Robin was glad to get to bed in her old room. Murphy fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down. Robin listened to the sounds of the others going in and out of the bathroom, of Annabel’s parents checking on her in Martin’s old room, of Jonathan moving around in the attic conversion where, as the last-born, he’d had to sleep when young. She wondered for a few minutes what was in the flat, square box Strike had given her for Christmas, which she’d left at the bottom of her holdall when unpacking, rather than taking it downstairs and putting it beneath the Christmas tree, as she and Murphy had done with the presents they’d bought the family, and each other. Strike’s box had the size and weight appropriate to a piece of jewellery, but she could think of nothing less likely than her detective partner giving her something so personal, not when he’d been scared out of buying her perfume one year because the names had seemed too intimate. The memory of Strike telling her he’d panicked at the idea of giving her a bottle labelled something like ‘Shaggable You’ made her smile in the dark.
35
Robert Browning
Strike considered self-pity an unjustifiable waste of time, yet the dejection gripping him the following morning refused to lift. Whatever Robin had said previously about the strains of a family Christmas, who was to say she wouldn’t be softened by the festive atmosphere once she got to Masham? There’d be kids and carol services, and maybe mulled bloody wine, and everyone charmed by her immensely eligible CID officer… Strike had only ever visited Masham once before, to gatecrash Robin’s wedding. Well, he was fucked if he’d do that a second time.
He was currently sitting in his BMW, keeping watch over a builders’ warehouse to which he’d tailed the unemployed Plug. While watching the warehouse doors for Plug’s reappearance, Strike exacerbated his own despondency by pondering the many other dilemmas facing him.
Fergus Robertson’s article had appeared in the
He had no intention of accepting his father’s offer of financial help, which he was certain stemmed from a desire on Rokeby’s part to bolster his own public image. Strike considered that Rokeby had violated a territorial boundary by calling his office in Denmark Street and speaking to one of Strike’s employees. Yes, Robin was probably right: the wisest course was to ignore his father, but if she returned from Masham engaged, Strike would consider all previous pledges cancelled.
Meanwhile, Jade, the abandoned wife of Niall Semple, had texted him the previous evening.
look theres no point you coming to see me because I don’t think Niall was the man in that shop any more
This was bad news, because in the event that Robin returned from Masham ringless, a trip to Scotland would give Strike an excellent opportunity to declare himself, whereas if they were only travelling as far as Ironbridge, it would be difficult to justify an overnight stay in a hotel. He’d typed back:
What changed your mind?
Her answer was,
I think he’s with another woman
Strike had replied asking whether it wouldn’t put her mind at rest to make sure her husband hadn’t been in the vault, but there’d been no response.
As if all this wasn’t enough to be dealing with, Strike had received an anonymous call to his mobile, forwarded from the office phone, shortly after leaving Denmark Street that morning. After some guttural breathing, a rasping voice had said,
‘Leave it. We’ve got gow-too on our side.
‘The fuck’s “gow-too”?’ Strike had said, at which the caller had hung up.