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“It could’ve been—” said Wardle
“It wasn’t a fucking shopping list,” groaned Strike, thuht hours in advance, and then goes dancing She riting a bloody will, don’t you get it? She took it into Vashti to get Rochelle to witness it…”
“Bollocks!” said Carver, yet again, but Strike ignored hi Wardle
“…which fits with her telling Ciara Porter that she was going to leave everything to her brother, doesn’t it? She’d just al It was on her mind”
“Why suddenly make a will?”
Strike hesitated and sat back Carver leered at him
“Iination run out?”
Strike let out his breath in a long sigh An uncoht’s pleasurable excesses; half a cheese and pickle sandwich in twelve hours: he felt hollowed-out, exhausted
“If I had hard evidence, I’d have brought it to you”
“The odds of people close to a suicide killing theht up, did you know that? This Raquelle was a depressive She has a bad day, remembers the way out her ht back to you, pal, persecuting people and pushing them…”
“…over the edge, yeah,” said Strike “People keep saying that Very poor fucking taste, in the circuui’s evidence?”
“How many times, Strike? We proved she couldn’t have heard it,” Wardle said “We proved it beyond doubt”
“No you didn’t,” said Strike—finally, when he least expected it, losing his tehty fuck-up If you’d taken Tansy Bestigui seriously, if you’d broken her down and got her to tell you the whole fucking truth, Rochelle Onifade would still be alive”
Pulsating with rage, Carver kept Strike there for another hour His last act of contempt was to tell Wardle to make sure he saw “Rokeby Junior” firmly off the premises
Wardle walked Strike to the front door, not speaking
“I need you to do so at the exit, beyond which they could see the darkening sky
“You’ve had enough froonna be dealing with that,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards Carver and his temper, “for days because of you I told you it was suicide”
“Wardle, unless soer of being knocked off”
“Strike…”
“What if I bring you proof that Tansy Bestigui wasn’t in her flat at all when Lula fell? That she was so?”
Wardle looked up towards the ceiling, and closed his eyes momentarily
“If you’ve got proof…”
“I haven’t, but I will have in the next couple of days”
TwoWardle shook his head, looking exasperated, and yet he did not turn away
“If you want so from the police, call Anstis He’s the one es you”
“Anstis can’t do this for me I need you to call Deeby Macc”
“What the fuck?”
“You heardto take ot the authority, and it sounds as though he liked you”
“You’re telling ui hen Lula Landry died?”
“No, of course he bloody doesn’t, he was in Barrack I want to knohat clothes he got sent on froes Specifically, what stuff he got from Guy Somé”
Strike did not pronounce the name Ghee for Wardle
“You hy?”
“Because one of the runners on that CCTV footage earing one of Deeby’s sweatshirts”
Wardle’s expression, arrested for a moment, relapsed into exasperation
“You see that stuff everywhere,” he said after a moment or two “That GS stuff Shell suits Trackies”
“This was a customized hoodie, there was only one of theot from Somé That’s all I need Whose side d’you want to be on if it turns out I’ht, Wardle?”
“Don’t threaten me, Strike…”
“I’ about athe next one—but if it’s the papers you’re worried about, I don’t think they’re going to go too easy on anyone who clung to the suicide theory once another body surfaced Call Deeby Macc, Wardle, before soets killed”
11
“NO,” SAID STRIKE FORCEFULLY, ON the telephone that evening “This is getting dangerous Surveillance doesn’t fall within the scope of secretarial duties”
“Nor did visiting the Malmaison Hotel in Oxford, or SOAS,” Robin pointed out, “but you were happy enough that I did both of them”
“You’re not following anyone, Robin I doubt Mattheould be very happy about it, either”
It was funny, Robin thought, sitting in her dressing gown on her bed, with the phone pressed to her ear, how Strike had retained the nathat kind of inforot people’s names, even that of his newborn niece; but she supposed that Strike must have been trained to recall such details
“I don’t need Matthew’s pererous; you don’t think Ursula May’s killed anyone…”
(There was an inaudible “do you?” at the end of the sentence)
“No, but I don’t want anyone to hear I’ht make the killer nervous, and I don’t want anyone else thrown froht”
Robin could hear her own heart thuown She knew that he would not tell her who he thought the killer was; she was even a little frightened of knowing, notwithstanding the fact that she could think of nothing else
It was she who had called Strike Hours had passed since she had received a text saying that he had been co her to lock up the office behind her at five Robin had been worried
“Call hi to keep you awake,” Matthew had said; not quite snapping, not quite indicating that he ithout knowing any of the details, firmly on the side of the police