Murphy, who hadn’t meant to stay the night because he was due back at work the next day, had to leave the flat at six to return home and change. Robin, who’d arranged to pick Strike up in the Land Rover for their long drive to Thornbury, was dismayed by how relieved she felt not to have much time to talk to her boyfriend.
When she pulled up outside Wembley station, where she’d agreed to meet Strike at eight, she saw him already there, vaping while waiting.
‘Morning,’ he said, getting into the car. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ said Robin.
While she looked slightly better rested than she had a week previously, she was still pale and drawn.
‘Murphy get back all right?’
‘Well, his plane didn’t crash, if that’s what you mean,’ said Robin, who really didn’t want to talk about Murphy at the moment.
Though surprised by this slightly caustic response, Strike was perversely encouraged: perhaps Robin and Murphy’s mutual attraction had petered out during four months of enforced separation? With the aim of emphasising that while Murphy might not appreciate her, he certainly did, he said,
‘So, I’ve read your report. Bloody good job. Good work on Fernsby and Huxley, as well.’
Robin’s online research, completed in the interval between her parents leaving and Ryan arriving, had enabled her to send Strike a long list of universities at which Walter had worked, the names of his ex-wife and two children, and the titles of his two out-of-print books.
As for Marion, Robin had discovered that she’d been raised as a Quaker and had been very active in the church until abandoning it for the UHC. Robin had also found the names and addresses of her two daughters.
‘Fernsby seems a restless kind of bloke,’ said Strike.
‘I know,’ said Robin. ‘Academics don’t usually move around that much, do they? But there were no start and finish dates, so it’s hard to know whether there was a period in between jobs he could have spent at the farm.’
‘And Marion deserted the family undertakers,’ said Strike.
‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘She’s a bit pathetic. Utterly besotted with Jonathan Wace, but relegated to the laundry and the kitchen most of the time. I think her dream would be to become a spirit wife, but I don’t think there’s much chance. Bodies aren’t supposed to matter in there, but trust me, Wace isn’t sleeping with any women his own age. Not widows of undertakers, anyway – maybe if another Golden Prophet came along, he would.’
Strike wound down the window so he could continue vaping.
‘I don’t know whether you saw,’ he said, reluctant to introduce the subject but feeling it necessary, ‘but the UHC have been putting in more hours on Wikipedia. You’ve, ah, got your own page now.’
‘I know,’ said Robin. She’d found it the previous afternoon. It alleged she went to bed with any man from whom she wanted to elicit information, and that her husband had divorced her on account of these multiple infidelities. She hadn’t mentioned the existence of the Wikipedia page to Murphy. It might be irrational, but the baseless allegations had still made Robin feel grubby.
‘But I’m on it,’ said Strike. ‘Honbold’s been very helpful. He put me in touch with a lawyer who’s going to fire off some letters. I checked again this morning and Wikipedia’s already flagged both pages as unreliable. Just as well, because the UHC keeps adding more. Did you see the bit that went live last night, saying we team up with grifters and fantasists who’re after pay-offs?’
‘No,’ said Robin. This had evidently been added after Murphy arrived at her flat.
‘There are links to a couple of websites listing all the scumbags who’re helping to attack noble charitable enterprises. Kevin Pirbright, the Graves family, Sheila Kennett and all three Doherty siblings are listed. They say the Graves family neglected and mistreated Alexander, Sheila bullied her husband and that the Dohertys are drunks and layabouts. They also say Kevin Pirbright sexually abused his sisters.’
‘Why would they attack Kevin, now?’
‘Must be worried we talked to him before he died. They haven’t bothered smearing Jordan Reaney; s’pose he’s done a good enough job himself, and they haven’t gone after Abigail Glover, either. Presumably Wace would rather not draw the press’s attention to the fact his own daughter ran away from the church at sixteen – but the odds of press interest in all these ex-members just got a lot higher, so I thought I’d better call and warn them.’
‘How did they take it?’
‘Sheila was upset and I think Niamh’s regretting talking to us now.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Robin sadly.
‘She’s worried about the effect on her brother and sister. Colonel Graves told me he wanted to “let the damned UHC have it with both barrels”, but I told him retaliating through the press will just draw more attention to the online bullshit and that I’m on it, legally. He’s pleased we’re about to interview Cherie-slash-Carrie. And I don’t know how Abigail’s feeling, because she didn’t pick up.’
Strike’s mobile now rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw an unknown number.
‘Hello?’
‘Nicholas Delaunay here,’ said a cool, upper-class voice.
‘Hi,’ said Strike, switching to speakerphone and mouthing ‘Graves’ son-in-law’ at Robin. ‘Apologies for the noise, we’re—’
‘On your way to interview Cherie Gittins,’ said Delaunay. ‘Yes. M’father-in-law told me. Evidently you didn’t listen to a damn word my wife said, at the Hall.’
‘I listened to all your wife’s words.’
‘But you’re still determined to wreak havoc?’
‘No, just determined to do my job.’
‘And bugger the consequences, is that it?’
‘As I can’t predict the consequences—’
‘The consequences, which were entirely predictable, are already on the bloody internet! You think I want my children to see what’s been written about their mother’s family, their family—?’
‘Do your children regularly Google my agency, or the UHC?’
‘You’ve already admitted that, entirely due to you, the press are likely to be on the prowl—’
‘It’s a possibility, not a likelihood.’
‘Every moment those defamatory bloody lies are up, there’s a risk journalists will see them!’
‘Mr Delaunay—’
‘It’s Lieutenant-Colonel Delaunay!’
‘Ah, my apologies, Lieutenant-Colonel, but your parents-in-law—’
‘They might’ve bloody well agreed to all this, but Phillipa and I didn’t!’
‘I’m surprised I have to say this to a man of your rank, but you don’t actually feature in this chain of command, Lieutenant-Colonel.’
‘I’m involved, my family’s involved, and I have a right—’
‘I answer to my client, and my client wants the truth.’
‘Whose truth? Whose truth?’
‘Is there more than one?’ said Strike. ‘Better update my library of philosophy.’
‘You jumped-up bloody monkey,’ shouted Delaunay, and he hung up. Grinning, Strike returned his phone to his pocket.
‘Why did he call you a monkey?’ said Robin, laughing.
‘Slang for military police,’ said Strike. ‘Still better than what we called the navy.’
‘What was that?’
‘Cunts,’ said Strike.
He glanced into the back seat and saw a carrier bag.
‘No biscuits,’ said Robin, ‘because you said you’re still dieting.’
Strike sighed as he hoisted the bag into the front to take out the flask of coffee.