The Running Grave, page 90
In any case, whatever his half-niece and nephew’s feelings about him, neither had offered Strike anything to eat. He didn’t take it personally; as far as he could remember, offering food to adults he barely knew wouldn’t have figured high on his list of priorities at their age, either. Half an hour previously, he’d sneaked into the kitchen and, not wanting to be accused of taking liberties, helped himself to a few biscuits. Now, still extremely hungry, he was thinking of suggesting to Robin that they stop off at a drive-in McDonald’s on the way back to Pat’s when his mobile buzzed. Happy to have something to do, Strike reached for it and saw Midge’s number.
Tash just texted me. She hasn’t found the note. The robe was taken away before she got back to the massage place. Nobody’s asked her about tapping on the window. What do you want her to do?
Strike texted back:
Nothing. Police now know Lin’s being held against her will there. Just cover the exit, in case they move her.
He’d barely finished typing when the door of Prudence’s consulting room opened. His sister left the room first. Then came Will, who looked slightly shell-shocked.
‘Is it all right,’ he muttered to Prudence, ‘if I use your bathroom?’
‘Of course,’ said Prudence. ‘Down the hall, second left.’
Will disappeared. Now a large, curly haired woman dressed all in black emerged from the room, followed by Robin. Prudence had gone to open the front door, but Flora turned to Robin and said shyly,
‘Can I hug you?’
‘Of course,’ said Robin, opening her arms.
Strike watched the two women embrace. Robin muttered something in Flora’s ear, and the latter nodded, before casting a nervous look in Strike’s direction and moving out of sight.
Robin immediately entered the sitting room and said, in a rapid whisper,
‘Loads – loads of information. The Loving Cure – Papa J screws gay and mentally ill women, to cure them. The Dragon Meadow: they bury people who’ve died at Chapman Farm in the ploughed field, and Flora’s certain the deaths aren’t registered. But the big one’s the Living Sacrifice. It—’
Will entered the sitting room, still looking vaguely disorientated.
‘All right?’ said Strike.
‘Yeah,’ said Will.
They heard the front door close. Prudence now entered the room.
‘Sorry that went on so long,’ she said to Strike. ‘Did Sylvie or Gerry get you something to eat?’
‘Er – no, but it’s fine,’ said Strike.
‘Then let me—’
‘Really, it’s fine,’ said Strike, who’d now mentally committed to a burger and chips. ‘We need to get Will back to Qing.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Prudence. She looked up at Will.
‘If you ever want to talk to someone, Will, I wouldn’t charge you. Think about it, OK? Or I can recommend another therapist. And do read the books I lent Robin.’
‘Thanks,’ said Will. ‘Yeah. I will.’
Prudence now turned to Robin.
‘That was a massive breakthrough for Flora. I’ve never seen her like that before.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Robin, ‘I really am.’
‘And I think, you sharing your own experience – that was crucial.’
‘Well, there’s no rush,’ said Robin. ‘She can think over what she wants to do next, but I meant what I said. I’d be with her every step of the way. Anyway, thanks so much for arranging this, Prudence, it was really helpful. We should probably—’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, whose stomach was loudly rumbling.
Strike, Robin and Will walked in silence back to the car.
‘You hungry?’ Strike asked Will, very much hoping the answer was yes. Will nodded.
‘Great,’ said Strike, ‘we’ll swing by a McDonald’s.’
‘What about Cedar Terrace?’ said Robin, turning on the engine. ‘Are we going to check whether Rosie Fernsby’s there?’
‘Might as well,’ said Strike. ‘Not a big detour, is it? But if we see a McDonald’s, we’ll do that first.’
‘Fine,’ said Robin, amused.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ said Strike, as they pulled away.
‘I think I got used to less food at Chapman Farm,’ said Robin. ‘I’m acclimatised.’
Strike, who very much wanted to hear Robin’s new information, gathered from her silence that she considered it inadvisable to dredge up everything that had happened in the consulting room with Will present. The latter looked exhausted and troubled.
‘Have you heard from Midge?’ Robin asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘nothing new.’
Robin’s heart sank. She could tell from Strike’s tone that ‘nothing new’ meant ‘nothing good’, but in deference to Will’s feelings, she forwent further questions.
They crossed Twickenham Bridge with its bronze lamps and balustrades, the Thames glinting, gunmetal grey, below, and Strike wound down the window to vape. As he did so, he glanced in the wing mirror. A blue Ford Focus was following them. He watched it for a few seconds, then said,
‘There’s—’
‘A car following us, with dodgy number plates,’ said Robin. ‘I know.’
She’d just spotted it. The plates were fake and illegal, the kind that could be ordered easily online. The car had been moving steadily closer since they’d moved into Richmond.
‘Shit,’ said Robin, ‘I think I saw it on the way to Prudence’s, but it was hanging back. Shit,’ she added, looking into the rear-view mirror, ‘is the driver—?’
‘Wearing a balaclava, yeah,’ said Strike. ‘But I don’t think it’s the Franks.’
Both remembered Strike’s bullish assertion earlier that they’d stop and confront anyone who seemed to be tailing them. Each, watching the car, knew this would be exceptionally unwise.
‘Will,’ said Robin, ‘duck down, please, right down. And hold on – you too,’ she told Strike.
Without indicating, Robin accelerated and took a hard right. The Ford’s driver was caught off guard; they swerved into the middle of the road, almost colliding with oncoming traffic as Robin sped off, first through a car park, then down a narrow residential road.
‘The fuck did you know you’d be able to get out the other side of the car park?’ said Strike, who was holding on as best he could. Robin was twenty miles over the speed limit.
‘Been here before,’ said Robin, who, again failing to indicate, now turned left onto a wider road. ‘I was following that cheating accountant. Where are they?’
‘Catching up,’ said Strike, turning to look. ‘Just hit two parked cars.’
Robin slammed her foot on the accelerator. Two pedestrians crossing the road had to sprint to get out of her way.
‘Shit,’ she shouted again, as it became clear that they were about to rejoin the A316, going back the way they’d come.
‘Doesn’t matter, just go—’
Robin took the corner at such speed she narrowly missed the central barrier.
‘Will,’ she said, ‘keep down, for God’s sake, I—’
The rear window and windscreen shattered. The bullet had passed so close to Strike’s head he’d felt its heat: with blank whiteness where there’d been glass, Robin was driving blind.
‘Punch it out!’ she shouted at Strike, who took off his seat belt to oblige. A second loud bang: they heard the bullet hit the boot. Strike was thumping broken glass out of the windscreen to give Robin visibility; fragments showered down upon both of them.
A third shot: this time wide.
‘Hold on!’ Robin said again, and she skidded around the turn into the other lane, making it by inches, causing Strike to smash his face into the intact side window.
‘Sorry, sorry—’
‘Fuck that, GO!’
The passing bullet had flooded Strike’s brain with white-hot panic; he had the irrational conviction that the car was about to explode. Craning around in his seat, he saw the Ford hit the barrier at speed.
‘That’s fucked them – no – shit—’
The crash hadn’t been disabling. The Ford was reversing, trying to make the turn.
‘Go, GO!’
As Robin slammed her foot to the floor, she saw a flashing blue light on the other side of the road.
‘Where’s the Ford? Where’s the Ford?’
‘Can’t see—’
‘What are you going that way for?’ Robin yelled at the passing police car, which was going in the opposite direction. ‘Hold on—’
She steered a hard left at speed into another narrow street.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Strike, whose face had hit what remained of the windscreen, and who couldn’t believe she’d made the turn.
‘And again!’ said Robin, the BMW tipping slightly as she took a right.
‘They’ve gone,’ said Strike, looking at the wing mirror and as he wiped away the blood trickling down his face. ‘Slow down – you’ve lost them… fuck.’
Robin decelerated. She turned another corner, then steered into a parking space and braked, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly she had to make a conscious effort to let go. They could hear sirens in the distance.
‘You all right, Will?’ asked Strike, looking back at the young man now lying in the dark footwell, covered in glass.
‘Yeah,’ said Will faintly.
A group of young men were walking up the dark street towards them.
‘You’ve got a crack in your windscreen, love,’ said one of them, to hearty guffaws from his mates.
‘You all right?’ Strike asked Robin.
‘Better than you,’ she answered, looking at the cut on his face.
‘Windscreen, not bullet,’ said Strike, drawing out his mobile and keying in 999.
‘D’you think they got him?’ Robin asked, looking over her shoulder in the direction of the sirens.
‘We’ll find out soon enough. Police,’ he told the operator.
119
Nine in the fifth place means:
Resolute conduct.
Perseverance with awareness of danger.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
‘This is the fifth time we’ve spoken to the police about the UHC and suspicious activity around our office,’ said Strike. ‘I appreciate that you don’t have all that information immediately to hand, I know I’m giving you a lot of back story you might think is irrelevant, but I’m not going to lie: I’d appreciate it if you stopped looking at me like I’m a fucking idiot.’
It was two o’clock in the morning. It had taken an hour for Strike’s heart rate to slow to an appropriate rate for a stationary forty-one-year-old male. He was still sitting in the small police interview room he’d been taken to upon arrival at the local station. Having been asked whether he knew why someone might want to shoot him, Strike had given a full account of the agency’s current investigation into the UHC, advised his interrogator to look up Kevin Pirbright’s murder, explained that a gun-toting intruder had tried to break into their office a week previously and informed the officer this was the second time he and Robin had been tailed in a car in the last couple of weeks.
The sheer scale of Strike’s story seemed to aggravate PC Bowers, a long-necked man with an adenoidal voice. As Bowers became more openly sceptical and incredulous (‘A church has got it in for you?’) Strike had been provoked into open irritability. Aside from everything else, he was now exceptionally hungry. A request for food had led to the production of three plain biscuits and a cup of milky tea, and given that he was the victim of the shooting rather than a suspect, Strike felt he was owed a little more consideration.
Robin, meanwhile, was dealing with a different kind of problem. She’d finished giving her statement to a perfectly friendly and competent female officer, but had declined a lift home, instead insisting that Will be driven back to Pat’s. Having seen Will into the police car, Robin returned to the waiting room and, with a sense of dread but knowing she had no choice, called Murphy to tell him what had happened.
His reaction to her news was, understandably, one of alarm and well-justified concern. Even so, Robin had to bite back angry retorts to what she considered Murphy’s statements of the obvious: that extra security measures would now be necessary and that the police would need every scrap of information Strike and Robin could provide them about the UHC. Unknowingly echoing Strike, Robin said,
‘This is literally the fifth time we’ve spoken to police about the church. We haven’t been hiding anything.’
‘No, I know, I get that, but bloody hell, Robin – wish I could come and pick you up. I’m stuck with this bloody stabbing in Southall.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Robin, ‘there isn’t a mark on me. I’ll call an Uber.’
‘Don’t call an Uber, for Christ’s sake, let one of the cops take you home. Can’t believe they haven’t nicked the shooter.’
‘Maybe they have, by now.’
‘It shouldn’t be taking them this bloody long!’
‘They radioed ahead to a couple of cars to try and cut him off, but I don’t know what happened – either they didn’t get there in time, or he knew a detour.’
‘They’ll must have him on camera, though. A316, bound to have.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin. She felt slightly jittery, perhaps a result of coffee on an empty stomach. ‘Listen, Ryan, I’ll have to go.’
‘Yeah, OK. I’m bloody glad you’re safe. Love you.’
‘I love you too,’ murmured Robin, because she’d just seen movement out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough, as she hung up, Strike emerged at last from his interview room, looking extremely grumpy.
‘You’re still here,’ said Strike, cheering up at the sight of her. ‘Thought you might’ve gone. Aren’t you knackered?’
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘I feel… wired.’
‘Getting shot at has that effect on me, too,’ said Strike. ‘What would you say to going and getting that McDonald’s?’
‘Sounds fantastic,’ said Robin, slipping her mobile back into her pocket.
120
If we are not on guard, evil will succeed in escaping by means of concealment, and when it has eluded us new misfortunes will develop from the remaining seeds, for evil does not die easily.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Forty minutes later, Strike and Robin got out of their Uber outside a twenty-four-hour McDonald’s on the Strand.
‘I’m having everything,’ said Strike, as they headed to the counter. ‘You?’
‘Um – Big Mac and—’
‘Oh, shit, what now?’ growled Strike, as his mobile rang. Answering, he heard Midge’s voice and a car engine.
‘I think they’re moving Lin. Tasha saw two men going into the office this afternoon. They were shown into the annexe, came out, left again. She didn’t realise at the time they were police, because they were plainclothes – they drove in right past me, I should’ve realised they were cops, but honestly, they were both that well groomed, I thought they might be a gay couple having a getaway. I’ve been living in this car for the last three days and I’m knackered,’ she added defensively.
‘I know the feeling,’ said Strike, watching Robin order.
‘Next thing, Tasha’s called in to see Zhou. “You appear to have lost this, I hope it’s not important.” They’d found the note in the pocket of her robes. She acted innocent, obviously—’
‘Fuck’s sake, what’s happening now?’
‘I’m trying to tell you! Tasha thought she’d better clear out before she gets locked in an annexe too—’
‘I’m not interested in Tasha!’
‘Charming,’ said the actress’s voice in the background.
‘Oh, for—’ said Strike, closing his eyes and running a hand over his face.
‘A plain van came out the front gates of the clinic ten minutes ago. We’re sure Lin’s in there. Three a.m.’s a bloody funny time to be driving vans around. Did I wake you up, by the way?’
‘No,’ said Strike, ‘listen—’
‘So we’re tailing—’
‘BLOODY LISTEN!’
Robin, the McDonald’s servers and the other customers all turned to stare. Strike marched out of the restaurant. Once on the pavement he said,
‘I’m awake because my car just got shot up, with Robin and me in it—’
‘Wh—?’
‘—and my information is the church has got guns, plural. This hour of the morning, it’ll be obvious you’re following that van. Give it up.’
‘But—’
‘You don’t know Lin’s in there. It’s too big a risk. You’ve got a civilian with you – a civilian they know knows too much. Get the number plate, then go home.’
‘But—’
‘Do – not – fucking – argue – with – me,’ said Strike in a dangerous voice. ‘I’ve told you what I want. Fucking do it.’
Seething, he turned back, only to see Robin carrying two large bags of food.
‘Let’s have it in the office,’ she suggested, keen not to draw any more attention to themselves inside the restaurant. ‘It’s only ten minutes up the road. Then we can talk properly.’
‘Fine,’ said Strike irritably, ‘but give me a burger first.’
So they walked through the dark streets towards Denmark Street, Strike telling Robin what Midge had just said between large mouthfuls of burger. He’d already started on a bag of fries before they reached the familiar black door, with its skeleton-key-proof new lock. Once upstairs, Robin unpacked the rest of the food at the partners’ desk. She still felt wide awake.
