Jade reminded Strike of his oldest friend’s wife, Penny Polworth, not in looks – Jade was prettier, notwithstanding the crooked false eyelashes and bed hair – but in the way she spoke about her vanished husband. The Polworths had always seemed to Strike to live in a state of mutual animosity they appeared to consider the only natural condition for a man and a woman living together. Both seemed happiest on the occasions when they’d got their own way over the wishes of the other, and they constantly griped about each other, whether together or apart. Strike well remembered Polworth’s frank explanation of the reason he’d proposed (I thought of the money I’ve spent chasing gash, and the hassle, and whether I want to be watching porn alone at forty, and I thought, this is the whole point. What marriage is for. Am I going to do better than Penny? Am I enjoying talking shit to women in bars? Penny and me get on all right. I could do a hell of a lot worse. She’s not bad-looking. I’d have my hole already at home, waiting for me, wouldn’t I?). Strike had been best man at the wedding, and he seemed to remember both Polworths seeming happy enough on the day, but never, even once, had he envied their relationship; indeed, he couldn’t remember envying any marriage, except perhaps (he recognised it with an inward pang, never having really considered the matter before) that of Ted and Joan, who’d seemed to like each other just as much as they loved each other.
‘We’ll go this way,’ Jade called to Strike, beckoning him across the grass.
Rather than explain about his leg, Strike gritted his teeth and hobbled across the slippery grass to Jade and the Pomeranian, which had started yapping again, having been deprived of whatever rancid object it had been trying to swallow.
‘We can go over by the trees,’ said Jade, setting off again. ‘More shel’ered.’
As they walked, Strike pulled out his vape pen.
‘I ’ad one just like that,’ said Jade, squinting up at Strike, ‘but ’e fuckin’ took it off me.’
‘Who did, Niall?’ asked Strike, most of whose concentration was now given over to not stumbling.
‘Yeah, said ’e didn’ want me vaping. Fuck’s sake, I give up smoking for ’im, an’ going out anywhere, and bein’ stuck up in fuckin’ Crieff in the cold. I could at least ’ave a vape, couldn’ I?’
‘Can’t see why not,’ said Strike tactfully. ‘What did you mean when you said Niall was “a bit funny” about the masons, post-injury?’
‘’E was readin’ about ’em all the time, an’ not talkin’ for hours. An’ one day ’e went on a run an’ went all the way to fuckin’ Dunkeld.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Twenny-odd miles away. An’ ’e was stuck on the bridge.’
‘What d’you mean, “stuck”?’
‘Scared to go over it. ’E freaked out. It’s masonic, as well, that bridge. Built by some old Freemason. There’s s’posed to be a masonic mark on it or somefing, I dunno. I ’ad to go pick ’im up in the car – wish I’d left ’im there, now,’ she said bitterly.
‘Did Niall have any connection with Camden, that you know of?’
‘No, but turns ou’ I didn’t know a ton of stuff, doesn’ it?’
‘Did he know Freemasons’ Hall, at all?’
‘I dunno.’
‘What about old silver?’
‘No. Why would ’e know abou’ about old silver?’
Strike thought, immediately, of a glass case full of gleaming Rhodesian silver in Hereford, situated in the best fortified army base in the UK, where the fences were topped with barbed wire, cameras watched the perimeter, within which photography and sketching were forbidden, and where the nature of what happened behind some of the closed doors was covered by the Official Secrets Act.
‘What kind of thing was Niall reading, before he disappeared?’ he asked.
‘I dunno. Old books.’
‘Did he take them with him, when he left?’
‘Maybe. ’E ’ad a briefcase wiv ’im, when ’e was filmed at the cashpoint.’
‘Yeah, I saw that,’ said Strike. ‘A metal case. Had you ever seen it before?’
‘No.’
‘It looked to me as though he might have it handcuffed to him.’
‘Yeah, the police fort that, too.’
They were under the canopy of trees now. Strike would have been more grateful for respite from the rain if the ground hadn’t been muddy. Still giving half his attention to not falling on his arse, he said,
‘What can you tell me about when Niall left?’
There was a short silence. Strike decided it was polite (and certainly easier) to pretend he hadn’t noticed she’d started to cry. He had an excuse; the tears now trickling down her face might be rain, but why couldn’t Robin have been here? Why did he have to deal with so many crying women on his own?
‘Ev’ryone finks I’m a bitch for goin’ away when ’e wasn’ right,’ said Jade huskily, ‘but it was our firtief – me an’ my twin’s. I’d been sittin’ in the ’ospital wiv ’im for free monfs straight. Then we come up ’ere to stay in ’is mum’s old ’ouse, an’ ’e was barely talkin’ to me, jus’ readin’ abou’ the fuckin’ masons an’ goin’ on runs. I said to ’im, “I wanna ’ave a birfday party”, an’ ’e didn’ wanna go, so – in the end – I said, “fine, I’ll go alone then”. I ’adn’t seen my family for ages. An’ tha’s when ’e left, while I was down in Colchester for the weekend.’
‘Didn’t he leave a note or anything?’
‘Yeah – well, no’ a proper note,’ said Jade in a choked voice. ‘Jus’ a bit of paper wiv some mad shit on it. Didn’ even ’ave my name on it, but ’e left it on my pillow.’
‘Where’s that piece of paper now?’
‘I give it to the bloke ’oo come to see me, after Niall left.’
‘What bloke?’
‘Lawrence or somefing – army or Ministry of Defence – I dunno, I was in such a state at the time – but ’e seemed to know all abou’ Niall, said they was tryna find ’im. I never saw or ’eard of ’im again.’
‘Lawrence showed you ID, though, did he?’
‘I can’ remember,’ said Jade. ‘Probably. ’E wan’ed to know where I fort Niall would’ve gone, an’ this is all before I found out abou’ that blonde woman, so I said I fort ’e must be livin’ rough or somefing, ’cause I knew ’e adn’t touched our joint account. I was worried sick,’ she said, with a sob that even Strike couldn’t credibly claim not to have heard.
‘I’m sorry, this must be very difficult for you,’ he said. ‘I know it’s—’
His false leg skidded out from under him; for a moment he was entirely airborne, then he fell with a crash on his back into a patch of mud. The Pomeranian set up a volley of yapping, as though Strike’s yell of pain had been an invitation to fight.
‘Oh my God,’ said Jade in panic, looking at the metal rod revealed by his trouser leg, ‘Pom Pom, shut up – you ’aven’t got a leg! Why din’ you say?’
‘I’ve got a leg,’ said Strike stupidly, while the dog continued to skitter around him, barking. ‘No,’ he added, as Jade stretched out a hand to try and help him; he could no sooner use a woman that small to bear his weight than he could haul himself up on a dangling leaf. After several attempts, covering both hands in mud in the process, he managed to get himself upright again, his right knee now excruciatingly painful and the end of his stump burning. Wanting neither pity nor discussions about his missing right foot, he said with forced cheerfulness,
‘All good. Let’s keep going.’
‘You should’ve told me… we’ll go back on the path,’ said Jade. Her manner had changed. While still tearful, she watched with some concern as the now extremely muddy Strike struggled onwards, no longer able to conceal his limp.