As she talked, a number of film clips began playing, showing a group of teenagers, firstly running along a beach together, then singing around a campfire, then abseiling and canoeing.
‘At the UHC we believe not only in individual spiritual enlightenment, but also in working for the betterment of conditions for marginalised people, both inside and outside the church. If you’re able to do so, please consider giving a donation to our Young Carers’ Project on the way out, and if you’d like to find out more about the church and our mission, don’t hesitate to talk to one of the attendants, who’d be delighted to help. I’ll leave you now with these beautiful images of some of our latest humanitarian projects.’
She walked off the stage. As the doors hadn’t opened, most of the congregation remained seated, watching the screen. The temple lights remained dim, and David Bowie began to sing again as the stationary congregation watched further film clips, showing homeless people eating soup, beaming children raising their hands in a classroom in Africa, and adults of diverse races having some kind of group therapy.
Strike, who was eager to hear how Robin’s first trip to the temple had gone, didn’t receive her first few attempts to contact him because he was sitting on the Tube, with a carrier bag from Hamleys on his lap. Robin’s fifth attempt to contact him finally came through when he’d left the train at Bromley South, and was on the point of pressing her number.
‘Sorry,’ was his first word. ‘Didn’t have reception. I’m on my way to Lucy’s.’
Lucy was the half-sister with whom Strike had grown up, because she was his mother’s child, rather than his father’s. While he loved Lucy, they had very little in common, and outsiders tended to express disbelief that they were related at all, given that Lucy was small and blonde. Strike was undertaking today’s visit out of a sense of duty, not pleasure, and was anticipating a difficult couple of hours.
‘How was it?’ he asked, setting off along the road under a sky that was threatening rain.
‘Not what I expected,’ admitted Robin, who’d walked several blocks away from the temple before finding a café with seats outside where, due to the chilliness of the day, she had no eavesdroppers. ‘I thought it’d be a bit more fire and brimstone, but not at all, it’s wall-to-wall social justice and being free to have doubts. Very slick, though – films shown on a cinema screen and David Bowie playing over the—’
‘Yes, ‘Heroes’ – but the big news is that Papa J was there in person.’
‘Was he, now?’
‘He’s very charismatic.’
‘He’d need to be,’ grunted Strike. ‘Anyone try and recruit you?’
‘Not explicitly, but a blonde woman, who I think knows how much Prudence’s clothes must’ve cost, intercepted me on the way out. Said she hoped I’d enjoyed myself and asked whether I had any questions. I said it had all been very interesting, but I didn’t show massive interest. She said she hoped she’d see me there again.’
‘Playing hard to get,’ said Strike, who’d just felt the first spot of icy rain on his face. ‘Good call.’
‘I had to bung a twenty pound note into the collecting bucket on the way out,’ said Robin, ‘given that I’m carrying a five hundred quid handbag. I made sure the boy on the door saw how much I was giving, though.’
‘Take it out of our petty cash,’ said Strike.
‘And I – wow,’ said Robin, half-laughing, half-startled.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I – nothing.’
Two young American men – tall, well-nourished, bearded and baseball-capped – had just taken a table two away from Robin. One was wearing a polo shirt, the other, a NASCAR T-shirt emblazoned with the name Jimmie Jones, and a large 48.
‘Nothing important, I’ll tell you later,’ said Robin. ‘Just wanted to touch base. I’ll let you go, if you’re off to Lucy’s. See you Monday.’
Strike, who didn’t particularly want to forfeit the distraction of talking to Robin while he headed towards an encounter he was dreading, said goodbye, then continued walking, his feeling of foreboding growing ever deeper. Lucy had sounded thrilled that he was coming over, which made the prospect of delivering his news even less palatable.
The large magnolia tree in Lucy and Greg’s front garden was, naturally, sporting no flowers on this cool March day. Strike knocked on the door, which was opened almost immediately by his favourite nephew, Jack.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Strike. ‘You’ve grown about eight inches since I last saw you.’
‘Be weird if I’d shrunk,’ said Jack, grinning. ‘You’re thinner.’
