Rules, which Strike had never visited before, lay in Maiden Lane and had an impressive old-world frontage. Upon telling the maître d’ who he was meeting, Strike was shown through the restaurant, of which the walls were bestrewn with antlers, Victorian prints and antique clocks, to a red velvet booth in which Sir Colin, kindly faced as ever, was sitting.
‘Very good of you to meet at my convenience,’ said Sir Colin as they shook hands. He was scanning Strike’s face rather anxiously for some intimation of what he was about to hear.
‘Very grateful for the lunch,’ said Strike, easing himself into the booth. ‘Did you have a good holiday?’
‘Oh, yes, it was wonderful spending some time with the grandchildren,’ said Sir Colin. ‘Constantly thinking how much Sally would have… but anyway…’
A waiter arrived to offer menus and drinks. Both men declined the latter.
‘So, your partner’s out of Chapman Farm?’ said Sir Colin.
‘She is, yes,’ said Strike, ‘and she’s got us a lot of good information. Firstly,’ said Strike, who could see no way of cushioning the worst blow and thought it was best delivered immediately, ‘Will had no idea your wife’s died.’
Sir Colin’s hand went to his mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike. ‘I know that must be hard to hear.’
‘But we wrote,’ said Sir Colin shakily, lowering his hand. ‘We wrote
‘Robin found out that church members are pressured to sign a declaration that they don’t want to be given letters from the outside. This seems to be something the church does with people who’ve progressed up a certain number of levels to what they call pure spirit – in other words, people they think they’ve really got their hooks into, and whose isolation they want to cement. From the moment the declaration’s signed, the church withholds all correspondence. It’s supposedly viewable upon request, but from what Robin’s told me, asking to read letters would put a church member in line for immediate demotion to manual labour and possibly punishment.’
Strike fell silent while four rotund men in expensive suits passed the booth, then went on,
‘Someone at the church – probably Mazu Wace, who Robin says is in charge of correspondence – informed Will that you’d written to say his mother was ill. Robin thinks this was probably to cover themselves, in case of legal action from you. She thinks Mazu will have encouraged Will to see this as a ruse to manipulate him, and asked whether he wanted further news. If he’d said “yes”, Robin believes he’d have been punished, possibly severely. In any case, we know no further information about your wife was passed on. When Robin told Will his mother was dead, he was very distressed and went immediately to the church superiors to ask to write to you. I presume you haven’t received any such letter?’
‘No,’ said Sir Colin faintly. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Well, that’s the last contact with Will Robin had before she escaped, but—’
‘What d’you mean, “escaped”?’
‘She found herself in a dangerous situation and had to run for it, by night.’
A waiter now appeared to take their food order. Strike waited until the man was out of earshot before saying,
‘In slightly better news, Will’s definitely having doubts about the church. Robin witnessed Will challenging a Principal on church doctrine, and Jonathan Wace personally informed Robin that Will keeps getting stuck on step six to pure spirit, which means accepting the church’s teaching, rather than understanding it.’
‘That’s the Will I know,’ said Sir Colin, looking slightly more encouraged.
‘Yeah, that’s obviously good,’ said Strike, wishing he didn’t have to immediately dash any faint hopes he’d raised, ‘but, ah, there’s something else Robin found out, which explains why Will hasn’t followed through on these doubts, and left. I wouldn’t tell you this if we didn’t have very strong reasons for believing it, but he appears to have fathered a child at Chapman Farm.’
‘Oh God,’ said Sir Colin, aghast.
‘Obviously, without a DNA test we can’t be absolutely sure,’ said Strike, ‘but Robin says the little girl looks like Will, and from observing his behaviour with the child and from conversations she overheard in there, she’s certain he’s the father.’
‘Who’s the mother?’
Wishing he had almost any other answer Strike said,
‘She’s called Lin.’
‘Lin… not the one Kevin wrote about? With the stammer?’
‘That’s the one, yes,’ said Strike.
Neither man spoke aloud what Strike was sure was uppermost in Sir Colin’s mind: that Lin was the product of Jonathan Wace’s rape of Deirdre Doherty. Strike now dropped his voice. Little though he wanted to alarm Edensor further, he felt it would be unethical to withhold the next bit of information.
‘I’m afraid it’s likely Lin was underage when she gave birth to Will’s daughter. According to Robin, Lin doesn’t look much older than fifteen or sixteen now, and as far as she could judge, the daughter’s around two years old.’
