His half-sister Prudence, Jungian therapist and fellow illegitimate child of Jonny Rokeby, had been in touch again by email, asking whether he was free for a drink or dinner on three specific dates. He still hadn’t answered her, largely because he hadn’t decided whether he actually wanted to meet her.
It would have been easier had he been dead set against a meeting, but ever since Prudence had contacted him directly, over a year ago, he’d felt an odd pull towards her. Was it shared blood, or the fact that the two of them were bracketed together in being the accidental children, the illegitimates, two unwanted consequences of Rokeby’s almost legendary promiscuity? Or did it have something to do with turning forty? Was he, in some unacknowledged part of himself, wanting to reckon with a past as painful as it was complicated?
But did he have room for another relationship, for another call on his time and his affections? Strike was starting to feel a certain strain at the amount of compartmentalisation his life seemed to entail. He was adept at sectioning off parts of his life; indeed, every woman he’d ever had a relationship with had complained of his facility in this respect. He told Madeline virtually nothing about his day-to-day life. He was concealing the fact that he was dating Madeline from Robin, for reasons he chose not to admit to himself. He was also avoiding any mention of Prudence to his half-sister Lucy. The idea of trying to forge a relationship with Prudence without Lucy finding out about it – because he was certain she wouldn’t like it, that she’d feel she was being replaced in some way – might just add an unsustainable level of duplicity to a life already laden with other people’s secrets, with professional pretence and subterfuge.
Strike stood in the cold square until two, by which time all the lights in Fingers’ flat had gone out, and, after waiting a further half an hour to be absolutely sure that Fingers wasn’t about to emerge, returned to his attic and went to bed, burdened by a faint feeling of persecution.
He’d intended to spend the following morning catching up on paperwork, but at eleven o’clock Fingers’ stepfather rang in a temper from New York. His London housekeeper had found one of the hidden cameras the agency had installed.
‘You need to replace it – and put it somewhere she won’t find it this time,’ the billionaire client snarled down the phone.
Strike agreed to take care of the job personally, rang off, then phoned Barclay to check where Fingers currently was.
‘He’s just gone intae James Purdey and Sons.’
‘The gun shop?’ said Strike, who’d already walked back into the outer office to take down his overcoat. ‘That’s near South Audley Street, is it?’
‘Couple o’ blocks away,’ said Barclay. ‘He’s wi’ a pal, that greasy-lookin’ ponce wi’ the beard.’
‘Well, keep an eye on him, and if he looks like he’s heading for the house let me know,’ said Strike. ‘I’ve just agreed to replace the camera immediately.’
‘An’ wha’ if they bust in on ye with a shotgun?’
‘I’ll have advance warning, won’t I, unless you’re planning to take the rest of the afternoon off? But murder’s a big step up from petty larceny,’ said Strike.
‘Nuthin’ petty about his larceny,’ said Barclay. ‘Didn’t you say that box thing he nicked was worth a quarter of a million?’
‘Small change to this lot,’ said Strike. ‘Just keep me posted on his movements.’
The day was cloudy and cold. By the time Strike reached Mayfair, Barclay had texted that Fingers and friend had left the gun shop and were heading away from South Audley Street. Out of cigarettes, and relieved of the worry that he was about to walk into Fingers, Strike went into a newsagent’s and joined a short queue. Pondering the best place to hide the new security camera so that the housekeeper wouldn’t find it, Strike didn’t immediately register that he was looking at the words ‘Stabbing of animators’ in a subheading on the front page of The Times lying on the counter.
‘Twenty B&H, box of matches and this, please,’ said Strike, holding up a copy of the newspaper, which he tucked under his arm before setting off again.
Their client had provided the agency with a set of keys to his house. Strike glanced up and down the road before letting himself in, then switched off the security alarm and proceeded into the echoing marble and gilded space, where art worth hundreds of thousands of pounds hung on the walls and sculptures just as valuable stood on artfully spot-lit plinths.
The security camera discovered by the housekeeper had been hidden in a false book on the shelves in the drawing room. After contemplating his options for a few minutes, Strike placed the new camera on top of a tall cabinet on the other side of the room. As it was concealed in a small black plastic box, hopefully it would be passed over by the housekeeper as having something to do with the internet or the existing security system.
Having shoved the box into place, Strike asked himself, not for the first time, whether the housekeeper could be as innocent as she seemed. Their client was adamant that she couldn’t be the thief, because her references were impeccable, her salary generous and the risks involved in purloining objects of such value and distinctiveness surely too high for a woman who was sending money home to the Philippines every month. During the weeks she’d been unknowingly under surveillance, the housekeeper had been caught on film doing nothing more suspicious than taking a break to watch The Jeremy Kyle Show on the enormous flatscreen TV. On the other hand, Strike thought it remarkably conscientious to take out books and dust them individually – which was how she claimed to have found the security camera – given that her employers were likely to be absent for at least another six weeks.
New camera hidden, Strike reset the alarm, left the house and walked further along the street to Richoux, an Edwardian tearoom which had pavement tables where he could smoke. Having ordered himself a double espresso, Strike unfolded The Times and read the story that filled most of the front page.
FAR-RIGHT GROUP TARGETING MPS AND CELEBRITIES
A far-right group claiming responsibility for multiple fatalities has been uncovered in a joint operation by Scotland Yard’s Counter Terrorism Command and security services, The Times has learned. The group is believed to have sent explosive devices to female MPs and has also claimed responsibility for the deaths of child star and animal rights activist Maya Satterthwaite (21), singer and climate change spokesperson Gigi Cazenove (23) and animator Edie Ledwell (30).
According to a source close to the investigation, the far-right group, which calls itself ‘The Halvening’, ‘has modelled itself on paramilitaries and religious terror organisations’. Communicating with members on the dark web, it is organised into ‘cells’ which are given responsibility for specific jobs and targets. The Halvening has so far planned and carried out a number of lethal and potentially lethal acts of violence against prominent left-wing women.
‘This is a sophisticated operation, which has not only planned and carried out direct attacks on elected politicians, but is capitalising on social media networks to recruit members, spread disinformation and ramp up hostility towards targets,’ said a source.