‘You got a hell of a lot out of her,’ said Strike. ‘Excellent work.’
Robin, who was sitting in the parked Land Rover eating a tuna sandwich she’d bought from a nearby café, hadn’t been able to resist calling Strike after leaving Sheila. He sounded considerably less grumpy than the last time they’d spoken.
‘Awful, though, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Nobody getting her poor husband any medical help.’
‘Yeah, it is. Trouble is, he made the choice not to go to hospital, didn’t he? So it’d be very hard to make a criminal charge stick. It’s not like Margaret Cathcart-Bryce, who was actively asking for a doctor.’
‘Allegedly asking,’ said Robin. ‘We’ve got no corroboration for that.’
‘Yeah, that’s the problem,’ said Strike, who was currently standing in the street outside the Frank brothers’ block of flats. ‘What we really need is something criminal that had multiple eyewitnesses who’re prepared to stand up in court and talk, which I’m starting to think is going to be a bloody tall order.’
‘I know,’ said Robin. ‘I can’t see Sheila’s accounts of beatings and whippings being believed after all this time without corroboration. I’ll start looking for Paul Draper and Jordan Reaney, though.’
‘Great,’ said Strike. ‘With luck, they can confirm their own and each other’s assaults – oh, here he comes.’
‘Who?’
‘One of the Franks. I can’t tell them apart.’
‘Frank One’s got a bit of a squint and Frank Two’s balder.’
‘It’s Two, then,’ said Strike, watching the man. ‘Hope he’s heading for central London, otherwise I’ll have to get Dev to take over from me early. I’m interviewing the Facebook friend of housing heiress Flora Brewster at six. He called me last night.’
‘Oh, great. Where are you meeting him?’
‘The Grenadier pub, Belgravia,’ said Strike, setting off after his target, who was heading for the station. ‘His choice. Apparently it’s near his place of work. He also claims we’ve got a mutual friend.’
‘Probably a client,’ said Robin. The number of very rich Londoners who’d come to the agency for help had been steadily increasing, year on year, and they’d recently done jobs for a couple of billionaires.
‘So that’s all Sheila said, is it?’ asked Strike.
‘Er – yes, I think so,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll write up my notes and email them to you.’
‘Great. Well, I’d better go, we’re heading for a train. Safe travels.’
‘OK, bye,’ said Robin, and hung up.
She sat for a moment, contemplating the last bit of her sandwich, which was very dry, before putting it back into its paper bag and reaching instead for a yoghurt and a plastic spoon. Her slight hesitation before answering Strike’s last question was due to the fact that she’d omitted mention of his presence at the Aylmerton Community as a boy. Robin assumed that Strike didn’t want to talk about that, given that he hadn’t revealed it himself.
Unaware how close he’d come to a conversation he definitely didn’t want to have, Strike spent the journey into London feeling slightly less disgruntled at the world after restoring friendly relations with Robin. His mood was further elevated, though for less sentimental reasons, when Frank Two led him to Notting Hill, then made his way to the very terrace of pastel-coloured houses where their client, actress Tasha Mayo, lived.
‘He’s been skulking behind parked cars, looking up at her windows,’ Strike told Dev Shah an hour later, when the latter turned up to take over surveillance. ‘I’ve taken a few pictures. He hasn’t glued up any keyholes yet.’
‘Probably waiting for night time,’ said Shah. ‘More romantic.’
‘Have you spoken to Littlejohn lately?’ Strike asked.
‘“Spoken”,’ repeated Shah, musingly. ‘No, I don’t think you could call it speaking. Why?’
‘What d’you think of him?’ said Strike. ‘Off the record?’
‘Weird,’ said Shah flatly, looking directly at his boss.
‘Yeah, I’m starting to—’
‘Here she is,’ said Shah.
The door of the actress’s house had opened and a slight, short-haired blonde stepped out onto the pavement, a holdall over her shoulder. She set off at a brisk walk in the direction of the Tube, reading something off her phone as she went. The younger Frank took off in pursuit, his mobile raised: he seemed to be filming her.
‘Creepy fucker,’ were Shah’s last words before setting off, leaving Strike free to proceed to the Grenadier.
