‘Shit,’ said Strike, now reading Carrie Curtis Woods’ most recent posts. ‘They’re off to Andalusia on Saturday.’
Having checked the weekly rota, Strike called Shah to ask him to pick up Robin from Chapman Farm the following night.
‘I think,’ said Strike, having hung up, ‘I’ll go down to Thornbury on Friday. Catch Carrie before she goes on holiday. Robin’ll be knackered, she’s not going to be up for a trip to Gloucestershire right after getting out.’
Privately, he was thinking that if he could manage the trip in a day, he’d have an excuse to go over to Robin’s that evening for a full debrief, a very cheering thought, given that he knew Murphy was still in Spain. Feeling slightly happier, Strike logged out of Facebook, picked up his tea and headed into his own office carrying the brown envelope left by Littlejohn.
Inside was a tiny Dictaphone tape, wrapped in a sheet of paper with a scrawled date on it. The recording had been made nearly a month after Sir Colin and Kevin had fallen out over the latter’s heckling at Giles Harmon’s book reading and five days before Kevin’s murder. Strike took a Dictaphone out his desk drawer, inserted the tape and pressed play.
He understood at once why Patterson hadn’t handed over the tape to Sir Colin Edensor: because it would have been hard to imagine a poorer advertisement for his agency’s surveillance skills. For a start, there were far better devices for this kind of work than a Dictaphone, which had to be concealed. The recording was of extremely poor quality: whichever pub Farah had taken Kevin to had been crowded and noisy, a rookie error for which Strike would have severely reprimanded any of his own subcontractors. It was, he thought, the kind of thing his now departed, unlamented hireling Nutley would have done.
Farah’s voice came over more clearly than Kevin’s, presumably because the Dictaphone had lain closer to her. From what Strike could make out, she’d suggested twice they leave for somewhere quieter in the first five minutes, but Kevin, pathetically, said they should stay, because he knew it was her favourite bar. Apparently Kevin had been thoroughly convinced the good-looking Navabi was interested in him sexually.
Strike turned the volume up to maximum and listened closely, trying to make out what was being said. Farah kept asking Kevin to speak up or repeat things, and Strike was forced to rewind and relisten multiple times, pen in hand, trying to transcribe anything that was audible.
Initially, as far as Strike could make out, their chat had nothing to do with the UHC. For ten minutes, Farah talked indistinctly about her supposed job as an air stewardess. At last, the church was mentioned.
Farah:… ways been interested in the UH…
Kevin:… on’t do it… isters… still in b… aybe leave one d…
Somewhere close to where Farah and Kevin were sitting, a rowdy song broke out which, typically, was as clear as a bell.
And we were singing hymns and arias,
‘Land of my Fathers’, ‘Ar hyd y nos’.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ muttered Strike. The group of what Strike assumed were elderly Welshmen, because he wasn’t sure who else would be singing a Max Boyce song, struggled for the next ten minutes to remember all the lyrics, breaking out intermittently into fragments of verses that petered out again, rendering Kevin and Farah’s conversation completely inaudible. At last, the Welshmen reverted to merely talking loudly, and Strike was able to pick up the faint thread of what Farah and Kevin were saying again.
Kevin:… vil people. Evil.
Farah: How were they ev…?
Kevin:… ean, cruel… hypocr… ’m writing a b…
Farah: Oh wow that’s gr…
One of the Welshmen broke into song again.
But Will is very happy though his money all has gone:
He swapped five photos of his wife for one of Barry John.
Cheers greeted these remembered lines and when the yelling had subsided, Strike heard Kevin again: ‘… orry, need a…’
From the lack of chat from Farah, Strike surmised that Kevin had gone to the bathroom.
The next fifty minutes of recording were worthless. Not only had the noise in the pub become ever louder, but Kevin’s voice grew progressively more indistinct. Strike could have told Farah that offering unlimited drink to a young man who’d grown up never touching alcohol was a mistake, and soon Kevin was slurring and rambling, Farah trying very hard to keep track of what he was saying.
Kevin:… ’n she drown… said sh’drowned…
Farah: (loudly)… talking about Dai…?
Kevin:… unny thing zappenin… ings I keep… emembrin… or of ’em…
Farah: (loudly) Four? Did you say f…?
Kevin:… more ’n jus’ Shree… nice to kids, an’ she… Bec made Em l… visible… ullshit…
Farah: (loudly)… ecca made Em lie, did you s…?
Kevin:… drugged… sh’wuz allowed out… sh’could get things… smuggle it’n… let her ’way with stu… didn’ care ’bout ’er real… sh’ad chocolate once n’I stole some… bully though…
Farah: (loudly)… oo wa… ully?
Kevin:… ake ’lowances… gonna talk t’er… z’gonna meet m…
Farah: (very loudly) Is someone from the church going meet you, Kev…?
Kevin:… ’n’answer f’r it…
Strike slammed his hand onto pause, rewound and listened again.
Kevin:… gonna talk t’er… z’gonna meet m…
Farah: (very loudly) Is someone from the church going meet you, Kev…?
Kevin:… ’n’answer f’r it… opey… part’f…
Farah: (insistent) Are you going to meet someone from…?
Kevin:… sh’ad ’ard ti… ’n th’pigs…
Farah: (exasperated) Forget the pigs…
‘Let him talk about the fucking pigs,’ growled Strike at the recorder.
Kevin:… e liked pigs… ew what t’d… ’cos why… ’n I wuz in th’woo… ’n Bec… old me off cuz… ace’s daught… m’sn’t snitch…
Farah:… Daiyu in the woods?
Kevin:… unno… was sh..… ink there was a plot… in it t’gether… alwuz t’geth… f’I’m right… bution… ’n woods… wasn’t a… gale blowing on… ire but too wet… weird’n I… eatened me… an out’f the… ought it was for pun’shmen… ecca tole me… sorry, gotta…
Strike heard a loud clunk, as though a chair had fallen. He had a feeling Kevin might have set off clumsily for the bathroom, possibly to vomit. He kept listening, but nothing whatsoever happened for a further twenty-five minutes except that the Welshmen became ever more rambunctious. At last he heard Farah say,
‘Excuse me… f you’re going… n the loo? He’s wearing a blue…’
Five minutes later, a loud Welsh voice said,
‘’E’s in an ’orrible state, love. You might ’ave to carry ’im ’ome.’
‘Oh, for God’s s… anks for checking, any…’
There was a rustle, the sound of breathing, and the recording ended.
80
External conditions hinder the advance, just as loss of the wheel spokes stops the progress of a wagon.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Shah departed for Norfolk at midday on Thursday, bearing a letter from Strike instructing Robin to stay beside the plastic rock after reading it, because Shah would be waiting in the vicinity with his car lights off and cutters at the ready to ensure safe passage through the barbed wire. Strike set off for dinner at Lucy’s that evening feeling surprisingly cheerful given that he’d be up at six the following morning to drive to Gloucestershire, and wasn’t looking forward to the evening ahead.