‘And you, do you think it’s weird?’
‘Not at all,’ said Robin defiantly.
‘Good,’ said Zhou. ‘Your parents and sister currently regard you as their flesh object. It will take time to reorientate yourself to a healthier pattern of bonding.
‘Now,’ he said briskly, ‘you are fit to undergo a twenty-four-hour fast, but we need to address this qi imbalance. These tinctures,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘are very effective. All natural. I mix them myself.’
He chose three small brown bottles from the shelf, poured Robin a glass of water, added two drops from each bottle, swilled the glass then handed it over to her. Wondering whether it was reckless to drink something of which she didn’t know the ingredients, though reassured by the tiny quantities, Robin finished it all.
‘Good,’ said Zhou, smiling down at her. ‘Now, if you have negative thoughts, you know what to do, yes? You have your chanting meditation and your joyful meditation.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, smiling as she set the empty glass back on the desk.
‘All right then, you’re fit to fast,’ he said, in a tone that was a clear dismissal.
‘Thanks so much,’ said Robin, getting up. ‘Can I ask –’ she pointed at the timber cabins visible through the study window ‘– what are those? We didn’t see them on our tour.’
‘Retreat Rooms,’ said Zhou. ‘But they’re for use only by full church members.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Robin.
Zhou showed her to the door. Robin was unsurprised to find Jiang waiting for her in the corridor. She’d already learned that the only permissible reason to be left unattended was to visit the bathroom.
‘It’s lunchtime,’ said Jiang, as they walked back through the farmhouse.
‘Good,’ said Robin. ‘I’m fasting tomorrow, better build up my strength.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said Jiang severely. ‘You shouldn’t prepare for fasting, except spiritually.’
‘Sorry,’ said Robin, intentionally sounding cowed. ‘I didn’t mean – I’m still learning.’
When they stepped out into the courtyard they found it full of church members heading towards the dining hall. There was something of a crowd around the pool of the Drowned Prophet as people waited to ask for her blessing.
‘Actually,’ Robin said to Jiang, ‘I might just nip to the bathroom before lunch.’
She left before he could protest, heading into the women’s dormitory, which was deserted. Having used the bathroom, she hurried to her bed. To her surprise, a second object lay on her pillow beside her nightly journaclass="underline" a very old, dog-eared copy of the same paperback she held in her hands. Opening it, she saw a flamboyant handwritten inscription inside.
To Danny, Martyr-Mystic,
my hope, my inspiration, my son.
With love always, Papa J
Robin remembered Danny Brockles’ insistence that she return the book to him, so she placed her own copy of The Answer on the bed and picked up his to take it to lunch. She then dropped to her knees, extracted the tiny pebble from the yard from her bra and placed it carefully beside three others, which she’d hidden between the bedframe and mattress. She’d have known it was Tuesday without this method of counting the passing days, but she also knew that if her fatigue and hunger worsened, checking the number of pebbles she’d collected might be her only recourse for keeping track of the passing days.
32
The superior man is on his guard against what is not yet in sight and on the alert for what is not yet within hearing…
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Clive Littlejohn returned to work on Wednesday. Strike texted him at nine to say he wanted a face-to-face talk at one o’clock at the office, once both had handed over their separate surveillance jobs to other subcontractors.
Unfortunately, this plan went awry. At ten past nine, shortly after Strike had taken up position outside the Frank brothers’ block of flats in Bexleyheath, Barclay called him.
‘Ye on the Franks?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘Aye, well, I thought ye should know: it’s both o’ them,’ said Barclay. ‘Not jus’ the younger one. I’ve been looking at the pictures I took outside her house last night an’ it was the older one who was skulkin’ around there at midnight. They’re in it taegether. Pair o’ fuckin’ freaks.’
‘Shit,’ said Strike.
They’d just taken on another case of possible marital infidelity, so the news that they’d need double the manpower on the Franks was unwelcome.
‘You’re off today, right?’ said Strike.
‘Aye,’ said Barclay. ‘Dev’s on the new cheatin’ wife an’ Midge is tryin’ tae talk tae that sex worker you photographed talking tae Bigfoot.’
‘All right,’ said Strike, briefly considering but rejecting the idea of asking Barclay to forgo his day off, ‘thanks for letting me know. I’ll look at the rota, see how we can keep both under surveillance going forwards.’
Immediately after Barclay had hung up, Strike received a text from Littlejohn, saying that Bigfoot, who rarely went into his office, had chosen today to drive out to the company in Bishop’s Stortford, which lay forty miles away from where Strike was currently standing. Much as Strike had wanted to look Littlejohn in the face when asking him about the omission of Patterson Inc from his CV, he now decided it would be quickest and cleanest to do the job by phone, so called Littlejohn back.
‘Hi,’ said Littlejohn, on answering.
‘Forget the meeting at one,’ Strike told him. ‘We can talk now. Wanted to ask you why you didn’t tell me you worked for Mitch Patterson for three months, before coming to me.’
The immediate response to these words was silence. Strike waited, watching the Franks’ windows.
‘Who told you that?’ said Littlejohn at last.
‘Never mind who told me. Is it true?’
More silence.
‘Yeah,’ said Littlejohn at last.
‘Mind telling me why you didn’t mention it?’
The third long pause didn’t improve Strike’s temper.
‘Listen—’
‘I got the heave ho,’ said Littlejohn.
‘Why?’
‘Patterson didn’t like me.’
‘Why didn’t he?’
‘Dunno,’ said Littlejohn.
‘Did you fuck up?’
‘No… personality clash,’ said Littlejohn.
You haven’t got a fucking personality, though.
‘There was a row, was there?’
‘No,’ said Littlejohn. ‘He just told me he didn’t need me any more.’
Strike was certain there was something he wasn’t being told.
‘There’s another thing,’ he said. ‘What were you doing at the office on Easter Monday?’
‘Receipts,’ said Littlejohn.
‘Pat was off. It was a bank holiday. Nobody should’ve been at the office.’
‘I forgot,’ said Littlejohn.
Strike stood with his phone pressed to his ear, thinking. His gut was issuing a warning, but his brain reminded him they wouldn’t be able to cover all present cases without Littlejohn.
‘I need this job,’ said Littlejohn, speaking unprompted for the first time. ‘The kids are getting settled. I’ve got a mortgage to pay.’
‘I don’t like dishonesty,’ said Strike, ‘and that includes lying by omission.’
‘I didn’t want you thinking I couldn’t handle the work.’
Still frowning, Strike said,
‘Consider this a verbal warning. Any more hiding anything from me, and you’re out.’