‘He was wearing the same green jacket,’ said Robin, who was fighting sobs. ‘But I used the spray and that’s how I got him off me, and there was a man coming down the street who heard me scream and he helped, he dragged him off me and held him down and called the police.’
‘Jesus Chr—’
‘I’ve just finished giving my police statement and he’s being interviewed… I s’pose this could end up being a good—’
‘How the
‘
‘Sorry – sorry, I’m just—’
‘At least he’s in custody – and Strike, he’s got curly hair. He could be Oz. This might be it. His driving licence says he’s Wade King, but that’s all I know so far. I’ll call you back once I know more. They want me to wait here until they’ve heard what he’s got to say.’
‘All right,’ said Strike. ‘Which station are you at? I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘It’s OK, Ryan’s coming to get me,’ said Robin.
‘All right, well – keep me posted… thank fuck for that spray.’
‘I’ll probably need to explain why I had it in my bag,’ said Robin distractedly. ‘God knows what I’m going to say. Speak to you later.’
She hung up, leaving Strike standing in the wood-panelled hall, staring at a Damien Hirst butterfly mandala without seeing it. Recalling himself, he headed back into the drawing room.
‘Everyfing all right?’ said Rokeby.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike. ‘That was my partner.’
‘Robin?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Pru likes ’er. Says she’s a good person.’
‘She is, yeah.’
‘Pru finks you two should be togevver.’
‘Really,’ said Strike.
‘Yeah. She finks you’re in love wiv ’er. Don’ tell Pru I told you that, though, she’ll be pissed off at me.’
The drawing room door opened and the housekeeper entered carrying a second tray, this time laden with two triple-decker sandwiches and fresh beers.
‘’Ow did you—?’ began Rokeby.
‘I started making them when I heard you weren’t going to dinner,’ she said, smiling.
‘Worf your fuckin’ weight in gold, you are, Tala,’ said Rokeby. ‘Fanks, darlin’.’
‘You could still go to dinner,’ said Strike. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’
‘Din’t wanna go in the first place,’ said Rokeby, through a mouthful of sandwich, as the housekeeper departed again. ‘Can’t fuckin’ stand me son-in-law. Danni’s new ’usband, but don’ tell Danni I said that.’
‘We’re not in touch,’ said Strike.
‘’E’s a PR ’otshot,’ said Rokeby. ‘An’ a tosser.’
Strike’s sandwich was very good. The two men ate for a minute, and Strike suddenly realised where it was that Rokeby’s drawing room reminded him of: the Ritz bar outside which he and Robin had almost kissed. Then Rokeby said,
‘Want some advice?’
‘No,’ said Strike, and Rokeby laughed.
‘I ’ate fuckin’ advice, an’ all. That’s why I don’t like Danni’s fuckin’ ’usband. Keeps givin’ me ’is PR perspective, then saying “that’s for free, Jonny”. One of these days I’m gonna ask ’im ’ow much ’e charges to keep ’is fuckin’ mouf shut. I was only gonna say, all that counts, in the end, is if you’re wiv a good person. I learned that the ’ard way. An’ there ain’t as many good people around as you fink. Not
For a moment, Strike was transported back to Ted’s wake, and Polworth raising his pint to the ceiling.
‘Don’t let Robin go, if that’s what you want,’ said Rokeby. ‘Life’s too fuckin’ short.’
The mobile on the table rang and he picked it up.
‘Denholm,’ said Rokeby, passing Strike the phone again.
‘Strike here,’ said the detective.
‘I’ve informed the paper you can provide cast-iron proof you’re not the father,’ said the upper-class voice on the end of the phone.
‘I’ll send it to you now.’
‘No need, he took me at my word,’ said Denholm, ‘which he knows from experience is the wisest, cheapest course. I’ve also told them you never slept with the woman and will take legal action if you’re named. On the other matter, the journalist is going to be spoken to before they decide whether to back down. I gather Culpepper insisted the woman’s story was genuine, but, by the amount of blustering I’ve just heard, I think his superior might have had suspicions at the time. I’ve made it clear, of course, that the damages you’re owed will be mounting for every day they refuse to make an apology, given the harm done to your reputation, and consequences for your livelihood.’
‘Thank you,’ said Strike. ‘I want you to bill me for this. Not my father.’
‘I’m not cheap,’ said Denholm, sounding faintly amused.
‘Sounds as though damages might help cover the bill.’
‘They should,’ agreed Denholm. ‘I’ll be back in touch once I’ve got their decision on the Candy girl, but the baby story is definitely quashed. Withdrawn from the website and a hasty reprint is underway.’
For the second time in as many weeks, Strike felt a wave of almost dizzying relief. He handed Rokeby back his phone.
‘’E sorted it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘An’ what abou’ the prostitute fing?’
‘He’s working on it,’ said Strike. With some difficulty, he added, ‘I appreciate this. Thank you.’