The Silkworm (Cormoran Strike, #2)(62)

‘Well, that would make sense,’ said Robin slowly, ‘because I keep thinking, Why kill him? The fact is, nearly all of these people had more effective means of dealing with the problem of a libellous book, didn’t they? They could have told Quine they wouldn’t represent it or publish it, or they could have threatened him with legal action, like this Chard man. His death’s going to make the situation much worse for anyone who’s a character in the book, isn’t it? There’s already much more publicity than there would have been otherwise.’

‘Agreed,’ said Strike. ‘But you’re assuming the killer’s thinking rationally.’

‘This wasn’t a crime of passion,’ retorted Robin. ‘They planned it. They really thought it through. They must have been ready for the consequences.’

‘True again,’ said Strike, eating chips.

‘I’ve been having a bit of a look at Bombyx Mori this morning.’

‘After you got bored with Hobart’s Sin?’

‘Yes… well, it was there in the safe and…’

‘Read the whole thing, the more the merrier,’ said Strike. ‘How far did you get?’

‘I skipped around,’ said Robin. ‘I read the bit about Succuba and the Tick. It’s spiteful, but it doesn’t feel as though there’s anything… well… hidden there. He’s basically accusing both his wife and his agent of being parasites on him, isn’t he?’

Strike nodded.

‘But later on, when you get to Epi – Epi – how do you say it?’

‘Epicoene? The hermaphrodite?’

‘Is that a real person, do you think? What’s with the singing? It doesn’t feel as though it’s really singing he’s talking about, does it?’

‘And why does his girlfriend Harpy live in a cave full of rats? Symbolism, or something else?’

‘And the bloodstained bag over the Cutter’s shoulder,’ said Robin, ‘and the dwarf he tries to drown…’

‘And the brands in the fire at Vainglorious’s house,’ said Strike, but she looked puzzled. ‘You haven’t got that far? But Jerry Waldegrave explained that to a bunch of us at the Roper Chard party. It’s about Michael Fancourt and his first—’

Strike’s mobile rang. He pulled it out and saw Dominic Culpepper’s name. With a small sigh, he answered.

‘Strike?’

‘Speaking.’

‘What the f*ck’s going on?’

Strike did not waste time pretending not to know what Culpepper was talking about.

‘Can’t discuss it, Culpepper. Could prejudice the police case.’

‘Fuck that – we’ve got a copper talking to us already. He says this Quine’s been slaughtered exactly the way a bloke’s killed in his latest book.’

‘Yeah? And how much are you paying the stupid bastard to shoot his mouth off and screw up the case?’

‘Bloody hell, Strike, you get mixed up in a murder like this and you don’t even think of ringing me?’

‘I don’t know what you think our relationship is about, mate,’ said Strike, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, I do jobs for you and you pay me. That’s it.’

‘I put you in touch with Nina so you could get in that publisher’s party.’

‘The least you could do after I handed you a load of extra stuff you’d never asked for on Parker,’ said Strike, spearing stray chips with his free hand. ‘I could’ve withheld that and shopped it all round the tabloids.’

‘If you want paying—’

‘No, I don’t want paying, dickhead,’ said Strike irritably, as Robin turned her attention tactfully to the BBC website on her own phone. ‘I’m not going to help screw up a murder investigation by dragging in the News of the World.’

‘I could get you ten grand if you throw in a personal interview.’

‘Bye, Cul—’

‘Wait! Just tell me which book it is – the one where he describes the murder.’

Strike pretended to hesitate.

‘The Brothers Balls… Balzac,’ he said.

Smirking, he cut the call and reached for the menu to examine the puddings. Hopefully Culpepper would spend a long afternoon wading through tortured syntax and palpated scrotums.

‘Anything new?’ Strike asked as Robin looked up from her phone.

‘Not unless you count the Daily Mail saying that family friends thought Pippa Middleton would make a better marriage than Kate.’

Strike frowned at her.

‘I was just looking at random things while you were on the phone,’ said Robin, a little defensively.

‘No,’ said Strike, ‘not that. I’ve just remembered – Pippa2011.’

‘I don’t—’ said Robin, confused, and still thinking of Pippa Middleton.

‘Pippa2011 – on Kathryn Kent’s blog. She claimed to have heard a bit of Bombyx Mori.’

Robin gasped and set to work on her mobile.

‘It’s here!’ she said, a few minutes later. ‘“What would you say if I told you he’d read it to me”! And that was…’ Robin scrolled upwards, ‘on October the twenty-first. October the twenty-first! She might’ve known the ending before Quine even disappeared.’