‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you,’ said Strike. ‘I think that’s you, and the man with the skull tattoo is Jordan Reaney—’
‘It’s not.’
‘Who is he, then?’
There was a long pause. Then Carrie whispered,
‘Joe.’
‘What’s his surname?’
‘I can’ remember.’
‘Was Joe still at the farm when you left it?’
She nodded.
‘And who’s the smaller man?’ (who in the second photograph was penetrating the blonde from behind).
‘Paul,’ whispered Carrie.
‘Paul Draper?’
She nodded again.
‘And the girl with the long hair?’
Another long pause.
‘Rose.’
‘What’s her surname?’
‘I can’ remember.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Who’s taking the pictures?’
Again, Carrie opened her mouth and closed it again.
‘Who’s taking the pictures?’ Strike repeated.
‘I dunno,’ she whispered again.
‘How can you not know?’
Carrie didn’t answer.
‘Was this a punishment?’ Strike asked.
Carrie’s head jerked again.
‘Is that a yes? Somebody forced you to do this?’
She nodded.
‘Carrie,’ said Robin, ‘was the person taking the pictures masked too?’
Carrie raised her head to stare at Robin. It looked as though the woman had vacated her body: Robin had never seen anybody who so resembled a somnambulist, every muscle in her face slack, her eyes blank.
Then, making both Carrie and Robin jump, a song began to play from inside the shopper at Carrie’s feet.
Carrie bent down automatically, rummaged in the shopper, pulled out her mobile and answered it, cutting the song off.
‘Hi Nate,’ she whispered. ‘Yeah… no, I took them over to your mum’s… yeah… no, I’m fine. Can I call you back?… no, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ll call you back.’
Having hung up, Carrie looked from Robin to Strike, then said, in a flat voice,
‘You need to go now. You need to go.’
‘All right,’ said Strike, who could tell there was no point trying to press her further. He pulled one of his business cards out of his wallet. ‘If there’s anything else you’d like to tell us, Mrs Woods—’
‘You need to go.’
‘If you wanted to tell us anything else about Daiyu’s death—’
‘You need to go,’ Carrie said, yet again.
‘I realise this is very difficult,’ said Strike, ‘but if you were made to do anything you now regret—’
Strike and Robin returned to the Land Rover in silence.
‘Want some lunch?’ said Strike, as he put on his seat belt.
‘Seriously, that’s your first—?’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘OK, but let’s not go back to the Malthouse. It’ll be crowded by now.’
‘You don’t want to discuss Mrs Woods’ dark past somewhere her neighbours might hear?’
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘not really. This is a small place.’
‘Felt sorry for her, did you?’
Robin glanced back at Carrie Curtis Woods’ house, then said,
‘I just don’t feel comfortable hanging around here. Shall we buy some food and eat in the car? We can pull over once we’re out of Thornbury.’
‘OK, as long as there’s plenty of food.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Robin, switching on the engine, ‘I remember your theory that nothing eaten on a car journey contains calories.’
‘Exactly. Got to make the most of these opportunities.’
So they purchased food on the High Street, got back into the Land Rover and headed out of Thornbury. After five minutes, Strike said,
‘This’ll do. Pull in by that church.’
Robin turned up Greenhill Road and parked beside the graveyard.
‘You got pork pies?’ said Robin, looking into the bag.
‘Problem?’
‘Not at all. Just wishing I’d brought biscuits in the first place.’
Strike took a few satisfying bites of his first pie before saying,
‘So: Carrie.’
‘Well,’ said Robin, who was eating a cheese sandwich, ‘there’s something off, isn’t there?
‘Where d’you want to start?’
‘The dormitory,’ said Robin. ‘She was very worried talking about all of that: Daiyu going out of the window, the fact that there should have been two adults in the room, the special drinks. Whereas when she got to the drowning—’
‘Yeah, that all came out very fluently. ’Course, she’s told that story multiple times; practice makes perfect…’
The pair sat in silence for a moment or two, before Strike said,
‘“The night before”.’
‘What?’
‘Kevin Pirbright wrote it on his bedroom wall:
‘Oh… well, yes. Why
‘And you know what else needs explaining? Reaney oversleeping. There’s something very fishy there. How did Carrie know he wasn’t going to turn up?’
‘Maybe she gave him a special drink, too? Or special food?’
‘Very good point,’ said Strike, reaching for his notebook.
‘But where did she get stuff in enough quantities to drug all these people, when she never went shopping and didn’t have access to cash?’
