He glanced at the time on his computer screen. He had three minutes until his call with Zacharias Lorimer.
‘If she didn’t like my tone, I’m sorry,’ said Kim. ‘I suppose I just get hyper-focused on the job and want everyone firing on all cylinders.’
‘It’s down to Robin and me to decide whether all the subcontractors’ cylinders are firing.’
‘OK, point taken,’ said Kim, ‘I’ll apologise. To be completely honest with you, I was getting pissed off with her, because she’d been going on and on about that shitty story in the paper, you know, that thing with you and Candy—’
‘An apology should sort things,’ said Strike firmly, though he didn’t like what he’d just heard.
‘I’ll ring Midge now. Actually, if you’ve got a mo, I wanted to explain about that text I sent, Christmas Eve. I’ve been so embarrassed. You’re right above this guy Stu in my contacts, he’s been pestering me for a date since he found out I’ve split up with Ray—’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go.’
He hung up, thoroughly disgruntled, wondering whether Midge had indeed been harping on that bloody news story. She had form on loudly expressed comments about his personal life; he well remembered her raging about ‘her with the fake tits’, after his extremely ill-advised liaison with Bijou Watkins had featured in Private Eye. Then, realising it was half past one exactly, he hastily brought up FaceTime and tapped in the number on the Post-it note Pat had placed beside his computer.
Zacharias Lorimer answered within a few rings, and Strike found himself facing a young man with thick, wavy blond hair, whose skin had the pink-brown, ham-like hue typical of Anglo-Saxons exposed to bright sunlight. He was sitting in what appeared to be an upmarket lodge of some kind, with wooden walls. Dazzling sunlight was falling through a window to his right. The corner of a large painting of a lioness and a well-stocked drinks tray were visible in the background, suggesting that Zacharias wasn’t slumming it in Kenya, though his khaki shirt gestured vaguely at some park ranger role.
‘Hi,’ he said, before Strike could speak. ‘You’re Cormoran, yah?’
‘That’s me,’ said Strike. ‘Thanks for getting back—’
‘OK,’ said Zacharias forcefully, ‘look, I don’t know where Rupert is, OK? I’ve told Decima I don’t know where he is, so that’s all I’ve got to say, OK?’
‘Yeah, that’s very clear,’ said Strike, who recognised a blow-hard when he met one, and changed his tactics accordingly. ‘Have you told the police that?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You left for Kenya before they got in touch, did you?’ said Strike.
‘What?’ said Zacharias, staring out of the screen with his slightly bloodshot eyes.
‘I assumed – but OK, if they haven’t tracked you down yet—’
‘What are you talking about? Why would the bloody police want to talk to me?’
‘Aside from the drug debt, you mean?’
Strike could tell Lorimer had been hoping Strike didn’t know anything about his dealings with Dredge, because his sunburned skin now turned blotchily red. He also deduced that Lorimer wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, because after a long pause he said in a tone of poorly feigned confusion and defiance,
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Dredge. The dealer you stiffed for a kilo of Colombia’s finest.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I’m not arsed one way or another about the coke,’ said Strike, ‘but if you’d rather talk to the police than me, I’ll let you go.’
He reached out a hand, as though to close FaceTime, and Zacharias said,
‘Hang on!’
Strike withdrew his hand.
‘Nobody’s been in touch with me, except you, OK?’ said Zacharias, now looking panicky.
‘Look,’ said the detective, with a carefully calculated air of circumspection, ‘I only want information on Rupert. If the police think I’m messing with their investigation, or warning suspects—’
‘What d’you mean, “suspects”? Why – suspected of what?’
‘When did you leave for Kenya?’
‘Why?’
‘Because if you left after the murder was all over the British news, I can’t be accused of giving you details you already knew.’
‘I – what?’ said Zacharias, clearly thrown. ‘Wait – is this that silver shop thing?’
‘How did you know that?’ said Strike sharply, as though Zacharias had suspicious inside knowledge.
‘Because Decima said something about it, but that’s bloody ridiculous, I looked it all up online and the police found out it was some thief—’
‘There’ve been developments since then, but I probably shouldn’t – thanks for your time, anyway.’
Once again, Strike stretched out his hand to close the window.
‘Hang on! They – what? They actually think that body was Rupert? That’s just – that’s bullshit!’ said Zacharias, now looking thoroughly panicked.
‘D’you have a concrete reason for thinking that?’ asked Strike. ‘Have you been in touch with him since the body was found?’
‘No, but that doesn’t – it can’t have been him!’
‘Were you aware Rupert had an antique silver ship he wanted to dispose of?’
‘No,’ said Zacharias, looking genuinely confused.
‘He stole it because he needed cash to get Dredge off his back, after you fucked off to Kenya.’
‘I never told him to nick any bloody silver ship!’ said Zacharias, now turning slowly purple. ‘If he did that, it’s on him!’
He reached out of shot for a glass of what might have been water or gin, and took a large swig.
‘So it’s news to you Rupert might’ve got his head bashed in, because you don’t pay your debts?’
‘I don’t even know who this Dredge—’
‘Spare me the bullshit,’ said Strike. ‘We both know you’re not in Kenya for the scenery. When did you last hear from Rupert?’
‘Not since we moved out of our house.’
‘Any idea where he might’ve gone, if he wasn’t the body in the silver vault?’
‘I dunno – back to Switzerland, maybe, gone to be a ski instructor or something? He speaks German and Italian. It’s what I’d’ve done, if I were him.’
‘Probably not much demand for ski instructors in May, which is the last definite sighting of Rupert,’ said Strike.
‘He could’ve stayed with his aunt and uncle in Zurich, before the season started.’
‘His aunt says Rupert’s in New York.’
‘Well, then, he probably is.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about getting a job in New York?’
‘No, not that I can remember – look, if he’s run off somewhere, it’s nothing to do with me, OK?’ said Lorimer. ‘I never made him steal anything! He was all over the fucking place, in that fucked-up relationship – she’s nearly forty, that Longcaster woman! I think he had a fucking Oedipiddle complex, or something.’
‘Oedipiddle complex?’
‘Yeah, you know, when you want to screw your mother,’ said Zacharias. ‘I’m telling you, he was going weird in the head before I left. Ripping up his clothes and shit.’
‘What d’you mean, ripping—?’
‘Tish not told you about that?’ said Zacharias, with a sneer.
‘This is your girlfriend?’
‘Ex-girlfriend. She probably knows where he is, go ask her, they were cosying up by the end.’
‘They were romantically involved?’
‘No,’ said Zacharias, scowling, but Strike suspected a different kind of betrayal; perhaps that the pair had bonded over mutual fear of Dredge’s displaced revenge.