The Running Grave полностью

‘’M’a Tube driver. Same as Patrick,’ he added, as though there were safety in numbers.

‘How long have you known Abigail?’

‘Two years, so I know a lotta stuff about ’er.’

‘Met her through Patrick, did you?’

‘Yeah, a bunch of us wen’ ou’ drinkin’. She’s always go’ men around ’er, I soon found that out.’

‘And you and she went out together subsequently, alone?’ asked Strike.

‘Tol’ you tha’, did she?’ said Saxon, and it was hard to tell whether he was more aggrieved or gratified.

‘Yeah, after you came over to our table in the pub,’ said Strike.

‘Whaddid she say? ’Cause I bet she ain’ told you the troof.’

‘Just that you and she had been out for drinks together.’

‘It was more’n drinks, a lot more. She’s up for anyfing. Then I realised ’ow many other blokes she’s got on the go. I’m lucky I never caugh’ nuffing,’ said Saxon, with a little upwards jerk of his chin.

Familiar with the commonplace male disdain for women who enjoyed an adventurous sex life that either excluded or no longer included them, Strike continued asking questions that were designed purely to assess how much credence should be given to any information Saxon had to offer. He had a feeling the answer might be zero.

‘So you ended the relationship, did you?’

‘Yeah, I ain’ puttin’ up wiv that,’ said Saxon, with another little jerk of the chin, ‘but then she gets pissy abou’ me goin’ up the gym an’ the Forester’s an’ goin’ round ’er flat to see Patrick. Accuses me of fuckin’ stalkin’ ’er. Don’ flatter yourself, sweet’eart. I know a lotta stuff abou’ ’er,’ repeated Saxon. ‘So she shouldn’ be fuckin’ freatenin’ me!’

‘You said she killed someone, while in the church,’ said Strike, his pen poised.

‘Yeah – well – good as,’ said Saxon. ‘Because, right, Patrick ’eard ’er ’aving a nightmare, an’ she’s yelling “Cut it up smaller, cut it up smaller!” An’ ’e goes an’ bangs on ’er door – he said she was makin’ fuckin’ ’orrible noises – this is after she met you. She told Patrick it brought stuff up for ’er, what you two talked about.’

Strike was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Abigail and her upbringing were a source of prurient interest for her lodger and his friend that amounted almost to an unhealthy hobby. Aloud, he said,

‘How did she kill this person?’

‘I’m tellin’ ya. She told Patrick there was this kid at the farm ’oo was, you know,’ Saxon tapped his temple, ‘bit simple an’ ’e’d done somefing wrong an’ ’e was gonna be whipped. So she an’ this ovver girl, they felt sorry for ’im, so they runs off an’ ’gets the whip an’ ’ides it.

‘So then, when ’er stepmuvver can’t find it, she tells a group of ’em to beat the shit out of the kid instead, an’ Ab joined in, kickin’ and punchin’ ’im. An’ after the stepmuvver decides the kid’s ’ad enough, she says she’s gonna search the farm for the whip an’ ’ooever’s taken it’s gonna be in trouble. So Ab an’ ’er friend goes runnin’ off to the kitchen where they ’id it an’ they was tryna cut it up wiv scissors when the stepmuvver comes in an’ finds ’em, an’ then they was whipped wiv it themselves.’

There was a faint trace of salacious pleasure in Saxon’s voice as he said this.

‘An’ the simple kid died,’ he concluded.

‘After the beating?’

‘No,’ said Saxon, ‘few years later, after ’e left the farm. But it was ’er fault, ’er and the rest of ’em beating ’im up, ’cause she told Patrick’e was never right after they all kicked the shit out of ’im, like maybe brain damage or somefing. An’ she saw in the paper ’e’d died, an’ she reckoned it was ’cause of what they’d done to ’im.’

‘Why was his death in the paper?’

‘’Cause ’e got ’imself into a bad situation, which he wouldna done if ’e ‘adn’t ’ad brain damage, so she killed ’im, good as. She said it ’erself. Beatin’ an’ kickin’ him. She did that.’

‘She was forced to do it,’ Strike corrected Saxon.

‘Still GBH,’ said Saxon. ‘She still done it.’

‘She was a child, or a teenager, in a very abusive envi—’

‘Ah, righ’, you fallen for the act as well, ’ave ya?’ said Saxon with a sneer. ‘Got you twisted round ’er little finger? You ain’ never seen ’er pissed an’ angry. Little church girl? She’s got a scary fuckin’ temper on ’er—’

‘If that was a crime, I’d be inside myself,’ said Strike. ‘What did she say about Kevin Pirbright?’

‘Well, this is when she freatened me,’ said Saxon, rallying again.

‘When was this?’

‘Two days ago, in the Grosvenor—’

‘What’s that, a bar?’

‘Pub. Yeah, so, she wen’ off on one ’cause I was in there. It’s a free fuckin’ country. Not up to ’er where I drink. She was wiv some dick from the gym. All I done was give ’im a friendly warnin’—’

‘Like the one you gave me?’