‘’E was, yeah,’ she said.
‘So, could you—?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We’ve split up.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that,’ said Strike.
‘’E’s inside,’ said Ava.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Strike, ‘which is why—’
‘’E’s a bastard. I’m divorcing ’im.’
‘Right,’ said Strike. ‘Well, could anyone else take a message to him, to see whether he’d be prepared to talk to me about the UHC?’
‘I can ask ’is sister, if you want,’ said Ava. ‘She’s going up next week. Hey, are you that bloke what caught the Shacklewell Ripper?’
‘I am, yeah,’ said Strike.
‘It
‘Did Jordan ever talk to you about his time in there?’ asked Strike.
‘Not much. ’E gets nightmares abou’ it, though,’ she added, with a certain malicious satisfaction.
‘Really?’ said Strike.
‘Yeah. Abou’ the pigs. ’E’s frightened of pigs.’
She laughed, and so did the unknown person standing near her.
‘OK, well, if you wouldn’t mind asking Jordan’s sister to give him my message – you’ve got my phone number, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, I will. OK. See ya.’
Strike hung up.
‘Apparently Jordan Reaney has nightmares about pigs, dating from his time in Chapman Farm.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah… D’you know much about them?’
‘What, pigs? Not really.’
‘Shame. I look to you for farming expertise.’
‘The boars can be really aggressive,’ said Robin, ‘I know that. Our local vet got badly injured by one when I was at school. It slammed him up against metal railings – he had some nasty bites and broken ribs.’
Strike’s mobile now buzzed with the arrival of a text. Robin glimpsed a lot of emojis before her partner swiped the phone off the table and returned it to his pocket.
She deduced, correctly, that the text was from Bijou Watkins. For a moment or two, she considered passing on Ilsa’s warning about Bijou’s bedroom behaviour, but given Strike’s reaction the last time someone tried to interfere with his new relationship, she decided against it. After all, this was the last time she was going to see her business partner for a while, and she preferred not to part on bad terms.
At half past nine the following day, Robin walked out of Victoria Station into the cool, overcast morning. For a moment, she stood with her half-empty holdall over her shoulder, looking around at taxis, swarming commuters and buses, and experienced a moment of panic: there was no minibus, and she groped in her pocket for the UHC pamphlet, to check she had the right station and time, even though she knew perfectly well she did. However, just as she found the pamphlet, she spotted an orange-tabarded woman holding up a sign with the church’s heart-hands logo on it, and recognised Becca Pirbright, Kevin’s older sister, who’d led the second temple service Robin had attended.
Though Robin had previously compared Becca to a motivational speaker, it now struck her that she was more like an idealised notion of a Girl Guide: pretty and neat, with thick-lashed dark eyes, glossy brown hair and a creamy-skinned, oval face, which dimpled when she smiled. Beckoning hesitant arrivals to gather around her, she projected a cheery natural authority.
Beside Becca stood a short, heavy-set young man who had a low forehead, dark eyes, fuzzy dark hair and an underbite. As Robin looked at him, she noticed a slight tic in his right eye; it began to wink, apparently uncontrollably, and he hastily raised a hand to cover it. He too was wearing an orange tabard, and held a clipboard. Seven or eight people with backpacks and bags had already congregated around the pair by the time Robin joined the group.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hello!’ said Becca. ‘Are you one of us?’
‘I think so,’ said Robin. ‘Rowena Ellis?’
The young man with the clipboard marked off the name.
‘Great! I’m Becca, and this is Jiang. He’s going to be our driver.’
‘Hi,’ said Robin, smiling at Jiang, who merely grunted.
The name ‘Jiang’ made Robin wonder whether the young man was another son of Jonathan Wace’s, although he didn’t resemble the church leader in the slightest.
Robin’s fellow initiates were an eclectic bunch. She recognised the young, brown-skinned man in glasses who’d worn a Spiderman T-shirt in the temple, but the others were unfamiliar. They included a pink-faced man who looked to be in his late sixties and had the air of a professor, with his tweed jacket and wispy white hair; two teenaged girls who seemed inclined to giggle, one of whom was plump, with bright green hair, the other pale, blonde and much-pierced. An atmosphere of nervous tension hung over the group, which suggested people waiting to turn over their papers in an important exam.
