‘They know we’re investigating them, we know they know, they know we know they know. It’s time to stop playing this dumb game and actually look Wace in the eye.’
‘Strike, if you tell him any of the things people told me at Chapman Farm, those people will be in deep, deep trouble!’
‘You mean Emily?’
‘And Lin, who’s still inside, really, and Shawna, and even Jiang, not that I like him much. You’re messing—’
‘With forces I don’t understand?’
‘This isn’t funny!’
‘I don’t think it’s remotely funny,’ said Strike, unsmiling. ‘As I’ve just said, I don’t like the way this is going, nor have I forgotten that at the current tally, we’ve got one definite murder, one suspected murder, two coerced suicides and two missing kids – but whatever else Wace is, he’s not stupid. He can fuck around with Wikipedia pages all he likes, but it’d be a massive strategic error to shoot me through the head at Olympia. If they realise I’m there, I’ll lay you odds Wace’ll want to talk to me. He’ll want to know what we know.’
‘You won’t get anything out of interviewing him! He’ll just lie and—’
‘You’re presuming I want information.’
‘What’s the point in interviewing him, if you don’t want information?’
‘Has it occurred to you,’ said Strike, ‘that I was in two minds whether to let you go and see Rufus Fernsby on your own today, in case something happened to you? Do you realise how easy it would be to make your killing look like suicide? “She threw herself off the bridge – or stepped into moving traffic, or hanged herself, or slit her wrists – because she couldn’t face the child abuse charge.” You wouldn’t be much of a match for the guy who was watching our office last night, not if he decided to drag you into a car. I let you interview Fernsby because his office is in central London and it’d be pure insanity to risk a kidnapping there, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a risk – so going forwards, I want you to stick to taxis, no public transport, and I’d rather you weren’t out on jobs on your own.’
‘Strike—’
‘You can’t have it both bloody ways! You can’t tell me they’re evil and dangerous, and then prance around London—’
‘You know what,’ said Robin furiously, ‘I’d
‘Fine, you don’t prance,’ said the exasperated Strike. ‘Fuck’s sake, how complicated is this? We’re dealing with a bunch of people we believe are capable of murder, and the two people who are most dangerous to them right now are you and Rosie Fernsby, and if anything happens to either of you, it’ll be on me.’
‘What are you talking about? How’s it on you?’
‘I was the one who put you into Chapman Farm.’
‘Again,’ said Robin, infuriated, ‘you didn’t
‘All right, great: if you end up dead in a ditch it won’t be my fault. Cheers. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Rosie, or Bhakta, or whoever the fuck she is now.’
‘How on
‘Because I fucked up, didn’t I? Think! Why’s the church so interested in the whereabouts of a girl who was only at Chapman Farm for ten days, twenty-one years ago?’
‘Because of the Polaroids.’
‘Yeah, but how does the church know we’ve got the Polaroids? Because,’ said Strike, answering his own question, ‘I showed them to the wrong fucking person, who reported back. I strongly suspect that person of being Jordan Reaney. He told whoever it was who phoned him after our interview, posing as his wife.
‘From Reaney’s reaction, he knew
