Hartella: because Josh trusts me not to say.
Worm28: will there be loiyer ’s there ?
Vilepechora: what the fuck’s a loiyer?
LordDrek: rofl
Fiendy1: fuck off, she’s dyslexic
Hartella: no, Worm, it’ll be just the 2 of them
Vilepechora: She’s in a shit mood on the moderator channel because the numbers have been down lately. Wait til Blay shows her our dossier, hahaha
Paperwhite: why can’t you tell us where they’re meeting?
Hartella: I’ve just told you, Josh trusts me not to tell anyone.
Hartella: obviously he doesn’t want to be interrupted by autograph hunters.
Paperwhite: ffs I’m not going to try and get an autograph I’m miles away from London I just wondered
Paperwhite: Tho actually it’s kind of obvious where they’ll meet
Hartella: Paperwhite, seriously, if fans turn up there Josh’ll never trust me again
Paperwhite: I’ve just told you I couldn’t turn up if I wanted to. I’m miles away.
Hartella: Josh trusts me, ok?
Paperwhite: Ffs, Hartella, we get it. Josh Blay’s got your phone number. Get over yourself.
Paperwhite: Gtg
<Paperwhite has left the channel>
Hartella: What the hell’s her problem?
Fiendy1: She’s used to being Anomie and Morehouse’s fave. She doesn’t like you getting attention instead
LordDrek: I knew Morehouse fancied her, but Anomie as well?
Fiendy1: idk for sure but he lets her off with more than anyone else, haven’t you noticed?
Vilepechora: guess who’s left the mod channel because they need to be somewhere later?
Hartella: Well, there you are. As if we needed more proof.
LordDrek: She’ll be trying to make herself look less of a skank before she meets him.
Hartella: lol
LordDrek: only you could have done this, Hartella
Hartella: *blushes*
LordDrek: Blay should go armed. I’m starting to think she’s psychotic
Vilepechora: can one of you come and help me on the mod channel?
Worm28: I will
>
Hartella: when this gets out the fandom’s explode
LordDrek: yeah. is JB going to let you know how it goes?
Hartella: yes, he said he would.
LordDrek: fuck, this feels like Christmas Eve
10
The ground is hollow in the path of mirth…
The agency’s next full team meeting took place at the office on the second Friday in February. It was a dark, wet London day. Heavy rain pattered on the windowpanes and the office’s artificial light made everyone but Dev look unhealthily pale.
‘Right,’ said Strike, having dealt with a few loose ends and administrative details, ‘on to Groomer. As you know, we thought he was too smart to hang around Legs’ school, but that changed yesterday lunchtime. Midge?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, taking the biscuit tin from Barclay and passing it to Strike without taking anything herself, ‘he turned up in his BMW at twelve-thirty, window wound down, scanning all the girls who were coming out for lunch. I took pictures – Pat’s printed them out –’
Pat stuck her e-cigarette between her teeth, opened the folder on her lap and passed the wad of pictures around.
‘– and as you can see, he texted her, rather than flag her down in front of her mates. Once the friends were out of sight she doubled back and got into the car with him. I was worried they were going to drive off somewhere, but he only went round the corner so they’d be out of sight of the school gates.’
The photos had reached Robin. She examined them one by one. In the last, which had been taken through the windscreen of the BMW, Groomer, a handsome man of around forty, with a full head of dirty blond hair and an attractively crooked smile, was kissing the back of the seventeen-year-old’s hand as she sat in the passenger seat beside him.
‘The hand-kissing happened right before the school bell rang,’ said Midge. ‘She checked her phone right after it, realised she was due back in class and legged it. He drove off. He didn’t come back and she took the bus home as usual.’
‘But there’ve been developments since,’ said Strike. ‘When Midge showed me these photos, I sent them straight to the mother, who called me this morning. She confronted Legs, pretended another mother had spotted her getting into Groomer’s car. Legs claimed he had just happened to be passing the school and waved at her. The mother demanded to see her mobile. Legs refused. It degenerated into a physical fight.’
‘Oh no,’ groaned Robin.
‘Legs managed to keep the mobile out of her mother’s clutches, so her mother, who pays the bill, locked and wiped it remotely.’
‘Nice one,’ said Barclay and Midge in unison, but Dev shook his head.
‘He’ll exploit it – buy her a new phone. The worst thing that woman can do right now is make herself the bad guy.’
‘I agree,’ said Strike. ‘The client’s already panicking about what’s going to happen when she goes abroad again. Legs will be staying with the schoolfriend whose family took her to Annabel’s at New Year and, having seen them, they don’t look like strict disciplinarians.
‘Anyway, mother and daughter are currently driving to Hereford for Granny’s ninetieth birthday.’
‘The atmosphere in that car must be fantastic,’ said Dev.
‘Bottom line,’ said Strike, ‘the Groomer case continues, although my gut says we’re not going to be able to give the client what she wants. Her daughter’s of age. What Groomer’s doing might be morally off, but it isn’t illegal. Mind you, if he keeps hanging around the school gates we might have something to work with.’
‘He’s too canny to do that on a regular basis,’ said Dev.
‘A baseball bat tae the nuts might sort him out,’ suggested Barclay.
‘What we need is to prove to the girl he’s a creep,’ said Robin. ‘That would end it. The problem is, she currently thinks he’s wonderful.’
‘Does she?’ mused Midge, ‘or is she getting a kick out of stealing her mother’s boyfriend?’
‘Maybe both,’ said Robin.
‘I agree,’ said Strike. ‘Psychologically, turning the girl off him’s the one sure-fire way to end it, but putting full-time surveillance on Groomer himself is going to double the bills and I don’t think the client will go for it. She’s taking the view that she can put a stop to it all by threatening both of them and yelling.’
‘She comes across as a lot smarter than that on the telly,’ said Dev through a mouthful of biscuit.
‘Naebody’s smart wi’ their own family,’ said Barclay. ‘I wouldnae be married if my mother-in-law hadn’t kept telling my wife I was some worthless squaddie on the make.’
‘Didn’t you just repaint your mother-in-law’s kitchen?’ asked Robin.
‘I did, aye. She almost thanked me too,’ said Barclay. ‘Magical moment.’
Robin and Dev laughed at his dour expression.
‘You know, we’ve got a light weekend,’ said Strike thoughtfully, rubbing the chin that already looked grimy with stubble, though he’d shaved that morning. ‘It mightn’t be a bad idea to have a shufti at what Groomer gets up to when the girl’s not around. Who fancies some overtime?’