‘You are filth,’ breathed Mazu.
‘Should’ve kept a closer eye on her, shouldn’t you?’ said Robin quietly. ‘And I think you know that, deep down. You know you were a lousy mother to her.’
Mazu’s face was so pale, it was impossible to know whether she’d lost colour, but the crooked eyes had narrowed as her thin chest rose and fell.
‘I suppose that’s why you wanted a real Chinese baby girl of your own, isn’t it? To see whether you can do any better on a second att—?’
Mazu wheeled round and snatched up the gun, but Robin was ready: she seized Mazu around the neck from behind while trying to force her to drop the rifle, but it was like wrestling with an animaclass="underline" Mazu had a brute strength that belied her age and size, and Robin felt as much revulsion as rage as they struggled, now terrified for the baby, in case the gun fired accidentally.
Mazu twisted one bare foot around Robin’s leg and succeeded in toppling both of them, but Robin still had her in a tight grip, refusing to let her pull free or far enough away to shoot. With every ounce of her strength, Robin managed to flip the older woman over onto her back and straddled her as they both struggled for possession of the rifle. A torrent of filthy curses issued from Mazu’s lips; Robin was a whore, trash, a demon, a slut, filth, shit—
Over the screams of Yixin, Robin heard her name shouted from somewhere inside the building.
‘HERE!’ she bellowed. ‘MIDGE, I’M HERE!’
Mazu forced the rifle upwards, catching Robin on the chin, and Robin drove it back down, hard, on the woman’s face.
‘ROBIN?’
‘HERE!’
The gun went off; the bullet shattered the window and blew out the lamp outside. Robin heard screams from Wardour Street; for a second time, she rammed the rifle down on Mazu’s face, and as blood spurted from the woman’s nose, Mazu’s grip loosened and Robin succeeded in wrenching the gun from her grasp.
The door banged open as Mazu raised her hands to her bleeding nose.
‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Midge.
Panting, Robin scrambled off Mazu, holding the rifle. Only now did she realise she was holding part of the black cord of Mazu’s pendant in her hand. The mother-of-pearl fish lay broken on the floor.
Behind Midge, holding two Boots bags, was Becca Pirbright. Aghast, she looked from Mazu, whose hands were clasped to the nose Robin sincerely hoped she’d broken, to Robin, and back again.
‘Violence, Mazu?’ whispered Becca. ‘In the temple?’
Robin, who was still holding the rifle, let out a genuine laugh. Becca stared at her.
‘Can someone do something about that baby?’ said Midge loudly.
‘You do it,’ Robin told Becca, pointing the rifle at her.
‘You’re threatening to shoot me?’ said Becca, dropping the bags and moving to the carry cot. She scooped up the screaming Yixin and tried to soothe her, without much success.
‘I’m calling 999,’ said Midge, phone in hand.
‘Not yet,’ said Robin. ‘Just cover the door.’
‘Well, I’m telling Strike you’re all right, at least,’ said Midge, rapidly texting. ‘He’s not happy you came in here without back-up.’
Robin now looked Becca in the eye.
‘It was you I came for.’
‘What d’you mean, “came for”?’ said Becca.
She spoke as though Robin was unspeakably impertinent. No matter that she’d interrupted attempted murder, or that press were swarming at the gates of Chapman Farm, or that police were raiding the church – Becca Pirbright remained what she’d always been: utterly convinced of her own rectitude, confident that everything, even this, could be put right by Papa J.
‘You’re already facing child abuse charges,’ Becca said contemptuously, ineffectually trying to quell Yixin’s screams by jiggling her. ‘Now you’re taking us hostage at gunpoint.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to wash in court, coming from the person who colluded in covering up infanticide,’ said Robin.
‘You’re unbalanced,’ said Becca.
‘You’d better hope psychiatrists find you are. Where were you for three years, after Daiyu died?’
‘That’s no business—’
‘You weren’t in Birmingham. You were either in the Glasgow centre, or some rented property where Jonathan Wace could keep you well away from other people.’
Becca’s smile was patronising.
‘Rowena, you’re an agent—’
‘It’s Robin, but you’re damn right, I’m your adversary. Do you want to tell Mazu why you’re the only virgin spirit wife, or shall I?’
133
Nine at the top means…
One sees one’s companion as a pig covered with dirt,
As a wagon full of devils.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
The door behind Strike banged open again. Abigail, now divested of her fireman’s apparel and wearing jeans, marched towards him with a leather bag slung over her shoulder, grabbed her vacated chair, dragged it into the centre of the room, then clambered up onto it. Tall as she was, she had no difficulty in reaching the smoke alarm in the middle of the ceiling. With one twist, she’d taken off the lid and pulled out its batteries. Having replaced the lid, she jumped down off the chair and rejoined Strike at the table, pulling a pack of Marlboro Golds out of her bag. She sat down and lit one with a Zippo.
‘Is that allowed, in a fire station?’ he asked.
‘I don’t fuckin’ care,’ said Abigail, inhaling. ‘All right,’ she said, blowing smoke sideways, ‘you can ’ave DNA, if you want, an’ compare it to this Becca’s, but if she’s still in the church, I don’ see ’ow you’re gonna get it.’
‘My partner’s working on that right now,’ said Strike.
‘I was finkin’, upstairs.’
‘Go on,’ said Strike.
‘What you jus’ said, about all what Daiyu was gonna get, from Graves’ will. That ’ouse. You said it was worf millions.’
‘Yeah, it must be,’ said Strike.
‘Then the Graves lot ’ad a motive to get rid of ’er. Stop ’er gettin’ the ’ouse.’
‘Interesting you should say that,’ said Strike, ‘because that thought occurred to me, too. Daiyu’s aunt and uncle, who’ll inherit if Daiyu’s dead, have been doing their best to stop me investigating her disappearance. I went to see them in Norfolk the other day. It wasn’t a happy interview, especially after I told Phillipa I’d seen her at your father’s Olympia meeting.’
‘The fuck was she doing there?’
‘Something had clearly rattled her enough to make her desperate to speak to your father. Phillipa left a note for him, backstage at Olympia. I asked whether they’d received an unexpected, anonymous phone call recently, which spurred her into action.’
‘Wha’ made you ask that?’
‘Call it intuition.’
Abigail flicked ash onto the floor and kicked it away with her foot.
‘You’d get on wiv Mazu.’ She affected a malignant whisper. ‘“The divine vibration moves in me.” What was this phone call about?’
‘They didn’t want to tell me, but when I suggested that someone had called to say Daiyu’s still alive, Phillipa gave herself away. Turned white. You can see how a phone call like that would put the fear of God into them. No more family mansion for them, if Daiyu’s still breathing.
‘And I have to say,’ added Strike, ‘Nicholas Delaunay ticks quite a few boxes for me, as Kevin Pirbright’s killer. Ex-marine. Knows how to handle a gun, knows how to plan and execute an ambush. The person who murdered Kevin was pretty slick.’