‘Bloody freezing, isn’t it?’ were Shah’s first words when Robin joined him. ‘He’s been in there half an hour. Late breakfast.’
‘OK, thanks,’ said Robin.
She expected Shah to leave immediately, because he had a wife and two small children at home, and probably didn’t want to miss too much of the weekend, but to her surprise he lingered.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Go on,’ said Robin, wondering whether she was about to hear another complaint about Kim Cochran.
‘Why’s Bijou Watkins calling Strike?’
‘When did Bijou Watkins call him?’ asked Robin, surprised.
‘Yesterday. I was filing expenses at the office yesterday afternoon and I heard Pat passing on the message.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin. ‘Right. I… I don’t know. I mean, they broke up. Are you sure Pat said Bijou—?’
‘It’s not a name that sounds like much else,’ said Shah.
‘No,’ said Robin. ‘That’s true.’
‘We don’t need Strike messing around with Bijou bloody Watkins again,’ said Shah. ‘You missed all that, but for fuck’s sake—’
‘What did I miss?’ said Robin.
‘
The anxious knot in Robin’s belly tightened. Loyalty to Strike was conflicting with the desire to assuage Shah’s worries. They didn’t want to lose Shah: he was too good a detective.
‘Watkins could’ve been calling for some professional help,’ Robin temporised. ‘Not for any personal reason.’
‘Then he’d better have bloody well turned her down. We’ve got enough clients, we don’t need women he’s shagging.’
‘He doesn’t sleep with clients,’ said Robin.
‘He’d better not start,’ said Shah. ‘Sorry,’ he added curtly, ‘I know this isn’t your fault, but my wife believed that call girl story. She keeps asking me why I’m working for such a scumbag.’
‘That story wasn’t true,’ said Robin.
‘That’s what I told my wife,’ said Shah, ‘so it’d be good if Strike could keep his nose clean, going forwa – there’s Todd.’
Robin glanced across the road. The almost spherical cleaner, with his shining white pate and tufts of hair over his ears, had just emerged from Black Sheep Coffee, and was shuffling off down the street.
‘See you later,’ Robin told Shah, and she set off, trailing Todd on the opposite side of the road.
Confused and worried by what she’d just heard, Robin wanted to call Strike immediately and ask what was going on, but Todd was heading towards Holborn Tube, which was only a minute’s walk away, and sure enough, he crossed the four lanes of traffic ahead of her and disappeared into the station.
As she descended the escalator, keeping several people between herself and Todd, Robin mentally reviewed the evidence that Strike and Bijou’s liaison had ended months previously. He’d told her explicitly that he’d never considered Bijou a girlfriend. He hadn’t concealed Bijou’s pregnancy from Robin; on the contrary, not long after Robin had come out of Chapman Farm, Strike had told her the child was Honbold’s, with a perfect indifference that supported the impression that he couldn’t care less about mother or baby.
So perhaps Bijou really did want to hire a detective?… except that that didn’t ring true… Andrew Honbold wouldn’t want her hiring Strike, not after her name and the detective’s had been bracketed together in
Todd took the first available train east and sat down, short, fat legs splayed, apparently playing a game on his phone, while Robin stood and swayed, holding on to a ceiling hand strap, ready to move when Todd did, her thoughts a long way away from the egg-shaped man whose reflection she was watching in the dark window.
53
A. E. Housman
Strike, who had Saturday afternoon off, was currently standing in the inner office, once again contemplating the noticeboard where material relevant to the silver vault case was pinned, which he’d just rearranged.
He was attempting to drown out the low hum of dread that had dogged him since his call with Bijou in work. His eyes were currently fixed on the partial footprint found beneath Wright’s body. Several things about it had struck him, before these had been driven from his mind by the news about Bijou Watkins.