The Running Grave полностью

‘Says the person who’s back here because her EM’s out of control!’

‘My EM? Look at you!’ said Emily, with contempt. ‘There’s more EM in this place than in any of the other centres.’

‘Well, you’d know, you’ve been kicked out of enough of them. I’d have thought you’d realise you’re hanging by a thread, Emily.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says Mazu. You’re lucky you’re not Mark Three, after Birmingham, but it could still happen.’

Robin heard footsteps and guessed Becca had chosen to leave on her threatening line, but Emily spoke again, now sounding desperate.

‘You’d rather I went the same way as Kevin, wouldn’t you? Just kill myself.’

‘You dare talk about Kevin, to me?’

‘Why shouldn’t I talk about him?’

‘I know what you did, Emily.’

‘What did I do?’

‘You spoke to Kevin, for his book.’

‘What?’ said Emily, now sounding blank. ‘How?’

‘The disgusting room where he shot himself was covered with writing, and he’d written my name on the wall, and something about a plot.’

‘You think Kevin would have wanted contact with me, after we—?’

‘Shut up, for God’s sake, shut up! You don’t care about anyone except yourself, do you? Not about Papa J or the mission—’

‘If Kevin knew something about you and a plot, I didn’t tell him. But he always agreed with me that you’re full of shit.’

Robin didn’t know what Becca did next, but Emily let out a gasp of what sounded like pain.

‘You need to eat your vegetables,’ said Becca, her menacing voice unrecognisable, compared to the bright tone in which she generally spoke. ‘You hear me? And you’ll work on the vegetable patch and you’ll like it, or I’ll tell the Council I know you cooperated with Kevin.’

‘You won’t,’ said Emily, now sobbing, ‘you won’t, you bloody coward, because you know what I could tell them if I wanted!’

‘If you’re talking about Daiyu, go right ahead. I’ll be informing Papa J and Mazu of this conversation, so—’

‘No – no, Becca, don’t—’

‘It’s my duty,’ said Becca. ‘You can tell them what you think you saw.’

‘No, Becca, please don’t tell them—’

‘Could Daiyu become invisible, Emily?’

There was a short silence.

‘Yes,’ said Emily, her voice quaking, ‘but—’

‘Either she could or she couldn’t. Which is it?’

‘She… could.’

‘Correct. So don’t let me hear you saying anything different, ever again, you filthy little pig.’

Robin heard footsteps, and the door of the cabin slammed.

… to the thoughtful man such occurrences are grave omens that he does not neglect.

The I Ching or Book of Changes

The Frank brothers’ purchase of rope while wearing dubious disguises had now been followed by the acquisition of a very old van. Considered alongside their continued surveillance of the actress’s house and both brothers’ previous court appearances for sex offences, Strike had been forced to the conclusion that the twosome might indeed be planning an abduction. He’d contacted the Met a second time, and given them his most recent information, which included pictures of both brothers lurking around the client’s house, and warned Tasha Mayo to take all possible precautions.

‘I’d strongly advise you to change your routine,’ he told her over the phone. ‘Vary the time you go to the gym and so on.’

‘I like my routine,’ she grumbled. ‘Are you sure you aren’t taking this a bit too seriously?’

‘Well, the joke’s on me if it turns out they’re planning a camping trip, but they’ve definitely stepped up their surveillance of you lately.’

There was a slight pause.

‘You’re scaring me.’

‘It’d be remiss not to give you my honest opinion. Is there anyone who could come and stay with you for a bit? A friend, a family member?’

‘Maybe,’ she said gloomily. ‘God. I thought they were just a bit weird and annoying, not actually dangerous.’

The following day found Strike sitting at a table in the Connaught Hotel’s Jean-Georges restaurant, from which he could watch the antics of their most recently acquired client’s wealthy mother, who was seventy-four and lunching with her forty-one-year-old male companion. Strike was wearing glasses he didn’t need, but which had a minuscule camera hidden in the frame. He’d so far recorded a good deal of giggling from the woman, particularly after her dark-suited companion, who’d been solicitous in assisting her with her coat and making sure that she was comfortably seated, had been mistaken for a waiter by the diners at the next table.

Having watched the couple order food and wine, Strike asked for a chicken salad, took off his glasses, positioning them on the table so that they’d continue recording. As he did so, he caught the eye of a very good-looking dark-haired woman in a black dress, who was also dining alone. She smiled.