‘Oh – that’s what Cardew was trying to get her to delete?’
‘Exactly. Their little rebound fling doesn’t seem to have been the end of their acquaintance, which is interesting, as is his comment “there are better ways”. Pity we’ve ruled out Cardew, in a way, because personality-wise he seems to fit Anomie better than almost anyone, and I note Pierce thinks so too.
‘Anyway, Kea’s been up to more than making threats on Twitter,’ Strike went on, now reaching for his phone and bringing up the Tribulationem et Dolorum website. ‘Have a look at that. It’s from a couple of years ago.’
Robin took the phone and read the conversation between Arke and John that Strike had found that morning.
‘Now go and have a look at the “About the Founder” page,’ said Strike.
Robin did so, and then, with a look of dawning enlightenment, read aloud:
‘“A selection of John’s compositions can be heard at www.IJU.MakesSounds…” IJU? Not…’
‘Inigo John Upcott,’ said Strike. ‘Precisely.’
Robin stared at Strike.
‘But then—’
‘Remember Inigo’s spirited defence of Kea, when we were round at their house? Words to the effect of “Blay treated that young lady extremely badly”? I’ve got a strong suspicion that he and Kea have had a lot more contact than one online discussion about chronic fatigue.’
‘You don’t think—?’
‘She’s his “darling child”? I do, yeah.’
‘Wow,’ said Robin slowly, looking back down at the Tribulationem et Dolorum site . ‘Well, there’s no way this is coincidence. She didn’t turn up on that website without knowing who ran it.’
‘I agree. She was looking for a sneaky way to keep tabs on Josh and Edie. I don’t doubt there came a point, once she’d convinced Inigo she was there for the fascination of his personality, that they “discovered” their mutual connection to Josh and Edie and I’m sure Kea was suitably amazed at the bizarre twist of fate. On short acquaintance, I’d say Inigo’s a man with an outsize ego. I don’t think Kea would have had too hard a job convincing him she was maintaining contact because he was such a wise, talented man, rather than because she wanted to wheedle information out of him. And all of this shunts Kea right back up the Anomie suspect list, doesn’t it? We thought she had no means of knowing about the proposed Harty-to-human change, but if we’re right, she’s had a direct route into the Upcott household since 2013.’
‘D’you think she and Inigo have met in real life?’ asked Robin.
‘That’s something we’ll need to ask Upcott. They’ve clearly got each other’s phone numbers, if she’s the “darling child” he’s been reassuring and promising to help.’
‘She surely wouldn’t have—?’ began Robin, before breaking off.
‘Who knows?’ said Strike, who’d correctly guessed how the sentence would have ended. ‘Some people’ll go to any lengths to further their interests.’
Both thought immediately of Robin letting Pez Pierce thrust his tongue into her mouth.
‘I’m supposed to be taking over on Ashcroft tomorrow,’ said Robin.
‘We’ll rejig the rota,’ said Strike, picking up his phone again. ‘And we’ll do Upcott together, first thing.’
Robin suspected the suggestion they stick together was motivated by Strike’s apprehensions about The Halvening, but as she had no real complaints about spending the morning with Strike, she merely said as she got up,
‘The chicken’ll be nearly done. Keep an eye on the game. I’ll just steam some veg.’
‘“Steam”,’ repeated Strike, as though he’d never heard the word before.
‘Something wrong with steaming?’
‘No. Just never done it. I normally fry everything.’
‘Ah,’ said Robin. ‘Well, you might want to change that, if you’re worried about calories.’
She retreated to the kitchen, leaving Strike to email Pat about the rota and send texts to Midge, Dev, Barclay and Nutley. Having done this, Strike replaced his phone in his pocket, checked Drek’s Game to make sure that Anomie was still absent, then looked around the sitting room.
What would he have guessed about the occupant, if he hadn’t known who lived here? She liked reading: the books had partially overflowed the small bookcase he himself had helped put together, and he noted how many works on criminology were crammed alongside the novels. Apparently she had a fondness for Fauvist art, given that there was a second print hanging over the dining room table: Matisse’s Still Life with Geraniums. He’d have known the occupant of this flat didn’t earn the kind of money, or have the same kind of family, as Charlotte, whose flat, which Strike had briefly shared, had been full of bits of antique furniture left to her by various relatives. The blue and cream curtains Robin had hung since he’d last been here weren’t expensive, nor did they have heavy rope tiebacks or beaded fringing, while the lampshade overhead was a cheap white Chinese lantern. He’d have guessed she was habitually neat and clean, because this room bore no air of having been hastily organised for his arrivaclass="underline" no Hoover tracks on the carpet, no smell of Pledge in the air. He saw with some pleasure that Robin had put the philodendron he’d bought her in a blue china pot. The plant was now sitting on a corner table, looking healthy: apparently she watered plants too. After taking another pull on his e-cigarette, he heaved himself to his feet to look at the framed photographs on the mantelpiece.
He recognised Robin’s parents, beaming at what appeared to be, judging by the silver balloons behind them, a twenty-fifth anniversary celebration. Her mother Linda hadn’t often worn that smile when face to face with Strike; but then, she’d become less enamoured of him with every dangerous episode in which her daughter had been involved, working for the agency. A second picture showed a giggling toddler in a pink spotted swimsuit, standing beneath a garden sprinkler: Strike assumed this was Robin’s niece. The third picture showed the adult Robin arm in arm with her three brothers, all of whom Strike had met; the fourth, a chocolate Labrador; and the fifth a group of people sitting at a dinner table, with a spectacular view of the Matterhorn at sunset visible through the large window beside them.
Glancing behind him to make sure that Robin wasn’t going to reappear, he picked up this picture and examined it. A different toddler was sitting in a high chair at the end of the table, a plastic spoon clutched in his chubby hand. Robin was smiling at the camera from a seat about halfway down the table, and a sturdy-looking man with a neat sandy beard and eyes that Strike found fishy was sitting beside her, also beaming, with his arm along the back of Robin’s chair. Strike was still holding this picture when Robin returned, holding cutlery.
‘Matterhorn,’ he said, replacing the picture where it had stood.
‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘It was so beautiful. Has Anomie been in?’ she asked, pointing at the iPad.
‘No,’ said Strike. ‘Let me help carry stuff through.’
Both were so tired that talk was desultory over dinner, during which Robin paused regularly to move Buffypaws in the game. Anomie didn’t appear and the only moderators present were Paperwhite and Morehouse, neither of whom chided Buffypaws for spending long periods inactive.
‘If I’m going to pass the moderator test I’ll have to find some time to revise the cartoon next week,’ Robin said as they cleared away their plates at the end of dinner.
‘I know,’ said Strike. ‘We’ll have to prioritise that.’
Strike checked whether Ormond’s arrest had been reported after washing up, but none of the news sites they visited were yet carrying the story. They retired to their respective beds shortly afterwards, and if both were aware of the intimacy of Robin handing Strike his own clean bath towel and a pile of clean bedding, and of using the same bathroom, each hid it beneath a matter-of-factness bordering on brusqueness.