‘Now,’ said Strike, and he slowed the footage, ‘I know you can’t see him clearly, because of the bloke standing in front of him, but watch: Driscoll takes the bag and Wright bends over the crate to sign what I assume is a handwritten chit to show he took receipt of the centrepiece. Watch his elbow.’
‘Oh God, how did I miss that?’ gasped Robin. ‘He signs with his right hand!’
‘Exactly,’ said Strike, pausing the film. ‘So, there are three possibilities: one, he’s ambidextrous, two, for some reason he didn’t want the signature he gave at Bullen & Co to look like his own, or, three, he was faking being left-handed at Ramsays, and he forgot the pretence when he had to sign something unexpectedly.’
As Robin wheeled her chair back to the other side of the desk, she heard a high, clear voice she recognised as Kim Cochran’s in the outer office. Then there was a knock on the dividing door, which opened before either partner could say ‘come in’.
‘Oh,’ said Kim, seeing Robin first, ‘if it’s a bad time—’
‘No,’ said Strike, because he didn’t want to give Robin the impression he wasn’t happy for her to hear anything Kim had to say. ‘What’s up?’
Kim entered the room in another skin-tight dress, knee-length and black, with high-heeled boots. Her make-up, Robin noticed, was immaculate. Kim gave a little laugh and gestured down at her outfit in poorly feigned bashfulness, as though she’d only just remembered she was wearing it.
‘Sorry about this, it’s my last afternoon off before Christmas, I’m having lunch with my sister. Anyway, I’ve managed to get details of the getaway car they think the silver vault killers used.’
‘Really?’ said Strike.
‘Yes,’ said Kim. ‘OK if I sit down?’
She went to fetch a third chair without waiting for an answer. Though irritated by the intrusion, Robin took advantage of the distraction to pull her mobile out of her pocket and read the texts Pat had sent her.
Rokeby says he saw the thing in the paper and wanted to offer his own lawyers, says he’ll pay. Said he knows Cormoran never did it and that Culpepper’s a shit. Says he feels bad the illegitimate stuff keeps being dragged up.
Pat had then sent a second text.
He was very nice.
‘Love the goldfish, by the way,’ said the beaming Kim, who’d returned with one of the fold-up chairs. She sat down and crossed her legs, which made the clinging black dress ride halfway up her thighs.
‘So,’ she said, ‘none of my contacts can tell me why they didn’t give out details of the getaway car to the press. Like I said before, there seems to be something really weird going on around this case, everyone’s being super cagey, but anyway: it was a light-coloured Peugeot 208 with fake plates. It arrived at the end of Wild Court with one person in it, but after leaving Wild Court there were two, though no clear view of either of them. It headed west along the A40 then disappeared into a residential area, where they think it might have changed plates again. That’s as much as I’ve got so far, but I’ll keep trying.’
‘That’s very helpful, thanks,’ said Strike, once again injecting a note of finality into his voice, but this time Kim ignored it.
‘I’ve got news on Plug, too.’
‘Really?’ said Strike.
‘Yes. Whatever was in that shed has been moved. I followed Plug and his son to the allotment just after midnight. They were in there ten minutes, then took something out wrapped in a sack. It was big; it took two of them to carry it, and it was either dead or drugged.’
‘Shit,’ said Strike. ‘I called the bloody RSPCA, as well.’
‘Maybe that’s why they got rid of whatever it was,’ suggested Robin. ‘An inspector visited the shed and Plug heard about it.’
‘Then,’ said Kim, as though Robin hadn’t spoken, ‘they slung it in the back of Plug’s van and drove it all the way to Haringey, where they took it into a shitty house on Carnival Street.’
‘Plug and his son used to live in Haringey,’ said Robin. ‘Maybe a friend’s agreed to look after whatever it is?’
‘And after that,’ said Kim, still without acknowledging Robin in any way, ‘they came out and went back to Plug’s mum’s place.’
‘Get the number of the house in Carnival Street?’ asked Strike.
‘Yeah, number fifteen,’ said Kim.
‘OK, good work,’ said Strike, ‘write it up for the file. Might be worth keeping an eye on that house, as well.’
As she stood up and picked up her chair, Kim said to Strike,
‘D’you want coffee? I’m making some.’
‘Oh – yeah, that’d be great, thanks,’ said Strike.
‘Robin?’
‘No thanks,’ said Robin automatically, although in fact she’d have liked one, too.
Kim smiled and left, leaving the door open.
‘What were we just saying?’ asked Strike, running a hand over his face.
‘We were talking about Wright’s left-handedness,’ said Robin. ‘I take it you told Decima about it?’
‘Yeah. We took the case on the basis we wouldn’t string her along, right?’
‘Of course,’ said Robin.
‘So I told her the truth: we haven’t yet found any evidence to suggest Fleetwood was Wright, and it’s looking even less likely than it did at the start – at which she burst into tears, begged me to keep investigating and told me she’s left another load of messages for Sacha Legard to try and make him talk to me, seeing as he’s ignoring my emails.’
Kim reappeared with a mug of coffee.
‘Cheers,’ said Strike, noting her warm smile as she set it down and half wishing he hadn’t accepted it. Kim left, closing the door behind her.
She’s going to hang around until we come out, thought Robin. She’s not going to let that dress go to waste.
‘I’d imagine the reason the Met didn’t publicise that Peugeot 208,’ said Strike, lowering his voice, ‘is that someone in Lynden Knowles’ circle drives one.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Robin.
‘Moving on,’ said Strike, turning to yet another page of notes, ‘Pat’s found ninety-two married Hussein Mohameds so far, so we’re a while away from finding the one who lived upstairs from William Wright, but when I’ve got time I’ll comb through them and see if any of them look likely.
‘I’ve also done a bit of research on our porn friend, Dangerous Dick. He’s registered with what looks like London’s premier adult entertainment agency, Triple XR – or he was. I called there – fake name, obviously – and asked to be put in touch with him. He’s no longer on their books.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin.
‘Obviously, that doesn’t mean he’s been bumped off, but it’s interesting, all the same. I asked for contact details and they sounded suspicious and said I could leave a message for him. I asked him to call, but he hasn’t. I’d imagine they get a fair few nutters trying to contact them, porn stars, so I think you might have to make the next approach. New voice, and I’d imagine a woman will seem less fishy, but I can’t think of any cover other than pretending you’re casting a porn shoot.’
‘Right,’ said Robin, privately wondering how many more unforeseen dilemmas she was going to have to face today. Exactly how you went about convincing an adult actors’ agency you were a bona fide porn producer, she had no idea at all.
‘We’ll workshop it,’ said Strike, ‘after Christmas. In the meantime, I’ll have a bash at identifying the woman who delivered that cipher note. If she’s in the same line of work, she’s bound to have an online presence. Anyway, what’ve you got?’
‘Well, I’ve hit a complete dead end on Sapphire, the girl who messaged Osgood and Oz. I called the missing persons’ charity,’ Robin added. ‘Apparently she disappeared from a foster home. She’d only been there a month and hadn’t told the foster parents anything about meeting a man, or mentioned anyone called Oz. She’s got quite a bit of form for running away, though, so maybe there’s nothing in that at all, but,’ Robin went on tentatively, ‘I’ve actually found something else. It might be completely irrelevant, but for what it’s worth…’