Hope all’s going well in there. Dev’s going to drop this off and he’ll be in the vicinity until Saturday, checking on the rock until you’ve put a note in. If nothing arrives, we’ll see you Sunday.
I’ve met Abigail Glover, Jonathan Wace’s daughter. Some very interesting stuff. She claims Daiyu wasn’t Wace’s daughter, but Alexander Graves’. Apparently when she died, there was a custody battle for her going on between the Waces and Graves’ parents. Abigail witnessed and suffered plenty of violence in there, and was personally shut in the pigsty, naked, for three nights after Daiyu drowned, but isn’t keen on testifying, unfortunately.
On Tuesday I’m meeting Alexander Graves’ parents. Will let you know how that goes.
Still trying to trace Cherie Gittins, the girl who took Daiyu swimming. I’ve been looking into Daiyu’s death and I’ve got questions. Anything you can find out in there would be helpful.
Might also have found a way of persuading Jordan Reaney to talk to me – Shanker’s got mates inside with him.
Littlejohn is worrying me. He didn’t tell me he worked for Patterson for 3 months before coming to us. Trying to find a replacement.
The Franks remain freaks and might be planning a kidnapping.
Look after yourself. Any time you want to come out, say the word. We’ll batter down the door if necessary.
Sx
Robin wasn’t sure why the note had made her cry, but a tear now dropped down onto the paper. The connection with her outside life had affected her like medicine, fortifying her, and the offer to batter down the door and the single kiss beside Strike’s initial felt like a hug.
Now she took out the pen, propped the small pile of paper on her knee and began to write, clumsily, with the torch held in her left hand.
All going well. Tonight I joined the church. Total submersion in the pool in the temple.
Will Edensor’s here and I’ve just overheard a conversation between him and Lin, Deirdre Doherty’s daughter. She was begging him to make her ‘increase’ again, to stave off having to sleep with ‘him’. No idea who ‘him’ is. Lin even suggested leaving but Will sounds completely indoctrinated, says it would mean damnation. I can’t be certain, but if she’s already had a child in here it might be Will’s. If so, I’m sure she’ll have been underage when she gave birth, because she doesn’t look very old now.
No violence witnessed as yet but the sleep deprivation and underfeeding is real.
Tonight I saw the spirit of Daiyu materialise out of thin air, moving and waving at us all. Jonathan W conjured her. No idea how it was done but I have to say it was effective and I think it convinced nearly everyone.
Robin paused, trying to remember anything else Strike might think significant. She was now shivering with cold and so tired she could barely think.
I think that’s everything, sorry there isn’t more. Hopefully now I’m a real church member I’ll start seeing the bad stuff.
Sounds like a good idea to get rid of Littlejohn when you can.
Robin x
She folded up her note, put it inside the safe rock and replaced the rock where she’d found it. Then, with a heavy heart, she tore Strike’s note into tiny pieces, and began to make her way back through the trees towards the distant farm, strewing pieces of the note into different patches of nettles as she went.
However, she was so tired she’d lost her sense of direction. Soon she found herself in a dense clump of trees she definitely didn’t remember coming through. Panic started to rise in her again. Finally she forced her way between two trunks tangled with creepers, took a few steps across a small clearing and then, with a shriek she couldn’t prevent, fell over something hard and sharp.
‘Shit,’ Robin moaned, feeling for her lower leg. She’d cut herself, though thankfully there was no tear in her trousers. Groping around, she found the thing she’d tripped over: it appeared to be a broken stump or post in the ground. She stood up, and as she did so, she saw by the moonlight that there were several broken posts set in a rough circle. They were definitely manmade and looked unnervingly ritualistic, set amid the surrounding wilderness. Robin remembered Kevin Pirbright’s story of being tied to a tree overnight as punishment when he was twelve. Had there once been posts here, to which an entire group of children could be tied? If so, they appeared to be no longer in use, because they were rotting quietly away in the depths of the wood.
Now limping slightly, Robin set off again and at long last, with the aid of a fleeting spell of moonlight, found the edge of the wood.
Only as she was walking back across the dark, damp field towards the farm did she remember that she hadn’t written a note for Murphy. Far too tired and shaken to go back now, she decided she’d write him an apology next week. Fifteen minutes later, she was climbing the five-bar gate. She passed the now dark and silent Retreat Rooms and, with profound relief, slipped back inside the dormitory undetected.
