Strike knew his expression had betrayed both surprise and displeasure, and he also saw that this gave Lawrence satisfaction. With a long drive behind him, an aching knee and hamstring, a forced climb up the stairs at the connivance of a man who knew he had half a leg missing, and a wet sleeve where beer had slopped over it, Strike was hard put to conceal his resentment. As he sat down opposite Lawrence, a kind of Rolodex of theories whirled inside his head, and it halted on the most obvious question.
‘Rena invite me here, or was that you?’
‘She did,’ said Lawrence smoothly, ‘but we were watching.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She’s been sectioned.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s been trying to get hold of a gun.’
‘What for?’
‘You’ve found her social media. You tell me which group of people she might think deserves shooting.’
Strike wasn’t about to fall into that trap. Lawrence sipped what looked like water and, while pulling out his vape, Strike entertained himself for a moment by imagining slapping it out of the man’s hand.
‘This is the kind of thing people assume spooks do, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Get people locked up for being crazy if they know too much?’
‘What makes you think Rena Liddell knows anything?’
‘She knows something,’ said Strike, ‘or you wouldn’t be sitting here. You’d’ve let me think she’d just stood me up if you weren’t worried she’d already told me something.’
‘Maybe I’ve got questions for you.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Strike.
‘You’ve clearly had contact with her, other than over social media.’
‘Have I?’
‘First contact didn’t happen there. Who approached who?’
‘It’s all a bit hazy now,’ said Strike.
‘Angela told me you think you’re funny,’ said Lawrence.
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Strike calmly.
‘Look,’ said Lawrence, and Strike was happy to see he hadn’t liked the fact his snide comment had glanced off Strike without leaving a mark, ‘I’m doing you a favour here, little though you seem to realise it. You’ve had online contact with a mentally ill Islamophobe who was trying to get herself a gun.’
‘You aren’t going to intimidate me by hinting I’ve had contact with a terrorist,’ said Strike. ‘I know full well why you’re here, and it’s got fuck-all to do with guns. You fucked up, warning Rena not to give me the time of day. That’s what gave her the idea of contacting me in the first place. If she’s become a liability, that’s your fault, not mine.’
‘Mr Strike, I’m asking for your cooper—’
‘And I might’ve given it, if you hadn’t forced me to walk up onto the fucking roof and spill my pint.’
Strike pushed himself back into a standing position.
‘There are still civil liberties in this country. You’ll have your work cut out, keeping her in a psychiatric facility indefinitely. I can wait.’
He turned and, doing his absolute best not to hobble, set back off down the steep metal staircase. As he’d rashly committed to driving to the Quicksilver Mail pub in Yeovil, he supposed he should get going.
102
Robert Browning
Robin was currently too angry at Strike to accept his texted apology. Work was supposed to be the one place in her life where she wasn’t subject to men taking out their bad moods on her and she saw no reason to show a good grace Strike himself rarely displayed.
Plug still hadn’t been arrested, which irrationally compounded Robin’s anger at Strike: she connected his bad behaviour with the breeder of dangerous dogs, who still remained unpunished. Yet again running surveillance on Plug’s mother’s house that afternoon, it gave Robin no solace whatsoever to tell herself that her tiredness and misery were nothing compared to the exhaustion she’d endured while undercover at the Universal Humanitarian Church. She was sleeping very poorly, and today had awoken at four a.m., convinced she was back in the church dormitory from which she’d had to sneak once a week, to send Strike a report. She’d then lain awake brooding about Murphy until her alarm went off.
He’d called her before she’d even reached home on Saturday, apologising for storming out on her after lunch. As Robin had suspected, his parents had no idea about his recent relapse, nor about the investigation he was facing at work. He’d told Robin that he always found his father’s garrulity and boozing hard to take, and that his mother had been interrogating him remorselessly about the cancelled purchase of their joint house before Robin had arrived for lunch. Robin was certain her suspicions about Mrs Murphy’s feelings had been correct; that she thought Robin wasn’t the devoted girlfriend he deserved.