‘Who,’ said Strike, ‘d’you think Anomie is?’
Yasmin hesitated, then said,
‘Inigo Upcott.’
Strike hadn’t expected that.
‘Why d’you think it’s Upcott?’
‘Just because… Anomie sounds like him? Anomie knows Latin, and Inigo was always using bits of Latin? And from things Anomie’s said: he has a hard life, and obviously Inigo’s in a wheelchair? And Anomie was really angry when Edie ditched Katya, and I know Inigo was angry that Katya was never paid for anything she did for Josh and Edie, because I heard him complaining about it a couple of times when I was at their house? And once, when I was round there,’ said Yasmin, ‘I saw Inigo playing the game?’
‘You did?’ said Strike.
Yasmin nodded, dabbing at the end of her dripping nose with her cardigan sleeve.
‘His PC was glitching? And I went to help him with it, and I saw what he’d been doing when it froze? He was inside the game. I thought at the time he’d just gone to have a look? Because Josh and Edie had been round at Katya’s and talking about the game, and Anomie? But then, later on, I started putting two and two together—’
And you made twenty-two.
‘—and it made sense, because he’s housebound, and he’s always on his computer? And he’s an artist and he was hearing us all talk about The Ink Black Heart all the time? He probably did it just for fun, as a project…’
‘D’you think Anomie talks like a man of sixty-odd?’
‘Well – yes?’ said Yasmin, defiant again. ‘Inigo’s got… he’s got a temper? He swears a lot and he didn’t like Josh? But he seemed to like Edie, at first, so when she was nasty about the game, it probably really upset him? After all the time and trouble he’d put into it?’
‘Did you like Inigo?’
‘I – yes. I – I felt sorry for him, being so ill? And when I was first going round there he was nice, but he’s – he’s quite – he can be a bit of a bully and I suppose… Anomie can as well? But,’ she added defensively, ‘it was just a theory, that’s all…’
Strike wondered whether Yasmin had lived in a virtual world of anonymous people for so long that probability and plausibility had fled from her reasoning processes. One theory seemed to be as good as the next, as long as it satisfied her need to feel herself an insider. These qualities had made her very valuable to The Halvening, but far less useful as a witness.
‘You and Inigo were both at a Christmas party at North Grove one year, weren’t you?’
‘Yes?’ said Yasmin, who didn’t seem to understand the relevance of the question.
‘He told me he saw you in a clinch there, with Nils de Jong.’
Yasmin looked shocked, but Strike thought he saw a faint gratification.
‘He – he asked me for a kiss under the mistletoe, that’s all.’
‘Would it surprise you to know that Inigo claims he heard you confessing to Nils that you’re Anomie?’
She let out a gasp of shock.
‘That’s a complete lie! I mean – that’s ridiculous!’
‘Can you remember what you and Nils were talking about, before he kissed you?’
‘I – we’d all had a lot to drink? And – I think he told me I looked unhappy and he wanted to cheer me up? And he – he kind of pulled me under the mistletoe?’
Strike strongly suspected that no man had ever done such a thing to Yasmin before.
‘Nils wasn’t talking about anomie in the abstract?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Anomie, as in a state of amorality?’
When Yasmin simply looked confused, Strike said,
‘You never noticed that the word “anomie” is engraved into the kitchen window at North Grove?’
‘Is it?’ said Yasmin, with what appeared to be genuine surprise.
‘Have you ever talked to Anomie – the person, that is – on the phone?’
‘No. Only by email.’
‘What’s their email address?’ asked Strike, pulling his notebook out of his pocket.
‘I’m not giving you that.’ Her red eyes were watering again, but she was frightened. ‘Anomie would kill me.’
‘You might not be far wrong,’ said Strike. ‘You realise Morehouse has been murdered?’
‘What? No, he – what?’
Strike saw her slow thought processes struggling to catch up with what she’d just been told.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered at last.
‘Look it up,’ said Strike. ‘Vikas Bhardwaj. Cambridge University. His throat was slit.’
Yasmin now looked as though she might throw up.
‘How d’you know he was Morehouse?’ she said faintly.
‘If you check the news stories,’ said Strike, ignoring the question, ‘you’ll notice the murder happened the night Morehouse disappeared from the game.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said again, but she was trembling. ‘You’re just trying to scare me.’
Through the net curtains at the window Strike now saw a portly man with grey hair walk up the front path, carrying a briefcase. Shortly afterwards, he heard a mumbled conversation outside the sitting-room door and guessed Yasmin’s anxious mother was telling her father that a large stranger was badgering their daughter.
The door opened and Yasmin’s father walked in, still holding his briefcase.
‘What’s going on? Who’s this man, Yasmin?’
‘It’s nothing – I’ll tell you afterwards—’
‘Who is he?’ said Yasmin’s father, who looked understandably alarmed at the sight of his daughter’s streaked, swollen eyes.
‘Cormoran Strike,’ said the detective, getting unsteadily to his feet while his hamstring screamed for mercy. He held out his hand. ‘I’m a private detective and your daughter’s helping me with a case.’
‘A priv— What is this?’ blustered Mr Weatherhead, ignoring Strike’s hand as Yasmin’s mother sidled into the room behind him. ‘Is this still about that damn cartoon?’
‘Just leave it, Dad,’ whispered Yasmin. ‘Please. I’ll be out soon and I’ll – I’ll explain.’
‘I—’
‘Please, Dad, just let me finish talking to him!’ said Yasmin a little hysterically.
Her parents reluctantly retreated. The door closed again. Strike sat back down.
‘You understand, don’t you,’ said Strike, before Yasmin could speak, ‘that when all this comes out – which it will, because, as I say, the Met and the security services are seizing The Halvening’s computers and phones as we speak – the public, the media and a jury are going to hear that you willingly took possession of a dossier of fabricated evidence against Edie Ledwell, which had been cooked up by a terrorist organisation that wanted her dead, and carried it to Josh Blay to turn him against her? How d’you think you’re going to look, Yasmin, when the world hears you kept on cheerfully playing the game after you knew terrorists had infiltrated it – continued moderating the game, no less – while planning a book based on information stolen from a dead woman? I’m warning you now: the head of The Halvening is going to claim it was Anomie who stabbed Ledwell and Blay, and that Anomie tried to kill one of their members by pushing him in front of a train. And whether it was The Halvening or Anomie, you’re in it up to your neck.’
Yasmin slumped over with her face in her hands and started to cry again.
‘Your one hope,’ said Strike loudly, to make sure she heard him over her shuddering sobs, ‘is to do the right thing, now, voluntarily. Get out of the game, tell the police everything you know, and help me trace Anomie.’