Emily’s face and hair had been smeared with earth, as had her scarlet tracksuit. She was staring at the ground, as determinedly insensible of Robin’s presence as the latter had meant to be of Emily’s.
The words scrawled on the cardboard sign held between Emily’s mud-stained hands read: I AM A DIRTY PIG.
55
Heaven and earth do not unite…
Thus the superior man falls back upon his inner worth
In order to escape the difficulties.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
… and Tao took me into one of the [illegible] rooms and wanted Spirit bonding but I managed to fend him off. Giles Harman had just been in there with Lin. She’s barely of age, might be underage, I don’t know.
Emily and [illegible] (can’t remember if I told you about her, she’s quite
I found out why I’ve been [illegible] from top group. It’s because I haven’t given any money. I’ll have to go to Mazu and offer a donation, but how do we [illegible] this, can you think of anything because it’s the only way I’m going to be able to stay.
I was also in the little kids’ classroom for the first time and they’re not right, brainwashed and strange, it’s horrible.
Shawna says Becca Pirbright is lying about her [illegible] with Daiyu. I’m going to try and find out more. Think that’s everyting. Shawna also said [illegible] about Jacob being the reason Papa J won’t have kids with Becca. She also says Jacob’s [illegible] by the devil.
R x
I forgot, there’s a picture of a tree with axe in it on the kid’s [illegible], looks recent I’ll try and find it if I can but its hard to think up a reason to come into the woods by daylight.
Strike, who was sitting at the partners’ desk in the office, read Robin’s letter through twice, noting the deterioration of her handwriting and misspellings. This was the first of her reports to contain concrete leads, not to mention information the church definitely wouldn’t want made public, but his expression betrayed no pleasure; on the contrary, he was frowning as he re-read the line about spirit bonding. Hearing footsteps he said, eyes still on the page,
‘Bit worried about her.’
‘Why?’ asked Pat in her usual baritone, setting a mug down beside Strike.
‘Sorry, thought you were Midge,’ said Strike. The subcontractor had just handed him the letter, which she’d retrieved overnight.
‘She had to go, she’s on the Franks. What’s wrong with Robin?’
‘Exhaustion and underfeeding, probably. Cheers,’ he added, picking up his tea.
‘Ryan just called,’ said Pat.
‘Who? Oh, Murphy?’
‘He wanted to know whether he’s had a message from Robin.’
‘Yeah, he has,’ said Strike, handing the folded paper over. He’d resisted reading it, but had been glad to see through the back of the paper that it looked as though it only comprised two or three lines. ‘Don’t tell him I said I’m worried about Robin,’ Strike added.
‘Why would I?’ said Pat, scowling. ‘And you’ve had some voicemail messages. One at nine o’clock last night, from a man called Lucas Messenger. He says he’s Jacob’s brother.’
‘Shit,’ said Strike, who was now ignoring all office phone calls that diverted to his mobile in the evening, on the assumption they were from Charlotte. ‘OK, I’ll call him back.’
‘And three more from the same woman,’ said Pat, her expression austere, ‘all early hours of the morning. She didn’t give her name, but—’
‘Delete them,’ said Strike, reaching for his phone.
‘I think you should listen to them.’
‘Why?’
‘She gets threatening.’
They looked at each other for a few seconds. Strike broke eye contact first.
‘I’ll call Messenger, then I’ll listen to them.’
When Pat had closed the door to the outer office, Strike called Lucas Messenger. After a few rings, a male voice said,
‘Yeah?’
‘Cormoran Strike here. You left a message for me yesterday evening.’
‘Oh—’ A slight distortion on the line told Strike he’d been switched to speakerphone. ‘You’re the detective, yeah? What’s Jacob done? Driven froo annuver window?’
Strike heard a few background sniggers and surmised that Lucas was sharing the conversation with workmates.
‘I’m trying to find out where he is.’
‘Why d’you wanna know? What’s he done?’
‘Did your brother join the Universal Humanitarian Church?’
The laughter on the other end of the line was louder this time.
‘He did, yeah. Twat.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘Germany, I fink. We’re not in touch. He’s me half-brother. We don’t get on.’
‘When did he go to Germany, do you know?’
‘Dunno, some time last year?’
‘Was this a UHC thing? Was he sent to the centre in Munich?’
‘Nah, I fink he met a girl. He’s full of it, I don’t listen to half what he tells me.’
‘Would your parents know where Jacob is?’
‘They’re not talking to him neither. They had a row.’
‘Can you think of anyone who might be in contact with Jacob?’
‘No,’ said Lucas. ‘Like I say, we don’t get on.’
This being the extent of Lucas’ information, Strike hung up a minute later having written only the words Jacob Messenger Germany? on his notepad. Turning in his swivel chair, he looked up at the board on the wall onto which he’d pinned various pictures and notes concerning the UHC case.
In a column on the left-hand side were pictures of people Strike was still trying to locate. At the top were the pictures of the girl who’d variously called herself Carine, Cherie and Cherry, and a printout of the Facebook profile of Carrie Curtis Woods, who he hoped might prove to be the same person.
Beneath Cherie’s pictures was a photo of dark-haired and tanned Jacob Messenger, who stood posing on a beach in his swimming shorts, tensing his abdominal muscles and beaming at the camera. Strike now knew Messenger’s brief flicker of fame had peaked when he came third on a reality show, for which this was a publicity picture. Jacob’s trial and imprisonment for driving under the influence had put his name back in the papers, and his last press appearance had featured photos of him at a UHC addiction services clinic, wearing a tight white T-shirt with the UHC’s logo on it, and announcing how much he’d gained from joining the church. Since then, he’d disappeared from public view.
Strike got to his feet, tore out the page with Jacob Messenger Germany? written on it and pinned it beside the young man’s photo, before picking up Robin’s letter again and re-reading the lines about Jacob. Shawna also said something about Jacob being the reason Papa J won’t have kids with Becca. I didn’t understand that, will try and find out more. She says Jacob’s [illegible] by the devil. Frowning slightly, Strike looked from the letter to the picture of beaming Jacob, with his tropical print swimming trunks and bright white teeth, wondering whether Messenger was indeed the Jacob lying ill at Chapman Farm, and if so, how this fact could possibly relate to Jonathan Wace’s lack of interest in having children with Becca Pirbright.
His gaze moved to the next picture in the left-hand column: the faded photo of bespectacled Deirdre Doherty. In spite of Strike’s best efforts, he still hadn’t found any trace of Deirdre online or off.