The Running Grave полностью

‘I know, but if we can prove it either way, the Drowned Prophet – pun intended – is dead in the water.’

This line is the representative of the evil that is to be rooted out.

The I Ching or Book of Changes

Robin arrived at Murphy’s flat in Wanstead at ten past eight that evening. Like her own, Murphy’s dwelling was cheap, one-bedroomed and came with unsatisfactory neighbours, in his case below, rather than above. It lay in an older and smaller block than Robin’s, with stairs rather than a lift.

Robin climbed the familiar two flights, carrying her overnight bag and a bottle of wine she thought she might need, given that the centrepiece of the night’s entertainment was to be watching videoed interviews accusing her of child abuse. She very much hoped the smell of curry was coming from Murphy’s flat, because she was craving hot food after a day eating sandwiches and peanuts.

‘Oh, wonderful,’ she sighed, when Murphy opened the door and she saw the takeaway cartons laid out on the table.

‘Me or the food?’ asked Murphy, bending to kiss her.

‘You, for getting the food.’

When they’d first started going out together, Robin had found the interior of Murphy’s flat frankly depressing, because except for the fact that there were no cardboard boxes and his clothes were hung up in the wardrobe, it looked as though he’d just moved in. Of course, Strike’s flat was the same, in that there were no decorative objects there at all, except for the school photo of his nephews Lucy never failed to send him, which was updated yearly. However, the fact that Strike lived under the eaves gave his flat a certain character, which was entirely lacking in Murphy’s identikit dwelling. It had taken a couple of visits to Robin’s own flat for Murphy to comment aloud, with an air of faint surprise, that pictures and plants made a surprising difference to a space, which had made Robin laugh. However, she hadn’t made the slightest attempt to change Murphy’s flat: no gifted cushions or posters, no helpful suggestions. She knew such things might be interpreted as a proprietorial statement of intent, and with all its drawbacks, her own flat was dear to her for the independence it gave her.

However, the sitting room was looking less barren than usual tonight. Not only were Robin’s three houseplants, which she’d asked Murphy to keep alive while she was at Chapman Farm, standing on a side table, there was also a single framed print on the wall, and lit candles on the table among the foil trays of food.

‘You’ve decorated,’ she said.

‘D’you like it?’ he said.

‘It’s a map,’ said Robin, moving to look at the picture.

‘An antique map.’

‘Of London.’

‘But it’s antique. Which makes it classy.’

Robin laughed and turned to look at her plants.

‘And you’ve kept these really—’

‘I’m not gonna lie. Two of them died. I bought replacements. That one –’ he pointed at the philodendron which Strike had bought Robin as a housewarming present ‘– must be bloody hard to kill. It’s the sole survivor.’

‘Well, I appreciate the replacements,’ said Robin, ‘and thank you for saving Phyllis.’

‘Did they all have names?’

‘Yes,’ said Robin, though this wasn’t actually true. ‘But I won’t be calling the new ones after dead ones. Too morbid.’

She now noticed Murphy’s laptop sitting on the table, beside the curry and plates.

‘Are the videos on there?’

‘Yeah,’ said Murphy.

‘Have you watched them?’

‘Yeah. D’you want to wait until after we’ve had dinner to—?’

‘No,’ said Robin. ‘I’d rather get it over with. We can watch while we’re eating.’

So they sat down together at the table. As Murphy poured her a glass of wine and Robin heaped her plate with chicken and rice, he said,

‘Listen, before we watch – what they’re saying is clearly bullshit.’

‘Weirdly, I already know that,’ said Robin, trying to sound light-hearted.

‘No, I mean, it’s clearly bullshit,’ said Murphy. ‘They aren’t convincing – there’s only one who sounds like she might be for real, but then she goes off on a bloody weird tangent.’

‘Who?’

‘Becca some—’

‘Pirbright,’ said Robin. Her pulse had started racing again. ‘Yes, I’m sure Becca’s convincing.’

‘She just speaks more naturally than the others. If she didn’t go off into the batshit stuff at the end, you’d think she was credible. You’ll see what I mean when we watch it.’

‘Who else gave statements?’

‘An older woman called Louise and a younger one called Vivienne.’

‘Louise gave evidence against me?’ said Robin furiously. ‘I’d have expected it of Vivienne, she’s desperate to be a spirit wife, but Louise?’

‘Look, with both of them, it’s like they’re working off a script. I couldn’t get footage of the kid accusing you, my contact wouldn’t hand it over. Can’t really blame him – it’s a seven-year-old. I shouldn’t even have these. But I’m told the kid behaved as though he’d been coached.’

‘OK,’ said Robin, taking a large swig of wine. ‘Show me Becca.’