robin, ‘so I’ll have a glass of Prosecco.’
Prudence asked for this while Robin perused the menu, well aware that Prudence’s good mood might be about to change. When each had given their order, she said,
‘You were probably surprised to hear from me.’
‘Well,’ said Prudence, smiling, ‘not entirely. I’ve had a sort of impression, from what Corm’s told me, that you’re the emotionally intelligent side of the partnership.’
‘Right,’ said Robin cautiously. ‘So… did you think I wanted to meet to try and make things right between you and Strike?’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Afraid not,’ said Robin. ‘I’m here to talk about Flora Brewster.’
The smile slid off Prudence’s face. As Robin had anticipated, she looked not only dismayed, but angry.
‘So he’s sent you—?’
‘He hasn’t sent me. I’m here entirely on my own account. He might well be furious, once he finds out what I’ve done.’
‘But he’s clearly worked out who—’
‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘He knows Torment Town’s Flora. We had an argument about it, actually. He thinks Flora ought to be testifying against the UHC, not drawing pictures of what she witnessed in there, but I told him, maybe the Pinterest stuff was her way of processing it all. I said she probably went through appalling things in there. In the end, Strike agreed not to go after her, not to pursue her, as a lead.’
‘I see,’ said Prudence slowly. ‘Well, thank you for—’
‘But I’ve changed my mind.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ repeated Robin. ‘That’s why I asked you to meet me. I want to talk to Flora.’
Prudence, as Robin had expected, now looked openly angry.
‘You can’t do this, Robin. You can’t. Do you realise what kind of position this puts me in? The only way Corm could have worked out who she was—’
‘He already knew Flora had been in the church. He had dates, knew when she left – everything. That’s how, when you rang him and accused him of badgering your client, he was able to work out who Torment Town was.’
‘It’s immaterial what you knew, before. With respect, Robin—’
‘With equal respect, Prudence, you had a choice whether or not to tell us you had a client who’d escaped the UHC, and you told us. You also had a choice as to whether or not to call Strike and accuse him of badgering your client. You were the one who enabled him to work out her identity. You can’t blame him for doing his job.’
The waiter now arrived with Robin’s Prosecco and she took a large swig.
‘I’m here because the person we were hired to extract from the UHC got out yesterday, but they’re very messed up, and probably in danger. Not just of suicide,’ she added, when Prudence made to speak. ‘We think the church might take a more active role in their death, if given the chance.’
‘Which proves,’ said Prudence, in a heated whisper, ‘that you two don’t understand what you’re meddling with. People who get out of the UHC are often delusional. They think the church, or the Drowned Prophet, is stalking them, watching them, maybe going to kill them, but it’s all paran—’
‘A masked gunman tried to break into our office on Monday. They were caught on camera. An ex-member of the church was shot through the head last year. We know for a fact they kept tabs on a mother of two, who hanged herself this week after getting a call from an anonymous number.’
For the second time that day, Robin watched the effect of this kind of information on somebody who’d never had to face the threat of violence in their daily lives.
The waiter now set down antipasti on the table between the two women. Robin, who was extremely hungry, reached for some Parma ham.
‘I’m not going to do anything that will endanger the well-being of my client,’ Prudence told Robin in a low voice. ‘So if you’ve come here wanting – I don’t know – an introduction, or confidential information on her—’
‘Maybe, subconsciously, you want her to testify,’ said Robin, and she watched the colour mount in Prudence’s face. ‘That’s why you said too much.’
‘And maybe, subconsciously, you only talked Corm out of meeting me himself, so you could—’
‘Make myself a heroine in his eyes? If we’re taking cheap shots, I might say your secondary motive for telling us you had a client who was just out of the UHC was because you wanted to increase intimacy with your new brother.’
Before Prudence could articulate the undoubtedly furious speech germinating behind her brown eyes, Robin continued,
‘There’s a child at Chapman Farm. He’s called Jacob. I don’t know his surname – it should be Wace or Pirbright, but they probably never registered his birth…’
Robin told the story of her ten hours looking after Jacob. She described the boy’s convulsions, his laboured breathing, his attenuated limbs, his pitiful fight to remain alive in spite of starvation and neglect.
‘Somebody’s got to hold them accountable,’ Robin said. ‘Credible people – and more than one. I can’t do it alone, I’m too compromised by the job I went in to do. But if two or three intelligent people were to take the stand, and say what goes on in there, what happened to them and what they witnessed happening to others, I’m certain others would come forward. It would snowball.’
‘So you want me to ask Flora to back up your client’s relative?’
‘And he’d back her up,’ said Robin. ‘There’s also a chance of two more witnesses, if we can get them out. They both want to leave.’
Prudence took a large gulp of red wine, but half of it dribbled out of the side of her mouth.
‘Shit.’
She dabbed at the stain with her napkin. Robin watched, unmoved. Prudence could afford the dry-cleaning, and indeed a new dress, if she wanted it.
‘Look,’ said Prudence, chucking down her wine-stained napkin and lowering her voice again, ‘you don’t realise: Flora’s deeply troubled.’
‘Maybe it would help her to testify.’
‘That’s an incredibly glib thing to say.’
‘I’m speaking from personal experience,’ said Robin. ‘I became agoraphobic and clinically depressed after I was raped, strangled and left for dead when I was nineteen. Testifying was important in my recovery. I’m not saying it was easy, and I’m not saying it was the only thing that helped, but it did help.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Prudence, startled, ‘I didn’t know—’
‘Well, I’d rather you still didn’t know,’ said Robin bluntly. ‘I don’t really enjoy talking about it, and people have a tendency to think you’re using it, when you bring it up in discussions like this.’
‘I’m not saying you’re—’
‘I know you’re not, but most people would rather not hear it, because it makes them uncomfortable, and some people think it’s indecent to mention it at all. I’m trying to tell you that I can very much sympathise with Flora not wanting the worst time in her life to define her forever – but the fact is, it’s already defining her.
‘I got back a sense of power and self-worth from getting that rapist sent down. I’m not claiming it was easy, because it was horrible – it was hard, and to be honest, I frequently felt like I didn’t want to live any more, but it still helped, not while I was going through it, but afterwards, because I knew I’d helped stop him doing it to anyone else.’
Prudence now looked deeply conflicted.
‘Look, Robin,’ she said, ‘obviously I sympathise with you wanting to take the church to court, but I can’t say what I’d like to say, because I’ve got a duty of confidentiality – which,’ she added, ‘as you’ve already pointed out, it might be argued I’ve broken merely by telling you and Corm I’ve got a client who’s ex-UHC.’
‘I never said you’d broken—’
‘Fine, maybe that’s my guilty conscience talking!’ said Prudence, with sudden heat. ‘Maybe I felt bad, after you and Corm left, that I’d said that much! Maybe I did wonder whether I hadn’t said it for exactly the reason you’ve just suggested: to bind myself closer to him, to be part of the investigation, somehow.’
‘Wow,’ said Robin. ‘You must be a really good therapist.’
‘What?’ said Prudence, disconcerted.
‘To be that honest,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve had therapy. To be totally honest, I only liked one of them. Sometimes there’s a… a smugness.’
She drank more Prosecco, then said,
‘You’re wrong about me wanting to be a heroine in Corm’s eyes. I’m here because I thought he’d mess it up if he did it, and he might get personal.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Prudence, looking tense.
‘You’ll have noticed he’s got a massive chip on his shoulder about people with unearned wealth. He’s down on Flora for not working, for – as he sees it – sitting at home doing drawings of what she experienced, rather than reporting it. I was worried, if you pushed back at him the way you’re pushing back now, he’d start having a go at you for – oh, you know.’
‘For taking our father’s money?’
‘Whether you do or you don’t is none of my business,’ said Robin. ‘But I didn’t want you two to fall out any worse than you have already, because I meant what I said to you before. I think you might be exactly what he needs.’
The waiter now reappeared to clear away the antipasti, of which only Robin had partaken. Prudence’s expression had softened somewhat, and Robin decided to press her advantage.
‘Let me tell you, from my experience of Chapman Farm, what factors I think might make Flora afraid of testifying. Firstly,’ she said, counting on her fingers, ‘the sex stuff. I empathise. I’ve already told Strike she’ll have been effectively raped for five years.
‘Secondly, all sex is unprotected, so there’s a possibility she had children in there.’
She saw the tiniest flicker of Prudence’s left eye, but pretended she hadn’t noticed.
‘Thirdly, she might have done things in there that are criminal, and be terrified of prosecution. It’s well-nigh impossible not to end up coerced into criminal behaviour at Chapman Farm, as I know.’
This time, Prudence’s hand rose, apparently unconsciously, to obscure her face, as she brushed her hair unnecessarily out of her face.
‘Lastly,’ said Robin, wondering whether she was about to ruin the interview entirely, but certain she ought to say it, ‘you, as her therapist, might have urged caution about testifying or going to the police, because you’re worried she’s not mentally strong enough to cope with the fallout, especially as a lone witness.’
‘Well,’ said Prudence, ‘let me repay the compliment. You’re clearly very good at your job, too.’
The waiter now brought their main courses. Too hungry to resist, Robin took one mouthful of her tagliatelle with ragu and let out a moan of pleasure.
‘Oh my God, you weren’t wrong.’
Prudence still looked tense and anxious. She started on her own spaghetti and ate in silence for a while. Finally, having cleared half her plate, Robin said,
‘Prudence, I swear to you I wouldn’t say this if it weren’t true. We believe Flora witnessed something very serious inside the church. Very serious.’
‘What?’
‘If she hasn’t told you, I don’t think I should.’
Prudence now put down her spoon and fork. Judging it best to let Prudence speak in her own time, Robin continued to eat.
At last, the therapist said quietly,
‘There’s something she won’t tell me. She skirts around it. She comes close, then backs off. It’s to do with the Drowned Prophet.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, ‘it would be.’
‘Robin…’
Prudence appeared to have reached a decision. In a whisper, she said,
‘Flora’s morbidly obese. She self-harms. She’s got a drink problem. She’s on so many anti-depressants she barely knows what day it is.’
‘She’s trying to block out something terrible,’ said Robin. ‘She witnessed something most of us will never witness. At best, it was gross negligence manslaughter. At worst, it was murder.’
‘What?’
‘All I wanted to say to you tonight,’ said Robin, ‘all I wanted to ask, is that you bear in mind how much good she could do, if she testified. We’re certain immunity from prosecution could be arranged. Flora and our client’s relative were both young and vulnerable, and I can testify as to what the church does to enforce silence and obedience.
‘The thing is,’ said Robin, ‘I was a nice intelligent middle-class girl with a steady boyfriend when I was raped. The only two other girls who survived him – they weren’t like that. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. One of the girls fell apart completely under questioning. They made out the other one was so promiscuous, she’d almost certainly had sex with him consensually – all because she’d once worn a pair of fluffy handcuffs to have sex with a man she met in a club.
‘Flora’s well educated and wealthy. Nobody can paint her as some chancer who’s after a pay-out.’
‘There’d be other ways to discredit her, Robin.’
‘But if our client’s relative testifies, she’d have back-up. The trouble is, our other two potential witnesses have been in the church pretty much all their lives. One of them’s sixteen at most. They’re going to struggle to reorientate themselves, even if we get them out. No clocks, no calendars, no normal frames of reference – I can see the church’s lawyers making mincemeat out of them, unless they’re given cover by people with more credibility.
