‘Great, I fancy punchin’ someone. The mother-in-law’s staying. See ye there.’
No sooner had Barclay cut the call, Strike’s phone rang again. He jabbed at the dashboard with his finger, his eyes still on the van now separated from his BMW by a Peugeot 108.
‘Who’s been pissing off the UHC, then?’ said an amused voice.
‘Who’s this?’
‘Fergus Robertson.’
‘Oh,’ said Strike, surprised to hear from the journalist, ‘you. Why’re you asking?’
‘Because your Wikipedia page just tripled in length,’ said the journalist, who sounded as though he’d had a couple of drinks. ‘I recognise the house style. Beating girlfriends, fucking clients, drink problem, daddy issues – what’ve you got on them?’
‘Nothing I can tell you yet,’ said Strike, ‘but that doesn’t mean I won’t have something eventually.’
Whichever Frank brother was driving had either realised he was being followed, or was inept: he’d just earned several blasts of the horn from the Peugeot for indicating late. Robertson’s news, though deeply unwelcome to Strike, would have to be processed later.
‘Just thought I’d let you know,’ said the journalist. ‘We had an agreement, though, right? I get the story if—’
‘Yeah, fine,’ said Strike. ‘I’ve got to go.’
He hung up.
The Franks definitely seemed to be heading for Notting Hill, Strike thought, as they entered the Blackwall Tunnel. The same unknown number as before called again. He ignored it because the Franks had just sped up, and while this might mean they were worried about missing Tasha on her way back from the gym, Strike remained concerned that they’d realised he was following them.
His phone rang yet again: Prudence, his sister.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Strike growled at the speaker, ‘I’m busy.’
He let the call go to voicemail, but Prudence called back. Again, Strike ignored the call, although vaguely perturbed; Prudence had never done this before. When she called back a third time, Strike picked up.
‘I’m kind of in the middle of something,’ he told her. ‘Could I call you back later?’
‘This will be short,’ said Prudence. To his surprise, she sounded angry.
‘OK, what’s up?’
‘I asked you very clearly to stay away from my client who was in the UHC!’
‘What are you talking about? I haven’t been near them.’
‘Oh, really,’ said Prudence coldly. ‘She’s just told me somebody approached her online, probing her for information. She’s absolutely distraught. Whoever it was threatened her with the name of a woman she knew in the church.’
‘I don’t know who your client is,’ said Strike, eyes on the van ahead, ‘and I haven’t been threatening anyone online.’
‘Who else would have tracked her down and told her he knew she’d met this woman? Corm?’ she added, when he didn’t answer immediately.
‘If,’ said Strike, who’d just done some rapid mental deduction, ‘she had a Pinterest page—’
‘So it was you?’
‘I didn’t know she was your client,’ Strike said, now aggravated. The unknown number that kept calling was trying to get through again. ‘I saw her drawings and left a couple of comments, that’s all. I had no idea who was behind the acc—I’ve got to go,’ he said, cutting the call, as the Franks sped through a red light, leaving Strike stuck behind a Hyundai with a large dent in its rear.
‘FUCK,’ bellowed Strike, watching impotently as the Franks sped out of sight.
The unknown number called yet again.
‘Fuck off,’ said Strike, refusing the call and instead ringing Midge, who answered immediately. ‘Where are you?’
‘Tasha’s showering.’
‘OK, well, don’t let her leave the gym until you hear from me. Barclay’s on his way, but the fuckers just ran a red light and I’ve lost them. They might’ve known I was tailing them. Stay where you are until I give the word.’
The Hyundai moved off and Strike, now choosing his own route to Notting Hill, called Barclay.
‘I’m nearly there,’ said the Scot.
‘I’m not, I lost the bastards. They might’ve spotted me.’
‘You sure? They’re bloody thick.’
‘Even morons get it right occasionally.’
‘Think they’ll abort?’
‘Possibly, but we should assume it’s happening. Midge and Mayo are waiting in the gym until I tell them to go. Call me if you spot the van.’
Mercifully, the unknown number that kept pestering Strike appeared to have given up. He drove as fast as he could without incurring a speeding ticket in the direction of Notting Hill, trying to guess where the Franks might attempt to grab Tasha Mayo, and was ten minutes from her house, the sun now setting in earnest, when Barclay called.
‘They’re here,’ he said. ‘Parked in that cul-de-sac two blocks away from the gym. They’ve got their fuckin’ balaclavas on.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Opposite pavement, fifty yards down.’
‘All right, I’m going to call Midge and get back to you.’
‘What’s happening?’ said Midge, answering on the first ring.
‘They’re parked two blocks from the gym in that cul-de-sac on the left as you head towards her house. Are you with Mayo?’
‘Yes,’ said Midge.
‘Put her on.’
He heard Midge say something to the actress, then Tasha’s nervous voice.
‘Hello?’
‘You know what’s happening?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve got a choice. I can pick you up from the gym and take you straight home, but if we do that, they’re going to try it another day, or—’
‘I want it to end tonight,’ said Tasha, but he could hear the tension in her voice.
‘I swear you won’t be in any danger. They’re idiots and we’ll be ready for them.’
‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘When I give the word, you’ll leave the gym alone. I want to get them on film trying to get you into that van. We won’t let it happen, but I can’t guarantee you won’t have an unpleasant few seconds and possibly a bruise or two.’
‘I’m an actress,’ said Tasha, with a shaky little laugh. ‘I’ll just pretend someone’s going to yell “cut”.’
‘That would be me,’ said Strike. ‘All right, hand me back to Midge.’
When Tasha had done so, Strike said,
‘I want you to leave the gym now, alone, walk straight up the cul-de-sac and take up a good vantage point behind their van, but somewhere where they can’t see you until things hot up. I want this on camera in case it doesn’t get picked up on CCTV.’
‘Could Barclay not do that and I’ll—?’
‘What did I just say?’
‘Fine,’ said Midge huffily, and rang off.
Strike turned into the road where Tasha’s gym was, parked, then called Barclay.
‘Move so you’ll be walking towards Tasha when they come at her. I’ll be behind her. I’ll let you know when she’s on her way.’
‘Righto,’ said Barclay.
Strike watched Midge leaving the gym in the gathering darkness. He could just make out Barclay, ambling along on the other side of the road. He waited until both had vanished from view, then got out of the BMW and phoned Tasha.
‘Head for the door but don’t come out until I tell you. You’ll have me right behind you, and Barclay ahead. Pretend to be texting. Midge is already behind their van. They’ve chosen a place where they shouldn’t see either of us coming.’
‘OK,’ said Tasha nervously.
‘Right,’ said Strike, now fifteen yards from the gym entrance, ‘go.’