‘Did she give you any details about this Montgomery?’ asked Murphy.
‘Yes, he’s an animator or an artist who helped her and Blay when they first started making The Ink Black Heart,’ said Robin. ‘I think she said Montgomery was at the same art school as Blay. After they’d done a few episodes they didn’t need him any more, and she said he resented being dropped, once the cartoon started getting a big following.’
The door opened and Strike reappeared.
‘You were right,’ he told Robin, as rain continued to lash the windows. ‘Pat sent that folder back to Ledwell’s agent. His name’s Allan Yeoman. He runs an agency for creatives in the West End: AYCA.’
‘Great, thanks,’ said Murphy, making another note as Strike dropped back onto the sofa with a grunt.
‘So, did Ledwell mention anyone else as a possible Anomie?’ Murphy asked.
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘only Montgomery.’
‘What was her state of mind during your meeting with her, in your judgement?’
‘Overwrought,’ said Robin. ‘She looked as though she wasn’t really taking care of herself. Bitten fingernails, creased clothes – her boots needed re-heeling—’
‘You noticed her boots needed re-heeling?’ asked Murphy. His upper lip was thicker than his lower, which added a kind of sweetness to a face that was otherwise all angles. He had hazel eyes, though they were nowhere near as distinctive as Edie Ledwell’s amber-coloured ones.
‘Yes. She was – she was all odd contrasts. Very expensive bag and coat but otherwise a bit of a mess. She also had fingertip bruising on her neck.’
‘Bruising to her neck?’
‘Yes – I thought it was dirt at first, but then I got closer and saw what it really was. I asked her what had happened to her and she said she banged into something, that she was clumsy. But it was fingertip bruising, I could see the thumb mark. She mentioned a boyfriend, but didn’t tell me his name. I got the impression they were living together.’
‘Yeah, they were,’ said Murphy. ‘He’s a teacher. Did she give you any reason to suppose she thought she was trying to escape the relationship? Any mention of domestic violence?’
‘No,’ said Robin. ‘She seemed completely focused on what Anomie was doing to her and the fact that Blay thought she was behind it all, although I wouldn’t be surprised if there were other personal troubles. She seemed – put it this way: if I’d seen on the news that she’d killed herself, that wouldn’t have surprised me as much as this has. It was definitely done by somebody else, was it?’
‘Yes,’ said Murphy.
‘Blay’s injuries as well?’ asked Strike.
‘Yes, but – I’m sure you understand—’
‘Of course,’ said Strike, raising a placatory hand. It had been worth a try.
‘This accusation of Blay’s, that she was Anomie,’ said Murphy. ‘What led him to believe that, do you know?’
‘From what I remember,’ said Robin, staring down at the desk in an effort to recall Ledwell’s exact words, ‘he said it was something he’d heard, but he wouldn’t tell her where he’d heard it. They spoke a few times on the phone, with him repeating the accusation and her denying it. But then, during their last call, he’d told her he had a dossier of proof that she was Anomie.’
‘A literal dossier?’ asked Murphy. ‘A physical file?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but she seemed to think so,’ said Robin. ‘She said she’d asked him what was in it and he wouldn’t tell her.’
‘OK, this definitely needs looking into,’ said Murphy, looking at Darwish, who nodded, ‘this dossier and Anomie. We’ll speak to this Seb Montgomery, too. No idea where he works currently, I suppose?’ he asked Robin.
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘sorry. As we couldn’t take the case, I didn’t ask for his details.’
‘No problem. Shouldn’t be too hard to track him down if he helped them animate that cartoon.’
Darwish, who hadn’t spoken since giving the definition of anomie, now cleared her throat.
‘Just a couple more things,’ she said to Robin, for the first time clicking out the nib of her own pen and opening a notebook. ‘Did Ledwell say anything about this Anomie attacking her for her political beliefs?’
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘she didn’t mention politics at all. The attacks were all personal – claiming she’d worked as a prostitute, posting a picture of her flat. He also shared genuine private information he had about her.’
Darwish made a short note, then looked up and said,
‘And you’re quite sure, are you, she didn’t mention anyone else as a possible persecutor?’
‘I’m sure she didn’t,’ said Robin.
‘Did she happen to mention the actor who used to voice her character Drek?’
‘No,’ said Robin, brow furrowed, ‘but she did say something about that character: that she really wished they hadn’t created him. She didn’t say why – unless it was because, in the cartoon, Drek’s the one who makes the other characters play the game. She might have meant that if there hadn’t been any Drek, Anomie would never have made the game.’
‘You’ve watched this cartoon, have you?’ Murphy asked Robin.
‘Only a tiny bit,’ said Robin. ‘It’s…’
‘Nuts?’
Robin forced a smile and said, ‘A bit. Yes.’
Darwish, who’d made another brief note, now closed her notebook and then cast a look at DCI Murphy that plainly said I’ve got everything I need.
‘Right, well, you’ve been very helpful, Miss Ellacott,’ said Murphy as he and Darwish stood up. ‘I’m going to give you my direct number, in case you remember anything else.’
He handed her his card. His hand was large, warm and dry as he shook hers. He was as tall as Strike, though rather slimmer.
Strike showed the visitors out. Robin was putting Murphy’s card into her purse when her partner reappeared.
‘You OK?’ he asked, closing the glass door on the sound of the retreating footsteps.
‘Fine,’ said Robin, for what felt like the umpteenth time. She took the dregs of her sugary tea over to the sink and washed up the mug.
‘There’s something up,’ said Strike as the sound of the door to the street slamming echoed up the stairwell.
Robin turned to look at him. Strike had just taken down his overcoat from beside the door. The rain was still pounding against the windows.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Robin.
‘That question about politics.’
‘Well… I suppose people argue about politics all the time on Twitter.’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, who was holding his mobile in his right hand, ‘but while Murphy was asking you your opinion of the cartoon, I looked up the voice actor who played Drek.’
‘And?’
‘He was fired because of what many took to be his far-right political position. He claimed he was being satirical, but Ledwell and Blay weren’t having it and sacked him.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin.
Strike scratched his chin, eyes on the glass door.
‘Don’t know if you noticed, but they never told us what that Angela Darwish does either. She didn’t leave a card.’
‘I assumed she was CID as well.’
‘Maybe.’
‘What else could she be?’
‘I wondered,’ said Strike slowly, ‘whether she was counter-terrorism… maybe MI5.’
Robin stared at Strike until she realised warm water from the mug she was still holding was dripping onto her feet. She set it down on the draining board.
‘MI5?’
‘Just a thought.’
‘What kind of terrorist would target a pair of animat—?’
She caught herself as Strike raised his eyebrows at her. The faint echo of bullets ripping through a Parisian publishers’ office seemed to fill the space between them.