Strike, meanwhile, had insisted over the phone that Robin take time off. They’d argued about it. Robin was terrified of not being able to leave her flat if she spent too long there. Finally, she’d agreed to work from home for a week.
What Robin didn’t know was that Murphy had phoned Strike the day after the incident in Beaconsfield. The conversation had been brief and blunt. Murphy had told Strike that Robin was in a very bad way. Strike responded by saying he’d be happy for Robin to take as long a break as she liked, and it was she who was insisting on a mere five days.
‘She only had a week off after Chapman Farm,’ said Murphy in an accusatory tone.
‘Which was also her choice,’ said Strike.
But when the call had ended, Strike, who was sitting in his BMW watching Two-Times’ office, was left with increased concern about Robin’s mental health. He didn’t need Murphy to tell him Robin should have taken longer off from work after leaving the cult she’d investigated the previous year, nor did he need to be taught about the realities of PTSD, because he’d suffered it himself.
He’d heard a proprietorial note in Murphy’s voice that had never been so obvious before, doubtless because he and Robin were now officially engaged, and this had made Strike shorter than he might otherwise have been on the phone. Nevertheless, the call had had its intended effect, which was to remind Strike that he had ethical responsibilities towards Robin, even though she was a partner in the firm and no longer an employee. These musings led him to approach his and Robin’s next conversation with a tact for which Strike knew he wasn’t generally renowned. When a pretext for getting in touch presented itself on Wednesday, he called her from the office.
‘I’ve got news.’
‘Oh good,’ said Robin. ‘I’m so bored, I’m sitting here watching the Budget.’ This wasn’t entirely true. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was indeed addressing Parliament on Robin’s muted television screen, but in reality she’d been looking at an old and amateurish website devoted to supposed sightings of Reata Lindvall, following her alleged murder.
‘Well, firstly: Barclay’s nabbed Two-Times. Photos of him coming out of a hotel with a mini-skirted blonde wearing industrial amounts of make-up.’
‘Great. Have you told Mrs Two-Times?’
‘Yeah, and I think she’s going to absolutely rinse him, so it’ll be a few years before he can afford to indulge his surveillance kink again. But I’ve got even better news than that. Guess who’s agreed to meet me on Friday?’
‘Who?’
‘Funny bloke off the telly. Goes on quiz shows a lot. Pays to have porn stars killed.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Nope. And it gets better. He wants to buy me dinner at the Goring Hotel.’
‘Why?’
‘Smarm offensive,’ said Strike. ‘His police contacts must’ve told him by now William Wright wasn’t Jason Knowles, so I’d say he’s even more worried we’re messing with the case. I called his office this morning and said I wanted to talk to him about regulation in the detective business, following his comments in the press. “Oh, absolutely, what a top-hole idea.”’
‘He never said “top hole”.’
‘He did. Also “spiffing”.’
‘You’re making this up.’
‘You wait,’ said Strike. ‘I said I wanted to bring my detective partner. He said he’d be delighted.’
‘Fantastic, I need to get out of this bloody flat,’ said Robin fervently, which was precisely the reaction Strike had been hoping for. ‘The Goring… isn’t that where royalty always stays in London?’
‘I think we’re supposed to be immensely impressed.’
‘Why’s he trying to butter us up?’
‘I’d imagine he’s keen to present as a man who has absolutely nothing personal against us, just a professional interest in regulating the industry. I expect he’s also hoping we tell him everything we know about bodies in silver vaults while we’re eating our lobster thermidor.’
‘I don’t like lobster.’
‘Then order it and leave it untouched. He’s paying,’ said Strike, and Robin laughed. ‘You and I should meet early, in the bar, get our strategy clear.’
‘Great,’ said Robin. ‘What are you up to at the moment?’
‘Back on the dark net.’
‘Doing what?’
Strike doubted she was in a fit psychological state to hear he’d been watching Daesh execution videos again, so he chose to tell the most palatable part of the truth.
‘It took me the best part of twelve hours, but I think I’ve found Rena Liddell asking for advice on how to get a gun, online. She was calling herself “Mirbat” there, too. I thought I might find her somewhere. If she was going to ask me, a complete stranger, for a gun, why not throw it open to the internet? Anyway, she made glancing contact with a bloke who said he might be able to help and she blithely gave him her mobile number. I’ve got a feeling he wasn’t who he said he was. I think he was there to entrap her.’
‘Why?’