‘Well, everyone’s been scrambling to re-check everything Truman did, and they went back to the footage of the four men entering Wild Court from Great Queen Street. I don’t know the ins and outs, but they finally traced them. Four pissed foreign students, apparently. They were lost, wandered down Wild Court, had some kind of argument, split up and finally found their way back to their hostel. The police have ruled them out completely as having anything to do with the robbery, so now the mystery is, how and when did Wright get back to the shop if he wasn’t one of those four men, because they can’t find footage to match him anywhere.
‘Plus,’ said Kim, ‘there was something about a delivery driver called McGee or something who went to Dalston, but I didn’t quite understand what my contact was saying there. I’d got him quite drunk,’ Kim added, with another of her little laughs.
‘Dalston,’ repeated Strike, making a note.
‘Yeah, he drove there and back up Old Street or something, but as I say, I don’t know how that’s relevant – I expect you do,’ Kim said, smiling at Strike.
She sat back in her chair, legs crossed, and looking, as Robin supposed she had every right to do, exceptionally pleased with herself.
‘Anything new on that getaway car?’ asked Strike. ‘The Peugeot?’
‘Oh, yes, I nearly forgot,’ said Kim. ‘They think there was a couple in it. I assume some expert’s managed to enhance pictures of it from CCTV cameras that were actually working. It looks like a man and a woman.’
‘Right,’ said Strike. ‘Well, cheers, this is going to be a huge help.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Kim, still smiling, but she didn’t get up.
‘Um, would it be OK if I have a quick private word with Cormoran, Robin?’
Robin was surprised to find her hackles could rise any higher, but as it turned out, they still had plenty of room to elevate.
‘Of course,’ she said, trying to sound gracious as she got to her feet. She supposed she, too, ought to congratulate Kim on the extra information she’d got out of the police, but as Kim had acted until this point as though Robin was entirely invisible, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, but simply left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Sorry,’ Kim said to Strike, once Robin had gone, ‘but I thought you’d probably rather nobody else hears this.’
‘Hears what?’
‘Bijou Watkins is being followed by Farah Navabi’s agency, on Andrew Honbold’s instructions.’
Strike simply stared at her. The sentence contained components that didn’t appear to fit together.
‘Farah’s still keen on me joining her,’ said Kim. ‘She rang last night and told me you’re going to be hounded out of business by bad press.’
Ignoring a sudden burning sensation behind his navel, Strike said,
‘Andrew Honbold hired Farah Navabi? The woman who bugged his office?’
‘She said all that stuff about him being a “good, good man” on the stand, and cried about how she was coerced by Patterson and he lapped it up. So he’s hired her to follow Watkins.’
‘Why?’ said Strike. ‘Why’s he having her followed?’
‘I don’t know, but Navabi seemed to think it might be a problem for you.’
‘OK,’ said Strike, ‘thanks for the tip.’
Kim got up.
‘And we’re good about the Midge thing, right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, who just wanted her to leave. ‘Fine.’
Kim left the room. Robin reappeared in the doorway.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked, because Strike’s expression was now strangely shut down.
‘Yeah, fine,’ said Strike again, checking his watch. They still had a good bit of time before lunch with Decima. ‘Actually – could you give me another moment? Need to make a phone call.’
Robin withdrew again. To her displeasure, Kim was taking her time about leaving the office, standing beside the door and fiddling with the contents of her shoulder bag. As Pat’s chair was empty, Robin assumed she was in the bathroom on the landing. Kim looked round, and said, smiling,
‘Didn’t want to do that, but he had to know.’
‘Know what?’ said Robin.
‘Probably shouldn’t say,’ said Kim, maddeningly smug. She pulled on her coat, and left.
Meanwhile, in the inner office, Strike was trying to contact his old friend, lawyer Ilsa Herbert, the woman through whom Strike had met Bijou in the first place. Ilsa couldn’t be blamed for Strike and Bijou’s two-night stand; indeed, she’d tried to warn him off the woman after their first night together, telling him she was mouthy and indiscreet, but Strike – exasperated by the unsolicited advice and angry about Robin’s deepening relationship with Murphy – had made it clear to Ilsa that his private life was none of her concern.
Ilsa’s mobile was engaged. Strike redialled several times, and the five minutes it took him to reach her felt like an hour. At last, she answered.
‘Hi, Corm.’
