The Running Grave полностью

They heard the front door open. Strike and Robin assumed Pat and Qing had returned, but instead a pudgy, bespectacled, fair-haired man of around seventy appeared. He was wearing a Queens Park Rangers football strip, brown trousers of the kind Strike was used to seeing on Ted, and had a copy of the Daily Mail under his arm.

‘Ah. You’ll be the detectives.’

‘That’s us,’ said Strike, standing up to shake hands.

‘Dennis Chauncey. Everyone all right for tea? I’m having some, it’s no trouble.’

Dennis disappeared into the kitchen. Robin noticed that he was limping slightly, possibly due to the fall he’d suffered while demonstrating levitation.

‘Look, Will—’ Strike began.

‘If I talk to Flora before the police, I’ll never get to the police,’ said Will, ‘because she’ll come for me before I can—’

‘Who’ll come for you?’ Dennis, who evidently had sharp hearing, had reappeared at the door of the sitting room, munching on a chocolate bourbon. ‘Drowned Prophet, is it?’

Will looked sheepish.

‘I’ve told you, son.’ Dennis tapped his temple. ‘It’s in your head. It’s all in your head.’

‘I’ve seen—’

‘You’ve seen tricks,’ said Dennis, not unkindly. ‘That’s all you’ve seen. Tricks. They’ve done a right number on you, but it’s tricks, that’s all.’

He disappeared again. Before Strike could say anything else, they heard the front door open for a second time. Shortly afterwards, Pat entered the room.

‘Walked her around and she fell asleep,’ she said in the growl that passed for her whisper. ‘I’ve left her in the hall.’

She wriggled out of her jacket, pulled a pack of Superkings out of its pocket, lit one, sat down in the armchair and said,

‘What’s going on?’

By the time Robin had explained about Flora Brewster’s wish to meet Will, Dennis had returned with a fresh pot of tea.

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Pat, peering beadily at Will. She took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘If you want the police to take you seriously,’ she said, exhaling, so that her face was momentarily obscured by a cloud of blue smoke, ‘you need corroboration.’

‘Exactly,’ said Strike. ‘Thank you, Pat.’

‘Mr Chauncey, you sit here,’ said Robin, getting up, as there were no other chairs.

‘No, you’re all right love, gotta do the pigeons,’ said Dennis. He poured himself a mug of tea, added three sugars and left again.

‘Racing pigeons,’ said Pat. ‘He keeps them out the back. Just don’t get him onto Fergus McLeod. I’ve had nothing else, morning, noon and night, for a month.’

‘Who’s Fergus McLeod?’ asked Robin.

‘He cheated,’ said Will unexpectedly. ‘With a microchip. The bird never left his loft. Dennis told me all about it.’

‘It’s been a bloody relief, having someone else around to listen to him bang on about it,’ said Pat, rolling her eyes.

Strike’s mobile now rang: Midge.

‘’S’cuse me,’ he said.

Not wanting to risk waking Qing, who was fast asleep in a pushchair just inside the front door, he moved through to the kitchen and let himself carefully into the small garden. Half of it was given over to the pigeons, and Dennis was visible at the window of the coop, apparently cleaning out cages.

‘Midge?’

‘Lin’s at the clinic,’ said Midge excitedly. ‘Tasha just called me. Zhou wasn’t around last night, so Tasha went creeping around that annexe. The doors were locked, but blinds have been down over one of the windows all the time she’s been there. She was trying to peer through a gap when, get this – a skinny blonde girl lifted it up and peered right back out at her. Tash says they were nearly nose to nose. She nearly fell over backwards onto her arse. Then Tasha thinks the girl realised she wasn’t in a staff uniform and she mouths “help me”. Tasha mimed at her to push up the window, but it’s bolted. Then Tash could hear someone coming, so she had to leg it, but she mouthed at Lin that she was going to come back.’

‘Excellent,’ said Strike, his mind now working rapidly as he watched Dennis talking to the pigeon in his hand. ‘All right, listen: I want you to head down to Borehamwood. Tasha might need back-up. You can check in to a B&B in the vicinity or something. If Tasha can get back to that window tonight, get her to tap on it and hold up a note to tell Lin Will’s out, he’s got Qing and they’re both safe.’

‘Will do,’ said Midge, who sounded delighted. ‘How about I—?’

‘For now, just stay within hailing distance of the clinic, in case they try and move Lin by night. Don’t try any rescue attempts, and tell Tasha not to take any more risks than she has to, OK?’

‘OK,’ said Midge.

‘With any luck,’ said Strike, ‘this news will put a stick of dynamite under Will Edensor, because Christ knows what else’ll do it.’