Murphy pressed the play button for the third time.
Apparently none of the listening devices installed in Mrs Cardew’s flat were in the hall, because the noise of a door opening sounded distant, as did the first exchange between the two men.
‘Dagaz, my man.’
‘Wally’s got a rune name now?’ said Robin quietly, and Murphy nodded.
The sound of laughter was followed by the door closing. More muffled footsteps, as though on carpet, followed, then an elderly female voice spoke loud and clear.
‘D’you want a cup of tea, either of you?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘No fanks, Gran, I got beer. Give us ’alf an hour, OK?… No, ’e’s in ’ere, ’e’ll be fine… Just lookin’ out the window…’
‘That’d be the cat, who’s looking out of the window?’ asked Strike.
‘Exactly.’
Another door closed.
‘Fort she was going out,’ said Wally apologetically. ‘Good to see you, bro. ’Ow’s Algiz?’
‘Still not right, poor bastard. Jumpy. Bad headaches…’
A faint creak, a soft shifting of material, as though seats had been taken.
‘… he might be, like, brain-damaged for ever, so if you know who this fucker is—’
‘OK, so I’m, like, nine’y-nine per cent sure. ’Elp yourself.’
The unmistakeable sound of ring pulls being torn off cans of beer followed.
‘So,’ said Wally, ‘there’s this guy on Twitter called Lepine’s Disciple –’
Robin glanced at Strike.
‘– ’e’s always liking me tweets, and ’e sometimes comes – used to come and post comments on mine and MJ’s show.
‘So, last night, ’e tags me in on an argument ’e’s ’aving wiv some arsehole called the Pen of Justice and ’e says ’e knows Anomie.’
‘Who does, the Pen—?’
‘No, Lepine’s Disciple. So I followed ’im back and direct messaged him, an’ I said, “You know Anomie?” An’ ’e says, “Yeah, ’e’s a mate of mine.” Load of shit abou’ Anomie being a fuckin’ genius an’ stuff an’ then I says, “So what did ’e ’ave against Ledwell?” and ’e tells me she fucked ’im over big time – sounded like they were screwing – then the slag swanned off with all the money to shack up wiv Josh Blay.’
‘Did ’e give you a name?’
‘Didn’t need to. I know exactly ’oo that is. Guy called Pe—’
A loud clunk was heard and the voices became suddenly distant.
‘—ierce – fucking cat – and ’e lives at the ’ippy—’
Another loud clunk.
‘—to record at. Like I said, I’m nine’y-nine per—’
Still more clunks: Robin could visualise Wally repositioning the object in which the listening device was hidden, which had evidently been knocked to the floor by the cat. The voices became clear again.
‘—’ard on for ’er, ’cause I remember saying to Josh, that fucker don’t like you, watch your fuckin’ back. ’E’s after your bitch. ’E fort ’e was a better artist than Josh an’ ’e does animation – I’m nine’y-nine per cent, it’s ’im. One of ’is nicknames round the commune was Horse, ’cause ’e ’ad a fuckin’ massive c—’
Uruz laughed. Murphy stopped the recording.
‘We’re hoping,’ he said, ‘you might be able to tell us—’
‘Pez Pierce,’ said Robin. ‘Full name: Preston Pierce. He’s from Liverpool and he lives at the North Grove art commune place in Highgate.’
‘Excellent,’ said Darwish crisply, as she and Murphy both got to their feet. The latter said to Strike and Robin,
‘Will you two wait here?’
‘No problem,’ said Strike.
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said Darwish, holding out a cool hand, which Strike and Robin shook in turn. ‘I hope your office wasn’t too badly damaged.’
‘Could’ve been a lot worse,’ said Strike.
Darwish left. Strike and Robin looked at each other.
‘Lepine’s Disciple is a real-life friend of Anomie’s?’ said Robin.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’
‘He does stick up for Anomie a lot.’
‘So do a load of far-right trolls.’
‘That story fits Pez, though.’
‘Yeah… I s’pose,’ said Strike who looked unconvinced.
‘You’re the one who’s always thought Pierce was a frontrunner for Anomie.’
‘Don’t you think Ledwell being a slag who cheated on Anomie is exactly the kind of story a woman-hating virgin would come up with?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Robin, ‘but—’
Murphy now returned, holding a manila envelope which he placed on the table without comment.
‘Given that your office was bombed, and you’ve given us significant leads in this case, I think you deserve to hear how they tripped themselves up. It’s later on the recording you’ve just heard.’
He fast-forwarded, then pressed play.
‘—on’t stroke the fucker, it’ll just scratch you…’
He fast forwarded.
‘—fuckin’ bricked up so I ’ad an ’ate wank over Kea Niven’s Insta—’
‘That goes on a while,’ said Murphy, cutting off Uruz’s laughter as he advanced the tape again. ‘Some left-wing ex-girlfriend Cardew hasn’t managed to get back into bed.’
He pressed play yet again.
Uruz’s voice now sounded distant, as though the two men were talking in the hall once more.
‘This is it,’ said Murphy, turning up the volume as Uruz’s voice issued from the speaker again.
‘Nah, Eihwaz… new lock up… fucking pigs… nah, not Ben…’
More indistinct conversation, some laughter, then Uruz said,
‘… getting better at… haha… don’t tell him that… Anyway, Charlie’s gonna be fuckin’ stoked.’
‘Glad to ’elp. Give ’im my best, and to Ollie.’
‘Will do.’
‘Bingo,’ said Murphy, pressing stop. ‘Real names. The tossers had too much beer. Heimdall, head of the whole thing: Charlie Peach. We looked into him a couple of months back, but he came up clean. Very savvy, very smart, never makes a slip.’
‘Pity he can’t say the same about his brother,’ said Strike.
‘Yeah, he’s a cocky little shit, or he was. That brain injury’s not healing any time soon. And the third guy they mentioned, Ben – we already knew Eihwaz was the bomb-maker, and them calling him “Ben” was confirmation that our prime suspect is the guy. Engineering graduate: respectable-looking, decent job. You wouldn’t pin him as a neo-fascist on first meeting him.’
‘Benefit of a university education, isn’t it?’ said Strike. ‘Teaches you to tattoo your Nazi rune name on your arse, not your forehead.’
Murphy laughed.
‘He’s clever, but he’s still a wrong’un. Cautioned for stalking an ex-girlfriend and got a suspended sentence for attempted GBH as a teen. I’d be surprised if the defence doesn’t order a psychiatric assessment. The longer you talk to him, the weirder he is.
‘Anyway, at six this morning we made a series of simultaneous arrests. We believe we’ve got the whole top tier of The Halvening—’
‘Congratulations,’ said Strike and Robin together.
‘—which means you two should be safe to go home.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Robin, relieved, but Strike said,
‘And what about Anomie?’
‘Well,’ said Murphy, ‘as you’ve just heard, Charlie’s convinced Anomie tried to push his brother under the train. I’ve just sent a couple of people out to this North Grove place to warn Pierce he might be a target. It’s possible Charlie Peach has given an order to take him out, and we can’t guarantee we’ve got all the small fry yet.