She ferreted around in her handbag, first taking out a brown cardboard folder full of papers. As she was trying to pop a piece of gum out of its pack while balancing the bag on her knee and keeping a grip on the folder, the papers inside slid out and scattered all over the floor. From what Robin could see, they were a mixture of printed-out tweets and handwritten notes.
‘Shit, sorry,’ said the woman breathlessly, scooping up the fallen papers and ramming them back into the folder. Having stuffed it back into her bag and put a piece of gum into her mouth, she sat upright again, now even more dishevelled, her coat bundled untidily around her and her bag clutched defensively on her lap as though it was a pet that might flee.
‘You’re Robin Ellacott, right?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘I was hoping for you, I read about you in the paper,’ said the woman. Robin was surprised. Clients usually wanted Strike. ‘My name’s Edie Ledwell. That woman outside said you haven’t got any room for more clients—’
‘I’m afraid that’s—’
‘I knew you must be really in demand, but – I can pay,’ she said, and her voice carried an odd undertone of surprise. ‘I really can pay, I can afford it, and I’m – to be perfectly honest, I’m desperate.’
‘We are very booked up, I’m afraid,’ Robin began. ‘We’ve got a waiting—’
‘Please can I just tell you what it’s about? Can I just do that? Please? And then, maybe, even if you can’t actually – actually do it – you can give me some advice about how to – or tell me someone who could help? Please?’
‘All right,’ said Robin, whose curiosity was piqued.
‘OK, so – have you heard of The Ink Black Heart?’
‘Er – yes,’ said Robin, surprised. Her cousin Katie had mentioned the cartoon one night at dinner in Zermatt. Katie had watched The Ink Black Heart while on maternity leave and become fascinated by it, though she’d seemed unsure whether it was funny or simply strange. ‘It’s on Netflix, isn’t it? I’ve never actually watched it.’
‘OK, well, that doesn’t really matter,’ said Edie. ‘The point is, I co-created it with my ex-boyfriend and it’s a success, or whatever’ – Edie sounded strangely tense as she said the word – ‘and there might be a film deal, but that’s only relevant because – well, it’s not relevant to what I need investigating, but I just need you to know that I can pay.’
Before Robin could say anything, more words tumbled out.
‘So, two fans of our cartoon, this is a few years ago now – I suppose you’d call them fans, in the beginning, anyway – these two fans created an online game based on our characters.
‘Nobody knows who the two people who made the game are. They call themselves Anomie and Morehouse. Anomie gets most of the credit and he’s the one who’s got the big following online. Some people say Anomie and Morehouse are the same person, but I don’t know whether that’s true.
‘Anyway, Anomie’ – she took a deep breath – ‘he – I’m sure it’s a “he” – he’s made it his mission to – to—’
She suddenly laughed, a laugh totally without humour: she might as well have cried out in pain.
‘—to make my life as unbearable as he can. It’s like – it’s a daily – he never lets up, it never stops.
‘It started when Josh and I gave an interview and they asked us whether we’d seen Anomie’s game and whether we liked it. And – this is hard to explain – there’s a character called Drek in the cartoon, right? I actually really fucking wish there wasn’t a character called Drek in the cartoon, but it’s too late for that now. Anyway, in our cartoon, Drek makes the other characters play a game and he’s always inventing new rules and it always ends badly for everyone except Drek. His game isn’t really a game at all, there’s no logic to it, it’s just him messing around with the other characters.
‘So we were asked in this interview whether we’d seen Anomie and Morehouse’s game and I said yes, but that the game in our cartoon isn’t really a game at all. It’s more of a metaphor – I’m sorry, this must all sound so stupid, but that’s where it started, right, with me saying Anomie’s game wasn’t really the same as Drek’s game in the cartoon.
‘Anyway, Anomie went ballistic when the interview went online. He started attacking me non-stop. He said they’d taken all the rules of their game directly from Drek’s rules, so what the fuck was I doing, claiming it wasn’t accurate? And tons of the fans agreed with him, saying I was throwing shade on the game because it was free and I wanted to shut it down so I could make an official Drek game and profit off it.
‘I thought it would blow over, but it’s just got worse and worse. You can’t – it’s escalated beyond – Anomie posted a picture of my flat online. He’s convinced people I worked as a prostitute when I was broke. He sent me pictures of my dead mother, claiming I told lies about her death. And the fandom believes all of it, and they attack me for stuff I’ve never done, never said, things I don’t believe.
‘But he also knows true things about me, things he shouldn’t.
‘Last year,’ said Edie, and Robin could see her fingers trembling on the handles of the expensive bag, ‘I tried to kill myself.’
‘I’m so—’ Robin began, but Edie made a gesture of impatience: she evidently didn’t want sympathy.
‘Hardly anyone knew I’d done it, but Anomie did before there was any news coverage; he even knew which hospital I was in. He tweeted about it, saying it was all a put-up job, done to make the fans feel sorry for me.
‘Anyway, last Sunday,’ said Edie, her voice now shaking, ‘Josh – he’s the guy I created The Ink Black Heart with – like I say, we used to be… we were together but we broke up, but we still do the cartoon together – Josh called me and said a rumour’s going round that I’m Anomie, that I’m attacking myself online and making up lies about myself, all for attention and sympathy. I said, “Who’s saying that?” and he wouldn’t tell me, he just said, “That’s what I’m hearing.” And he said he wanted me to tell him directly it wasn’t true.
‘I said, “How can you even think, for a second, that that could be fucking true?”’
Edie’s voice had risen to a shout.
‘I hung up on him, but he called again, and we rowed again, and it’s been two weeks or something and he still fucking believes it, and I can’t convince him—’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Hello?’ called Robin.
‘Anyone like coffee?’ said Pat, opening the door a crack and looking from Robin to Edie. Robin knew Pat wanted to check that everything was all right, having heard Edie’s raised voice.
‘I’m good, thanks, Pat,’ said Robin. ‘Edie?’
‘I – no, thanks,’ said Edie, and Pat closed the door again.
‘So the day before yesterday,’ Edie resumed, ‘Josh and I spoke on the phone again and this time he said he’s got a dossier of “evidence”’ – Edie sketched quotation marks in mid-air – ‘proving I’m really Anomie.’
‘Is that the—?’ began Robin, pointing at the bag on Edie’s lap containing the cardboard folder.
‘No, this is just the stuff Anomie’s tweeted at me – I don’t think this supposed fucking dossier of Josh’s even exists. I said to him, “Where did it come from?” And he wouldn’t tell me. He was stoned,’ said Edie, ‘he smokes a lot of weed. I hung up again.
‘I spent all day yesterday just, like, pacing up and down and… What fucking proof can he have that proves I’m Anomie? It’s just fucking ridiculous!’