The Silkworm (Cormoran Strike, #2)(63)

‘That’s right,’ said Strike. ‘I’m having apple crumble, want anything?’

When Robin had returned from placing yet another order at the bar, Strike said:

‘Anstis has asked me to dinner tonight. Says he’s got some preliminary stuff in from forensics.’

‘Does he know it’s your birthday?’ asked Robin.

‘Christ, no,’ said Strike, and he sounded so revolted by the idea that Robin laughed.

‘Why would that be bad?’

‘I’ve already had one birthday dinner,’ said Strike darkly. ‘Best present I could get from Anstis would be a time of death. The earlier they set it, the smaller the number of likely suspects: the ones who got their hands on the manuscript early. Unfortunately, that includes Leonora, but you’ve got this mysterious Pippa, Christian Fisher—’

‘Why Fisher?’

‘Means and opportunity, Robin: he had early access, he’s got to go on the list. Then there’s Elizabeth Tassel’s assistant Ralph, Elizabeth Tassel herself and Jerry Waldegrave. Daniel Chard presumably saw it shortly after Waldegrave. Kathryn Kent denies reading it, but I’m taking that with a barrel of salt. And then there’s Michael Fancourt.’

Robin looked up, startled.

‘How can he—?’

Strike’s mobile rang again; it was Nina Lascelles. He hesitated, but the reflection that her cousin might have told her he had just spoken to Strike persuaded him to take the call.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi, Famous Person,’ she said. He heard an edge, inexpertly covered by breathy high spirits. ‘I’ve been too scared to call you in case you’re being inundated with press calls and groupies and things.’

‘Not so much,’ said Strike. ‘How’re things at Roper Chard?’

‘Insane. Nobody’s doing any work; it’s all we can talk about. Was it really, honestly murder?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘God, I can’t believe it… I don’t suppose you can tell me anything, though?’ she asked, barely suppressing the interrogative note.

‘The police won’t want details getting out at this stage.’

‘It was to do with the book, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘Bombyx Mori.’

‘I couldn’t say.’

‘And Daniel Chard’s broken his leg.’

‘Sorry?’ he said, thrown by the non sequitur.

‘Just so many odd things happening,’ she said. She sounded keyed up, overwrought. ‘Jerry’s all over the place. Daniel rang him up from Devon just now and was yelling at him again – half the office heard because Jerry put him on speakerphone by accident and then couldn’t find the button to turn him off. He can’t leave his weekend house because of his broken leg. Daniel, I mean.’

‘Why was he yelling at Waldegrave?’

‘Security on Bombyx,’ she said. ‘The police have got a full copy of the manuscript from somewhere and Daniel’s not happy about it.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I just thought I’d ring and say congrats – I suppose you congratulate a detective when they find a body, or don’t you? Call me when you’re not so busy.’

She rang off before he could say anything else.

‘Nina Lascelles,’ he said as the waiter reappeared with his apple crumble and a coffee for Robin. ‘The girl—’

‘Who stole the manuscript for you,’ said Robin.

‘Your memory would’ve been wasted in HR,’ said Strike, picking up his spoon.

‘Are you serious about Michael Fancourt?’ she asked quietly.

‘Course,’ said Strike. ‘Daniel Chard must’ve told him what Quine had done – he wouldn’t have wanted Fancourt to hear it from anyone else, would he? Fancourt’s a major acquisition for them. No, I think we’ve got to assume that Fancourt knew, early on, what was in—’

Now Robin’s mobile rang.

‘Hi,’ said Matthew.

‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Not great.’

Somewhere in the background, someone turned up the music: ‘First day that I saw you, thought you were beautiful…’

‘Where are you?’ asked Matthew sharply.

‘Oh… in a pub,’ said Robin.

Suddenly the air seemed full of pub noises; clinking glasses, raucous laughter from the bar.

‘It’s Cormoran’s birthday,’ she said anxiously. (After all, Matthew and his colleagues went to the pub on each other’s birthdays…)

‘That’s nice,’ said Matthew, sounding furious. ‘I’ll call you later.’

‘Matt, no – wait—’

Mouth full of apple crumble, Strike watched out of the corner of his eye as she got up and moved away to the bar without explanation, evidently trying to redial Matthew. The accountant was unhappy that his fiancée had gone out to lunch, that she was not sitting shiva for his mother.

Robin redialled and redialled. She got through at last. Strike finished both his crumble and his third pint and realised that he needed the bathroom.

His knee, which had not troubled him much while he ate, drank and talked to Robin, complained violently when he stood. By the time he got back to his seat he was sweating a little with the pain. Judging by the expression on her face, Robin was still trying to placate Matthew. When at last she hung up and rejoined him, he returned a short answer to whether or not he was all right.