The Running Grave полностью

Strike turned his attention back to the laptop lying open on his kitchen table. More in hope than in expectation, he navigated to Torment Town’s Pinterest page, but there were no additional pictures, nor was there any response to his enquiry as to whether the artist drew from imagination.

He’d just got to his feet to wash up his mug when his mobile rang with a call transferred from the office. He picked up and had barely got his name out when a furious, high-pitched voice said,

‘I’ve had a fucking live snake posted through my front door!’

‘What?’ said Strike, completely nonplussed.

‘A fucking SNAKE! One of those total fuckers has put a fucking snake through my letter box!’

In rapid succession Strike realised that he was talking to the actress the Franks were stalking, that he’d momentarily forgotten her name, and that his team must have fucked up very badly indeed.

‘Did this happen this morning?’ he said, dropping back into his kitchen chair and opening the rota on his laptop to see who was on the Franks.

‘I don’t know, I’ve only just fucking found it in my sitting room, it could’ve been here for days!’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘What’s the point in calling the police? This is what I’m paying you to stop!’

‘I appreciate that,’ said Strike, ‘but the immediate problem is the snake.’

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said, thankfully no longer shouting. ‘I’ve put it in the bath. It’s only a corn snake. I used to have one, I’m not scared of them. Well,’ she added heatedly, ‘I’m not scared of them until I see them slithering out from beneath the sofa when I didn’t know they were there.’

‘Don’t blame you,’ said Strike, who’d just found out that Barclay and Midge were currently on the Franks. ‘It’d be good to get an approximate idea of when you think it might have arrived, because we’re keeping the brothers under constant surveillance and they haven’t been anywhere near your front door since the older one dropped your birthday card in. I’ve seen the video and there definitely wasn’t a snake in his hand.’

‘So you’re telling me I’ve got a third nutter after me?’

‘Not necessarily. Were you in last night?’

‘Yes, but—’

She broke off.

‘Oh. Actually, I do remember hearing the letter flap last night.’

‘What time?’

‘Must’ve been around ten. I was having a bath.’

‘Did you check to see whether anything had been put through the door?’

‘No. I kind of registered there was nothing there when I went downstairs to get a drink. I thought I must have mistaken a noise outside for the letter box.’

‘D’you need help getting rid of the snake?’ asked Strike, who felt this was the least he could do.

‘No,’ she sighed, ‘I’ll call the RSPCA or something.’

‘All right, I’ll contact the people I’ve got tailing the brothers, find out where they were last night at ten and get back to you. Glad to hear you’re not too shaken up, Tasha,’ he added, her name having just come back to him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, mollified. ‘OK, I’ll wait to hear back.’

When she’d hung up, Strike called Barclay.

‘You were on Frank One overnight, right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Barclay.

‘Where was he around ten?’

‘At home.’

‘You sure?’

‘Aye, and so was his brother. Frank Two hasn’t been oot at all these last few days. Mebbe he’s ill.’

‘Neither of them been near what’s-her-name’s house lately?’

‘Frank One took a stroll round there on Monday. Midge was on him.’

‘Right, I’ll call her. Thanks.’

Strike rang off and phoned Midge.

‘He definitely didn’t post anything through the front door,’ said Midge, when Strike explained why he was calling. ‘Just lurked on the opposite pavement, watching her windows. He’s been at home the last few days and so’s his brother.’

‘So Barclay said.’

‘She can’t have another stalker, can she?’

‘That’s exactly what she just asked me,’ said Strike. ‘Could be some deluded fan’s idea of a surprise gift, I s’pose. Apparently she used to own a corn snake.’

‘I don’t care how many snakes you’ve owned, you don’t want one posted through your bloody door at night,’ said Midge.

‘I agree. Have you seen any coppers visiting the Franks yet?’

‘Nope,’ said Midge.

‘OK, I’ll get back to the client. This might mean keeping someone on her house for a bit, as well as the Franks.’

‘Bloody hell. Who’d have thought this pair of freaks would turn out to be so labour intensive?’

‘Not me,’ admitted Strike.

After he’d hung up the phone he reached for his vape pen, frowning slightly as he inhaled nicotine, lost in thought for a minute. He then turned his attention back to the weekly rota.

Littlejohn and Shah had both had the previous evening off. Bigfoot’s extramarital activities were confined to daylight hours and he went home nightly to his suspicious, irritable wife. Strike was still asking himself whether the idea he’d just had was ludicrous, when his mobile rang again, forwarded from the office as before. Expecting his actress client, he realised too late that he was talking to Charlotte Campbell.