Both watched the cars pass for a moment or two, before Strike said,
‘Look—’
‘Don’t tell me we didn’t make it happen.’
‘Well, I
‘Strike—’
‘
‘Yes – because of us.’
‘We asked questions. That’s the job.’
‘That’s exactly what Ryan said. “That’s the job.”’
‘Well, he’s not wrong,’ said Strike. ‘Do I feel good about what happened? No. But we didn’t put the rope round her neck. She did that herself.’
Robin, who’d done a lot of crying when not at work in the last two days, had no tears left to shed. The terrible burden of guilt she’d carried with her ever since Strike had told her that the mother of two had been found hanged in the family’s garage wasn’t eased by his words. She kept visualising the picture stuck to Carrie Curtis Woods’ fridge door, of two figures hand in hand in princess dresses:
‘We went to interview her,’ said Strike, ‘because a seven-year-old child who was in her care vanished off the face of the earth. D’you think Carrie should’ve been able to walk away from that and never answer any questions, ever again?’
‘She’d already answered questions from the police and at the inquest. It was over, it was behind her, she had a happy life and a family, and we went raking it all up again… I feel as though they’ve made me one of them,’ Robin added quietly.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve become an agent of infection for the church. I carried the virus back to Carrie and this time she didn’t survive it.’
‘With respect,’ said Strike, ‘that’s complete bollocks. We’re just going to ignore the neon elephant in the room, are we? If Carrie was going to kill herself because of what the church did to her, it’d have happened in the last two decades. This wasn’t about the church. There was something she didn’t want to face, something she couldn’t stand people knowing, and that’s not our fault.’
‘But—’
‘What I want to know,’ said Strike, ‘is who called her that morning, before we arrived. Did the police ask you about that mobile number her husband didn’t recognise?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin dully. ‘It could have been anyone. Wrong number.’
‘Except that she called it back, after we left.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin. ‘They didn’t tell me that.’
‘They didn’t tell me, either. I read it upside down on the notes of the guy who was interviewing me. Reaney got a call shortly after I interviewed him, and he then started amassing sleeping pills. I never checked whether he’d had one before I met him, but it looks like the church is warning people we’re on the prowl, and demanding to be told what was said, afterwards.’
‘That implies the church knew we were going to Cherie’s that day.’
‘They could’ve seen she was back from holiday, from Facebook, and wanted to tell her to take the meeting when we turned up. I had the feeling when we introduced ourselves she wasn’t completely surprised to see us. Panicked, yeah. Not entirely surprised.’
Robin made no answer. Strike watched her take another sip of coffee. She’d tied back her hair; the expensive haircut she’d had before going to the Rupert Court Temple had long since grown out, and it hadn’t yet occurred to Robin to visit a hairdresser.
‘What d’you want to do?’ said Strike, watching her.
‘What d’you mean?’ she said.
‘D’you want to take another few days off?’
‘No,’ said Robin. More time to spend dwelling on her guilt about Carrie and her anxiety about the child abuse charges was the very last thing she wanted.
‘D’you feel up to talking about the case?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Get anything on Walter Fernsby’s and Marion Huxley’s kids?’
‘Not much,’ said Robin, forcing herself to focus. ‘I spoke to Marion’s elder daughter and, bottom line, it definitely can’t be Marion who’s gone back to the farm after years away. While her husband was alive, she hardly ever left Barnsley. After Marion disappeared, the family checked the PC she used at work, and she’d been watching Wace videos non-stop. They think she must have attended a meeting. Now they’re getting letters from Marion that don’t sound like her, telling them she wants to sell the undertakers and give all the profits to the UHC.’
‘And Walter?’
‘The only child I’ve been able to contact is his son, Rufus. He works for the Institute of Civil Engineers. The moment I mentioned Walter, he hung up.’
‘Maybe he’s been getting the same “sell everything, I want to give it to the church” letters as Marion’s daughter?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, I found something last night, too, after Hampstead Heath went home.’
Strike pulled out his phone, typed in a couple of words, then handed it to Robin, who found herself looking at a picture of a tall man with a long jaw and steel-grey hair, who was pictured mid-speech on stage, his arms stretched wide. Robin didn’t immediately understand why she was being shown the picture until she saw the caption:
