Robin, who was now wondering whether she was being asked to give her seal of approval for Strike’s affair, hesitated. She feared responding negatively, because she didn’t want Strike to realise… what? Then she saw the three dots that meant Strike was typing again, and waited.
Because she’s starting to piss me off
Suddenly the stars dimly visible through Robin’s misty windscreen were winking benignly. She could be generous, now.
She’s good at the job, though.
It’s just me who thinks she’s bloody full of herself then, is it?
She’s quite pleased with herself, but you can’t say she hasn’t anything to back it up. It was good work, getting that picture at the Dorchester. Have you shown it to Mr A, by the way?
Yeah. He’s pleased. Just hope there’s no fallout.
What do you mean?
I ran into someone at that dinner who knows me: cousin of Dominic Culpepper’s. If A uses that picture to try and wreck Culpepper’s marriage, it won’t take Culpepper long to work out who was keeping watch over his wife and Mrs A that night.
The smile now faded off Robin’s face. So whichever ex-girlfriend Strike had run into at the gala dinner was Dominic Culpepper’s cousin? That didn’t fit any of the former girlfriends she knew about. Exactly how many exes did Cormoran Strike have?
Oblivious to the new hole he’d inadvertently dug for himself, Strike was typing again.
I’ve been going through the footage from Ramsay Silver’s interior camera this afternoon.
Anything interesting?
A couple of bits I wouldn’t mind discussing. Have you had any luck on Tyler Powell?
I tried calling his grandmother this afternoon. No answer. I think I’ve also found his parents, but no landline for them. The whole family’s in Ironbridge. Odd that the grandmother called the helpline, not his mum or dad.
Robin’s fingers were becoming increasingly numb in the cold, but she typed on.
How did Dev get on at that Ipswich compound, by the way?
No dice. There was a kind of watchman who didn’t seem to buy his story.
Strike, I’m going to have go to, I’ve got to drive home and I’m freezing.
No problem. We’re both free Weds afternoon, we could review the Ramsay camera footage then?
Great, texted Robin.
Nine miles away in the Flying Horse, Strike replaced his phone in his pocket and contemplated the bottles behind the bar, feeling morose. He needed to start his bloody Christmas shopping. His sister, Lucy, kept sending him anxious texts about the sale of Ted and Joan’s house. There was bound to be a house out there, somewhere, that Robin and Murphy would like.
Nevertheless, he thought, getting to his feet, he’d secured another afternoon alone with Robin. Given her house-hunting activities, every conversation from now on had to be considered in the light of an opportunity.
20
Robert Browning
‘Why have we got a fish tank?’