Robin hurried across Oxford Street, she was late for her coffee with Matthew. She had been tailing a

target since the early hours of the morning and he had diverted from his usual routine. Robin, felt she couldn't just leave him so that she would punctually make the time she and Mathew had decided on, just in case this divergence led to some crucial information. However, it had come to nothing and the man had simply had a late-morning dentist appointment.

As she ran-walked, she checked for the envelope in her pocket, the paranoia of all Londoners of pickpocketing pricked at her mind but it was still where she had placed it at the cash point. She arrived at the Costa's they had agreed on and pushed open the heavy glass door. Robin looked around and saw Matthew sitting on a stool at the window watching the passers-by resolutely.

'Matt?' Robin voice wavered slightly.

He turned towards her as if the last thing he wanted to do was lay his eyes on her. She raised the corners of her mouth in a small smile.

'Hi', his voice was flat and showed no hint of being pleased to see her.

'Hi. How are you?' and then as she realised she didn't want to know the answer she quickly added, 'I'm sorry I'm late - thanks for waiting.'

'Well…I didn't have much choice did I." he muttered.

Robin decided it was best to ignore this, as she suspected he wasn't just talking about their coffee date. Instead she focused on keeping the friendly smile plastered to her face, there was no way she was allowing this to turn into a confrontation now, 'I won't keep you much longer. I have the rest of the money here, that's the whole honeymoon paid off. We got a big pay out for the Laing story we…I did for a journalist contact at the Sun. I wanted your Dad to have it as soon as possible.'

She took the thick envelop out of her pocket and slid it towards him along the bar. He didn't speak but opened the envelop and then counted each, and every note in front of her. She fought to hold back her irritation as she suspected after nearly a decade of knowing Matthew that this was all an attempt to get a rise out of her. His phone began to ring in his pocket and he gathered the notes together stuffing them back in the envelop before grabbing the phone from the breast pocket of his suit. He looked at the caller id and smiled smugly to himself. She caught a glimpse of a picture of a young woman on the screen before he lifted the phone to his ear and she could have sworn is was Sarah bloody Shadlock.

'Hi Babe,' His tone was excited and intimate and Robin faintly shook her head, 'Yeah… Yep…love you too, I'll see you tonight.'

Robin turned her face towards the window so he wouldn't see her roll her eyes. He replaced the phone and put the envelop into his inside pocket. Deciding it was easier to ignore the phone call she said, 'Thanks for meeting me anyway – I didn't want to send you a check as I just wanted you to know you had the money.'

For a second a look of disappointment flickered across his face, 'Well, with Strike you never know if it could bounce,' he said sardonically not realising that this predictability was exactly why Robin had wanted to hand the money over to him as soon as it had hit the business account.

Robin looked at her watch scrabbling for an excuse to leave as quickly as possible – she felt like she had standing at the altar with him - desperate for an escape, 'Right…I have to go I have a meeting in 30 minutes,' she knew this was the best way to get back at Matthew, by rubbing her success in his face but then a stab of guilt made her say, 'Thanks again for waiting…good luck Matt.' She didn't wait for him to reply but turned away quickly and strode towards the door. She took a gulp of air and resisted throwing her arms in the air. She was finally and completely free of any obligation to Matthew.

At the altar, it hadn't been quite so easy.

As she smiled into Cormoran's bruised face the sick feeling that had plagued her for the last two days before the wedding dissipated, only then to crash back over her with twice the force. She visibly went green and looked back at Matthew whose face turned from dark anger to dawning realisation. She slid her hand from his and looked desperately towards the altar away from the many eyes now boring into her back, waiting to see what would happen next.

'I now pronoun…'

Before he could finish Robin faintly shook her head and after he looked from Robin's distraught face to Matthew's disgusted expression, the vicar, who had seen this a few times in his career, although not quite so dramatically, whispered to them, 'Would you like a minute?'

The spell that held Robin in suspended animation was suddenly broken by the gentle touch of a hand cupping her shoulder, 'Yes, yes…I think they need one,' her mother's tone was insistent and firm, as was her touch as she pushed Robin to the side so she began to follow the vicar who was walking towards the door at the side of the altar. Robin hardly dared to look at her mother, so scared of seeing anger or disappointment in her eyes. As Matthew followed the vicar into his office. Robin stopped and turned back to her mother who squeezed her hand, just like at any time in her life when she had needed guidance, there was her mother's acceptance, 'Remember Robin, your father and I support you in everything you do as long as it makes you happy. Just make sure you do what will make you happy.'

Robin nodded almost imperceptibly before turning away and following Matthew and the vicar inside.

The scene in the vicar's office was everything Robin had feared. Matthew cried. He shouted. But, she just couldn't be swayed this time. She couldn't…didn't want to marry him. The vicar left so that he could inform the congregation – there was another wedding in fifteen minutes and if he didn't move quickly the day's schedule would be royally fucked.

She had known it for weeks but had been too frightened to tell herself or anyone the truth. The ecstatic happiness she had felt at seeing Strike and realising she may not had lost her job, had been what she should have felt about marrying Matthew, rather than the suffocating anxiety she had suffered from since getting in the Land Rover with him and leaving London. In the end, Matthew had hurriedly left the room. She heard her mother's sympathetic, 'Matthew…' but there was no response. Then her mother was there beside Robin, wrapping her arms around her, as the young woman buried her head into her shoulder and cried tears of relief.

Robin hadn't realised that she could feel freer after that moment but now she had moved out of their flat and her debts for the wedding had been paid by her half of the fee from The Sun to her parents and Matthew's father she felt she could firmly draw a line under the last 9 years of her life. She felt so light, she was sure her feet hardly touched the ground during the quick walk back to office in Denmark Street. She was oblivious to the lost tourists, the shoulders of aggressive passers-by and mother's using their pushchairs as bulldozers, as they manoeuvred down the busy shopping street. Over the last few months Robin had finally allowed herself to voice the reality that Matthew had been the last crutch of her recovery after the rape she had suffered in her first year of University. Only until she had experienced the confidence and success working for Strike had she finally realised that marriage to Matthew had been the dream of the girl who had been too afraid to take back control of her life and had let Matthew steer her from one choice to the next.

Her choice of training to be a private detective had never sat comfortably with him – far from it – his glee at the thought that Strike had severed their working relationship forever, had sealed the realisation for Robin that he never would accept her choice. When Cormoran walked into Masham Church, she realised she would either need to let go of her dream job, or Matthew. So, it had been Matthew. Neither of them would have been happy otherwise. It was exactly what Strike had warned her about, even though he had never pressured her into making a decision, unlike Matthew had time and time again.

After the wedding-that-wasn't, when Robin had finally needed to call Cormoran, his Caller ID hadn't appeared and after a few more seconds of investigating she realised her entire call history and texts from Strike had been deleted. An image of Matthew borrowing her phone at the service station days before had flashed in her mind and at that moment she realised just how blind she had been to Matthew's controlling nature. It had developed so subtlety over time she had simply accepted it as a facet of the way their relationship worked. Now, she realised he had been emotionally abusing her for years, probably since before the rape. She hoped with satisfaction, as she neared the office, that Matthew deeply regretted answering the phone to her when she called him to confront him over it. She had felt so guilty about leaving him at the altar but did he now understand why his behaviour had made it necessary?

Robin skipped up the metal steps to the office and almost threw open the door on the third floor. As she rushed towards Cormoran's office she heard grave voices in conversation.

As she stepped into the room, the voices stopped and the two men inside looked towards her, 'Hello. I'm sorry I'm late I was caught up on another job. Robin Ellacott,' she held out her hand to the man sitting opposite Cormoran.

'Hi, Jonathan Grant, nice to meet you at last.'

They shook hands before Robin removed her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair and sat down next to Cormoran. There was now a set of meeting chairs in the office and the desk had been pushed into a corner so that they could interview clients together. Robin glanced at Strike who was watching her with a raised eyebrow: she could tell he was trying to read her expression to gage how her meeting with Matthew had gone. She smiled politely at Jonathan and then looked expectantly towards Cormoran.

'Jonathan was telling me that his wife is understandably not doing well, she is on suicide watch.'

Robin nodded and looked back towards Jonathan Grant sympathetically, waiting for him to continue.

'Losing our child has been very difficult for us both, not knowing where he is, whether he is …but being accused of his…murder and then hiding the…body…it's just…unbelievable.'

The case of the missing eight-year-old, Arlo Grant, had gripped the country for the last 4 months. It had been reported that the boy had been playing in his back garden with his sister, who was just a toddler, while his mother, Olivia, had popped next door to visit the neighbour. She had thought that they were safe in the garden as she was the same distance away from them as she had been in her own house. But, as she drank coffee with her friend, the screams of the toddler could suddenly be heard – terrifying and urgent. Once she and the neighbour, entered the garden Arlo was gone, leaving his sister sat on the ground, face red and wet with unbound screams. They had searched the garden and the fenced-off pond before calling the police. The police and locals had searched the local area for the 48 hours. Arlo still was not found. Suspects were hauled in to police stations but nothing stuck. Now two months later Olivia Grant had been arrested and charged with the murder of her own child.

'She had post-natal depression after the birth of our daughter, Mia, I think that's why the police began to suspect her. It was very hard for her to show emotion and Ellen, our neighbour told the police Olivia…admitted to thinking that she would somehow harm Mia. The day Arlo was taken, she had gone next door because she was so fraught she couldn't trust herself with the baby and had left Mia on a blanket, telling Arlo she was just going to see Auntie Ellen, for a moment. The police now think that she actually had…h…harmed Arlo before this and going in to see Ellen was a rouse to cover up what she had done. But…' Jonathan Grant tried desperately to control the sobs threatening to overcome him, so he could get to the end of the horrible story, '…it is unthinkable that she did it. Olivia loves our children. She loves them. Before Mia was born, she and Arlo were so close and she told me how desperate she was for Mia to her love but the depression made it so difficult for her to bond.'

Robin understood just how debilitating depression could be, how it could rob you of feeling close to those you loved. She briefly read the neutral expression on Strike's face, he was sympathetic but as usual was not making any judgements yet. He stayed quiet clearly waiting to see what else Jonathan would tell them.

'Dominic Culpepper at The Sun said that you would be able to help us, that you have helped others when the police lost interest with following other avenues of enquiry. My wife did not do this. Please help us.'

Culpepper, had been the reporter who had picked up the case of the missing boy in the first place. Consequently, the financial benefits of the public's appetite for the smallest details about the case had led The Sun to turn it into their own personal campaign to find the killer. This had turned Culpepper into a minor celebrity himself as he was the journalist closest to the family and regularly spoke on national television on their behalf publicising the need for information about the missing boy. He had rung Strike to see if he would be interested in taking up the case, 'The Sun' would be picking up the bill which would do nothing but improve their image in the public eye if he could get any important information. Culpepper saw it as his way of thanking Strike and Robin for agreeing to selling their story of the Shacklewell Ripper. Strike had agreed to it as he knew Robin was desperate to pay off her self-imposed debts for the wedding and it would be the quickest means. So, for once he did not stick to his rule of avoiding publicity and agreed to the interview with Culpepper. It had also helped to give Strike the opportunity to begin paying Robin as full partner.

'We would have to speak to your wife before we decide to take on the case, Dr Grant.' Strike informed him gently.

'Yes, I understand. This is the file that Culpepper told you I would bring. It's everything he has been able to get from the police so far and interviews he has done. He didn't think email would be secure enough.' Jonathan Grant looked relieved although still grave.

'Thank you. Who is the investigating officer on the case Dr Grant?' Robin enquired.

'Jonathan, please. It's a DI Carver at Scotland Yard."

Robin's stomach lurched at the mention of his name, it was obvious to Robin that this was not good news, not good at all. It could make it impossible for them to make any headway with the case at all. Again, she glanced at Strike but he showed no reaction when he said, 'Yes, we are very familiar with DI Carver. So, Carver is responsible for accusing your wife?' This time Robin saw Strike's jaw clench.

'Yes, he was very helpful at first but I think as time went on and the police couldn't get anywhere he began to become very suspicious – of both of us. He questioned me for two days – he accused me of being an abusive husband, suggested that I had killed Arlo and Olivia was too frightened to hand me in and helped to cover up where the body was.' Jonathan Grant's voice cracked on the word 'body' he clearly had yet come to terms with the fact the child was probably dead. But then, she supposed, any parent would still hope for the best outcome however long their child had been missing for, 'But, I have a strong alibi as I had a surgery that overran and I stayed at the hospital overnight. I think Carver was under a lot of pressure from his seniors, Olivia is an easy scapegoat.'

'It wouldn't be the first time,' Robin responded, repressed anger endangering her professional even tone. Strike looked at her. 'That the police potentially carried out a miscarriage of justice.' She stopped herself from appearing too biased against DI Carver personally. They would have to be careful of this not to appear like a personal vendetta against him after he had threatened to destroy Strike and their business. He very nearly had. However, Robin was shocked that his superiors had given him yet another high-profile case when he had made so many mistakes in the past. Robin, horrified, considered the possibility that Cormoran and her own actions in leading to the capture and successful imprisonments of both Donald Laing and Noel Brockbank had helped his career.

'I'm so glad you see it that way. My wife and I have been through enough. I just want her home. I can't face this without her.' This time he couldn't force back the tears which silently ran in tracks down his pale face.

Robin waited patiently and Strike pushed the tissues towards Jonathan Grant, 'We'll as Cormoran said we will start by talking to your wife, if you can arrange it for us and then we will let you know if we can take the case.'

Jonathan stood and they followed him, 'Thank you, I'll be in touch again in the morning, our lawyer can accompany you.'

Strike walked with Jonathan to the door as Robin picked up Culpepper's file and began to flick through it. She had been awake since five o'clock that morning and she hadn't slept particularly well but she was as curious as most of the public about what had happened to Arlo, so she began to sort through the information, arranging it into piles and adding post-its as she heard the door close behind Jonathan Grant and Strike returned to the room to help her.

Two hours later, Robin finished up the notes she had been typing into her laptop. She had always been the quickest typist of the two of them. As she pressed save she asked Strike, 'So what do you think so far?'

He sighed heavily, 'Probably the same as you – hoping she didn't do it - but there is nothing here to prove it either way.' He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, rubbing them intensely. He hadn't slept well either.

'Hopefully tomorrow we'll know when we can go and see her. Wardle might know something from the police angle, we have that meeting with him at ten – hopefully it will be a better start than having to try and contact Carver.'

'Yeah, the last time I talked to him didn't end too well.' Strike smirked as he opened his eyes to look at her sheepishly.

'Yes…well.' Robin mock-admonished him, 'I think we should call it a night,' she stood up and picked up her jacket before walking into the other room.

Strike sat up in his chair then pushed himself off beginning to follow her, 'Robin, I think we…' he stopped as he realised she wasn't in the office. Noticing the door was left open, he checked his pocket for his phone then took his coat from the hanger. He walked into the corridor, closing, then locking the door that now said R.V Ellacott & C.B Strike Private Investigators in gold lettering and made his way a little stiffly up the stairs to the attic flat.