Morehouse: lol is that the definition?
Paperwhite: yeah
Paperwhite: well, and pubes
Morehouse: lol
Paperwhite: babe, I’d better go and moderate or Anomie’ll be on my case.
Morehouse: yeah ok xxx
Paperwhite: *blows kisses*
<Morehouse has left the channel>
<Paperwhite has left the channel>
<Private channel has closed>
<A new private channel has opened>
<9 April 2015 20.08>
<Anomie invites Morehouse>
Anomie: well?
<Morehouse joins the channel>
Morehouse: well what?
>
>
Anomie: have you checked with Paperwhite whether I was lying about the pic?
Morehouse: yes
Morehouse: fine, you weren’t lying
Anomie: nice tits, I’ll give you that
Morehouse: fuck off
>
Anomie: are you sure it’s really her in the pic?
Morehouse: yes
Anomie: how? Video chatting with her as well?
Morehouse: none of your business
Anomie: that’s a “no” then
Morehouse: why do you care?
Anomie: I don’t, bwah. Just looking out for you. Do you trust her?
Morehouse: why shouldn’t I?
Anomie: just the game, isn’t it?
Anomie: nobody’s who they say they are, in the game
Morehouse: speak for yourself
Anomie: I’m speaking for both of us
Anomie: or has she seen pics of you, too?
Morehouse: fuck off
<Morehouse has left the channel>
>
>
<Anomie has left the channel>
<Private channel has closed>
24
A silent envy nursed within,
A selfish, souring discontent
Pride-born, the devil’s sin.
Robin spent the following morning watching Fingers’ flat in Sloane Square, grateful for the mild, sunny day, because she was wearing the blue dress she’d last donned for the Ritz. That night she was going out for dinner at an upmarket restaurant ten minutes from the Denmark Street office with lawyer Ilsa Herbert.
Ilsa, who’d been at primary school with Strike, had married one of the detective’s London schoolmates, Nick. Robin had become close to them too, because she’d stayed in their spare room for a full month after leaving her ex-husband. She hadn’t seen Ilsa for a while, and dinner was supposed to be a joint celebration of Robin getting her flat, on which she hoped soon to exchange contracts (she’d wanted to have this done before celebrating, and a superstitious part of her prayed dinner wouldn’t jinx it), and of Ilsa winning a tricky case she’d expected to lose. Ilsa had chosen tonight’s venue, Bob Bob Ricard, because she’d never been there and always wanted to go: a British-Russian restaurant, it had buttons in each booth to press for champagne, of which it was supposed to pour more than any restaurant in England.
Fingers finally left his flat around midday, clad head to foot in Armani, and walked the short distance to The Botanist, a restaurant Fingers frequented in the same way Robin and Strike sometimes grabbed lunch in the local kebab shop. Fortunately the blue dress didn’t look out of place given the standard of dress of the young women coming in and out of the restaurant. Robin lingered outside until, at 2 p.m., Midge appeared to take over, on time as ever and wearing a pair of Ray-Bans, jeans and a leather jacket.
‘He’s still having lunch,’ said Robin.
‘Lazy little shit,’ said Midge, and they parted, Robin heading for the office, where she intended to continue combing through Anomie’s Twitter feed for personal information.
When Robin had climbed the familiar metal stairs, which wound around the birdcage lift that had been out of order all the time she’d worked for the agency, she found only Pat in the office.
‘He’s just rung,’ Pat informed Robin as she typed away, e-cigarette lodged between her teeth as usual. Robin understood Pat to be referring to Strike, whose name she rarely used. Over time, this habit had come to seem almost affectionate.
‘What did he want?’ Robin asked as she hung up her raincoat.
‘Says he’s just sent you an email and some photographs, and if you’ve got time he’d like to discuss it when he gets back here at half-past four. And you’ve had a message from a Hugh Jacks.’
‘What?’ said Robin, turning to look at Pat.
‘Yeah, he asked to be put through to you,’ said Pat. ‘Didn’t know who he was, so I said you were busy. He asked you to call back.’
‘OK, well, I’m always busy if Hugh Jacks calls the office.’
Pat looked intrigued.
‘Some friends tried to set me up with him,’ Robin explained, moving to the kettle. ‘But I’m not interested, which I’d’ve thought he’d have realised by now.’
‘Stinkier the turd, harder it is to scrape off your shoe,’ said Pat laconically.
Having made herself and Pat coffee, Robin proceeded into the inner office to read Strike’s email.
Few things arising out of yesterday’s surveillance.
Montgomery, Cardew and Tim Ashcroft met at a pub in Highgate to discuss the stabbings. They were joined by a man called Nils and expected someone called Pez, but Pez didn’t turn up.
I’ve identified Nils online. He’s Nils de Jong, Dutch owner of North Grove Art Collective. Tim Ashcroft used to have a full head of red hair but is now almost entirely bald. He’s the friend of Edie’s who voiced The Worm in the cartoon and he’s currently a member of a theatrical company that goes into schools to give performances and workshops. Group’s called the Roving School Players.
No idea who Pez is, still looking.
Also present was Nils’s enormous and obnoxious son, Bram.
Points of interest:
• De Jong, Cardew and Montgomery have all been interviewed by the police. Cardew and Montgomery both gave alibis for the time of the killing: Montgomery was allegedly in the pub with friends and Cardew at home with his sister and grandmother.
• According to online records, Ashcroft, who hasn’t been interviewed by the police, is unmarried and lives with his parents in Colchester when he’s not on tour with the company. No evidence of computer or design skills.
• Cardew was asked by police whether he belonged to a ‘brotherhood’ of some kind. This was queried by Montgomery, who said he thought the far-right group was called The Halvening. I’ve got an idea I’ve seen or heard something about a brotherhood recently but can’t remember where – have you come across anything online, connected to Cardew or the cartoon?
• Blay went back to live at North Grove for a month before he was stabbed, because he flooded his flat (location unknown).
• Blay was visited during his month at North Grove by a woman called Yasmin (no surname given) who used to work for Blay and Ledwell, handling fan mail. According to Cardew, she’s fat and Ledwell sacked her.