‘Sorry,’ Strike muttered, spilling some of his pint as he dropped clumsily into the spare seat at the table. ‘Long day.’
‘I’ve ordered for you,’ said Robin, and Strike noted the look of irritation on Murphy’s face as she said it.
Robin was feeling uneasy. Will, she knew, had been cajoled into attending by Pat and Dennis, the latter having told Will firmly that he was caught in a chicken and egg situation and needed to bloody well get himself out of it. Since arriving in the basement of the Flying Horse with Flora and Ilsa, Will, who looked pale and worried, had barely spoken. Meanwhile, it had required all Robin’s cheerful chat and gratitude for her presence to raise the slightest smile from Flora, who was currently twisting her fingers on her lap beneath the table. Robin had already glimpsed a fresh self-harm mark on her neck.
Aside from her worries about how this meeting was likely to affect the two fragile ex-church members, Robin sensed undercurrents between Wardle and Murphy; the latter had become peremptory and curt in manner even before Strike arrived.
After some slightly stilted small talk, Strike introduced the subject of the meeting. The police listened in silence while Strike ran over the main accusations against the church, omitting all mention of the Drowned Prophet. When Strike said Flora and Will were prepared to give statements about what they’d witnessed while members of the church, Robin saw the knuckles of Flora’s hands turn white beneath the table.
Food arrived before the police had had time to ask any questions. Once the waitress had left, the CID officers began to speak up. They were, as Strike had expected, starting from a position, if not of scepticism, then of caution.
He’d expected their muted response to the child trafficking allegations, given that neither Will nor Flora had ever been to the Birmingham centre which was supposed to be its hub. Nobody was disposed to challenge out loud Flora’s statement, delivered in a quaking voice while staring at the table in front of her, that she’d been repeatedly raped, but it angered Robin that it took her own corroboration about the Retreat Rooms to wipe the doubtful expression from George Layborn’s face. She described, in blunt language, her own close shaves with Taio, and the sight of an underage girl emerging from a Retreat Room with Giles Harmon. The novelist’s name seemed unfamiliar to Layborn, but Wardle and Ekwensi exchanged a look at this, and both got out their notebooks.
As for the allegation that the church was improperly burying bodies without registering deaths, Robin thought that, too, might have been dismissed as an evidence-free claim, but for the unexpected intervention of Will.
‘They do bury them illegally,’ he said, interrupting Layborn, who was pressing a distressed Flora for details. ‘I’ve seen it as well. Right before I left, they buried a kid who was born with – well, I don’t know what was wrong with him. They never got him seen by anyone except Zhou.’
‘Not Jacob?’ said Robin, looking around at Will.
‘Yeah. He died a few hours after you left. They buried him on the far side of the field, by the oak,’ said Will, who hadn’t previously disclosed this. ‘I watched them do it.’
Robin was too distressed by this information to say anything except, ‘Oh.’
‘And,’ said Will, ‘we – I had to help—’
He swallowed and pressed on.
‘—I had to help dig up Kevin. They put him in the field, first, but they moved him to the vegetable patch instead, to punish Louise – his… mother.’
‘What?’ said Vanessa Ekwensi, her pen hovering over her pad.
‘She tried to… she went to plant flowers on him, in the field,’ said Will, turning red. ‘And someone saw her, and reported her to Mazu. So Mazu said, if she wanted to plant stuff on a Deviate, she could. And they dug him up and put him in the vegetable patch and made Louise plant carrots on him.’
The horrified silence that followed these words was broken by Strike’s mobile buzzing. He glanced at the text he’d received, then looked up at Will.
‘We’ve found Lin: she’s been moved to Birmingham.’
Will looked stunned.
‘They’ve let her out to fundraise?’
‘No,’ said Strike. ‘She’s in the church compound, helping look after the babies.’
He answered Shah’s text, giving further instructions, then looked up at the police.
‘Look, we’re not stupid: we know you can’t authorise or even guarantee a massive investigation like this, right now, tonight. But you’ve got two people here who are willing to testify to widespread criminality, and we’re sure there’ll be many more, if only you can get into those church centres and start asking questions. Robin’s ready to go to court about everything she saw, too. There’s going to be glory in this, for whoever takes the UHC down,’ said Strike, ‘and I’ve already got a journalist who’s gagging to run an exposé.’
‘That’s not a threat, is it?’ said Murphy.
‘No,’ said Robin, before Strike could say anything, ‘it’s a fact. If we can’t get a police investigation without the press, we’ll let the journalist have it and try and force one that way. If you’d been in there, as I have, you’d understand exactly why every day the UHC is getting away with it counts.’
After that, Strike noticed with satisfaction, Murphy said nothing more.
At ten o’clock, the meeting broke up, with handshakes all round. Vanessa Ekwensi and Eric Wardle, who’d taken most notes, separately promised to get back to Strike and Robin quickly.
Strike determinedly didn’t watch Murphy kissing Robin goodbye and telling her he’d see her the next day, because she was taking over surveillance on Hampstead from Midge in an hour’s time. However, Strike gained some pleasure from Murphy’s clear unhappiness at leaving his girlfriend alone with her partner.
‘Well,’ said Robin, sitting back down at the table, ‘it went about as well as could be expected, I suppose.’
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said Strike.
‘So what happened in Norfolk?’
‘I got an earful, as expected,’ said Strike. ‘They’re definitely rattled. What about Isaac Mills?’
‘No word yet. He might not fancy meeting me at all.’
‘Don’t despair yet. It’s pretty monotonous in the nick.’
‘D’you think you’ll have to go back to Reaney?’ asked Robin, as the waitress re-entered the room to clear away pint glasses and both detectives got to their feet.
‘Maybe,’ said Strike, ‘but I doubt he’ll talk until he has to.’
They climbed the stairs together, emerging onto Oxford Street, where Strike pulled out his vape pen and took a long-awaited lungful of nicotine.
‘I’m parked up the road. There’s no need to escort me,’ Robin added, correctly guessing what Strike was about to say, ‘it’s still crowded and I definitely wasn’t followed here. I kept checking, all the way.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Strike. ‘Speak tomorrow, then.’
As he set off up the road, Strike’s mobile buzzed again, now with a text from Barclay.
Still no invite
Strike sent two words back.
Keep trying
124
The inferior man is not ashamed of unkindness and does not shrink from injustice. If no advantage beckons he makes no effort.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
The second week of September passed without progress on the UHC case, and no word as to whether the church’s accusation of child abuse against Robin was likely to result in her arrest, which meant she continued to suffer regular stabs of dread every time she thought about it. In slightly better news, both Will and Flora had been invited to give formal statements to the police, and, far more quickly than she’d expected, Robin received word that she’d been put on Isaac Mills’ visitors’ list.