Back in the privacy of the car they had both allowed themselves some time to triumph over what they had been offered by the police, before beginning a sober analysis of what they had learned.
"No, you're fishing again, you know you were bloody great," Strike turned away from the road to measure from her expression how much she was doubting herself.
"I'm just worried that I missed something important?"
"You covered everything that's important for now," he reassured her.
He could see her reproving look in the rear-view mirror, "What?"
"You wouldn't hold something back, you know, so the police are a step behind us?"
The deepest creases in his forehead appeared, "When have I ever done that?"
"Well, we've never been in this position before. But, whenever we have had anything to do with them, there's always been…" Robin was beginning to regret ever bringing this up, "A slight element of competitiveness,"
"Not on my side," Strike snapped.
Robin's looked sceptical.
"Usually they deserve it," he replied a bit sulkily feeling Robin was being a bit unreasonable considering he had always made it his priority to keep the police informed of any meaningful developments, "The only time I've ever been reticent was if we didn't have evidence or they just wouldn't take us seriously,"
Robin half laughed, "True, I see your point, how many times have we been in that situation?" and he looked towards her again as it was her usual ringing laughter. The soft hue of Robin's delicately pink cheeks had been blotted away and the soft, flawless pale skin of her profile reminded Strike of the way the translucent white surface of marble statues enticed the onlooker to reach out and stroke it.
"You okay?" he tested out tenderly, wondering if she was regretting putting her foot down about going to the autopsy. Strike watched as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. He would have normally used gallows humour to lighten the mood with a SIB colleague but from experience, he knew Robin would not appreciate it and making her nauseous wasn't the best thing to do when she was driving. Instead, he had some pretty cheesy jokes on hand.
Her lips stayed in a straight line and her eyes remained trained on the road, "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"
The tension in her voice made up his mind, "Well, because we're going to the dead centre of town?"
She rolled her eyes, a half laugh escaping before she could stop herself, "That's the best you could do? Really?"
"Yeah, so my money's on the pathologist telling us he died from coughin',"
Robin groaned and gave him a look of disapproval but again she had to suppress the rebellious corners of her mouth. Strike was certain he knew how to push her over the edge and he gave her his most boyish grin but she just repaid him with a gentle push of his shoulder.
"What?" Strike feigned innocence, "We're investigating the murder of a pretty nasty bloke for all intents and purposes," he said with an affected grumble.
"Does that matter?" She started to reproach him until she saw the playful glint in his eyes.
"Well…" He elongated the word as if he was struggling to decide and grinned at her.
…
By the time they had arrived at the Royal Cornwall Hospital, the pathologist, Doctor Margot Hullbridge, a blonde-haired woman of about forty and dressed in scrubs explained brightly, "I've already done the boring bits,"
She explained this meant photographing Scutari in situ of the body bag, removing the clothes and taking fibre samples from the skin. The body had then been washed and x-rays taken. Even after her blithe comment, Hullbridge displayed her extensive and practised knowledge with a great deal of humility, as she set about her different tasks with an unemotional, industrious focus which had been impressive to both Robin and the much more experienced Strike. This helped Robin to settle herself and she felt a little ashamed of how unaffected she was by the sight of the dead body on the metal table. Instead, she found it riveting to watch each stage of the autopsy. She assumed it was because there was none of the gore the photographs of bodies she had seen before had come with a dose of. She noticed Strike looking down at her, assessing, and she looked away sternly.
Hullbridge examined at a set of x-rays, "The only fractures are a number of broken ribs, these could have been post-mortem, I would need to take part out to tell but the bruising to his chest suggests they were. Nothing else seems to be broken," This was all recorded digitally by a device near the table. She picked it up as she moved over to the body and placed it on a side table.
Dr Hullbridge asked her technician Aadam, a young Asian man in thick trendy glasses, to open Scutari's mouth, deep inside was a piece of fabric. He picked up some forceps and pulled out what turned out to be a black cotton sock. Robin stifled a gasp.
But Gwenifer had heard and explained, "That was why we had an inkling he hadn't just fallen off the boat,"
"Wonder what size the sock is?" Robin spoke her thought aloud.
"Looks quite small, not a man's sock I wouldn't have thought," Margot
"So, we could be looking for a woman?" Gwenifer mused.
Strike's eyebrow rose but before he could say anything Robin stated, "Not necessarily," and he finally caught her eye and a flicker in his expression signalled his approval.
The pathologists began examining and describing the scratches and bruises covering the chest.
"You can tell these are not just from the rocks…" Margot began.
No one responded – it was only clear to Margo, who once she remembered was surrounded by laypeople, she looked up at them and began to explain, "All these scratches and bruising here are actually," she pointed to red welts on Scutari's thighs, calves, arms, head and torso, "But, if you look here and here," she pointed to almost circular bruises to the fleshy parts of Scutari's upper arms. These could be finger marks as if he was being pulled backwards hard. You can see scratches on the hands, his face and neck – these were made by fingernails,"
Robin could see the pale lines imprinted in the flesh, the blood long since washed off probably by the sea before even the jet of water used by the pathologists. A memory of the lines on Strike' s cheek and neck came back to her when they first met, Charlotte violently marking him in anger as hers, to do with what she liked. She felt a stab of regret at being so averse to his earlier concern.
"So, clear signs of struggle," Dr Hullbridge continued, "Now this is probably what killed' him…" she stood over his head where a red daub marked his skin. Like the fingermarks this carried the shape of the object that had hit him here, "Bruising to the temple shows he was hit with a blunt object but we need to examine his brain to check," She sounded very certain.
"Any idea yet what it could have been?" Strike queried, someone as experienced as Hullbridge would have been considering this since taking the photos of the marks earlier in the day.
"Considering he was found on a yacht, an oar or the boom depending on the size. I'll go down with one of your officers and have a look," Hullbridge looked towards Gwenifer.
Gwenifer's arms were crossed in front of her chest, almost as if she was hugging herself or her stomach, "There was nothing found on the boat by the SOC team that fits that description but I'll get one of the team to rush the forensics reports to see if any blood was found on the boom. They'll probably tell us that verbally actually,"
"If the murder weapon was portable it'll probably be at the bottom of the sea by now," Strike stated
Robin couldn't help herself, "Bugger!" she mumbled.
"Exactly," Gwenifer sighed and for once both women smiled genuinely at each other.
Turning back to Hullbridge who took her scalpel from the glinting tray of sterilised instruments, Robin hated to think what some of them were for. The doctor looked as if she was drawing along the skin with the small blade from behind one ear over the scalp to the other ear until the flesh parted and left a red streak of flesh. Hullbridge exposed the top part of the cranium by reflecting forward the flap of skin and hair that made up his temporal scalp over Scutari's face. The rest of his scalp was pushed rearward. Watching the action of Scutari's head being peeled like a piece of fruit finally provoked a clench in Robin's stomach and she breathed in and out shallowly to settle the rolling that had begun in her stomach.
"Yes," Hullbridge sounded pleased with her deduction, "There is evidence of haematoma, the pterion artery has ruptured and the blood burst through the skull putting pressure on the brain."
"Would he have died instantly?" Robin asked her.
"He would have been knocked unconscious and died pretty quickly without medical attention,"
Aadam turned on the electric saw which whirred into life and passed it to Hullbridge who began to saw off the calvarium in a circular motion as if Scutari was wearing a skullcap which she then removed before separating the brain from its leathery covering of tissue with forceps. Unbidden the thought of the time her family had tried haggis on Burns night came to mind. She would have to save this one for Cormoran for later to see how far she had come.
As Hullbridge sliced through the stem and they tugged out his brain. She didn't imagine anything would have been worse than this, as long as she could hold it together until the end Robin would allow herself a guilty sense of pride.
…
Gwenifer had looked decidedly green by the time they had left the autopsy room and Robin, naturally helpful, had got her some water from the dispenser in Hullbridge's office. She had looked embarrassed but thankful.
"Gwenifer, I'll get a rush on the toxicology reports, so we should be able to get them to you later today. Now when do you want me at Perrin's boatyard?"
"Well, I was going to ask if we could go and have a look at the boat, perhaps we could meet you there?"
"Sure, makes sense," Gwenifer looked at the time on her phone, "I need to go back to the station, I'm sure you need lunch Margot, so shall we say about three, before it gets too dark,"
Robin couldn't help but smile at Gwenifer not including herself in the need for lunch.
…
Strike's laughter at her haggis joke rang around the interior of the car making Robin join in too, "I don't know why you feel so embarrassed about it - you're allowed to be human - no one expects you to be like Hullbridge. Look at Gwenifer. Look at me! When I saw Quine's body, if it wouldn't have messed up the forensics I would have puked on the poor bastard,"
"You never told me that?"
"A man has to retain an air of mystery Robin," and he turned away to look at something out of the window.
"You certainly manage to do that" she smiled.
Strike pointed to a turning ahead, "Actually, is it too late to turn off here?"
Robin braked just in time to turn carefully off the road and into a pub car park. The Punchbowl and Ladle, painted Cornish blue and white with a thatched roof sat beside the road back to the ferry. The car park was busy with Boxing Day drinkers and it was half an hour before the end of lunch. Robin waited for him as he struggled out of the low hatchback and when he reached her his arm encircled Robin's shoulder, her bag knocked about between them.
"I'm bloody starving,"
"Sometimes I wonder what it would take for you to lose your appetite,"
"Semi-cup final North London derby 1991. Arsenal was beaten by Spurs 3-1. We lost our chance of the double and Spurs won the FA Cup," he shook his head looking forlorn, "Best day of Nick's bloody life, I couldn't eat my burger after the game,"
Strike led her inside and into a small bar. Luckily some people were just leaving a table in front of a small window by the log fire, it was a little out of the way from the punters lining the bar and some children sat around a chess board. The quaint cosy pub, with its dark beams along the low ceiling, sage green walls with Victorian style fittings and an oak panelled bar was in stark contrast to the clinical surrounding of the autopsy room. Agricultural tools and horse brasses were hung around the rustic cavernous fireplace. An oil lamp style light cast a warm glow against the dim rough plaster of the old wall and caught the brass pumps of St Austell ales lining the bar. Strike sat in a tall wooden carver chair and picked up the menu immediately, while Robin settled herself on the window seat.
"Carbonara for me, what do you fancy?" He passed her the padded plastic vinyl covered menu.
"Don't forget we've got another roast dinner tonight," Robin said over the top of it, "Can you manage both?"
Strike said nothing in reply, just raised his eyebrow and Robin laughed, "How could I ever doubt you?"
"Hollow leg, me,"
"Ha, ha!" Robin rolled her eyes, "Soup for me please and a water,"
He tutted in mock disappointment, "You're such a goody-goody,"
While he went to the bar, Robin opened the file Gwenifer had given them, exhaling as if she'd surfaced from an underwater dive. She began flicking through the documents and arranging them out of sight on the free part of the window seat.
"Thanks," she said without looking up when Strike came back with a pint of Tribute for himself and put the water down in front of her with a packet of crisps, which finally caught her attention, "This is why I love you," she said, looking up at his satisfied smile as he made himself comfortable in the chair.
"If I'd known all it would take was a packet of crisps, I'd have bought you more a long time ago,"
Popping open the pack, then tearing the foil wide open so they could share, Robin placed the crisps between them before explaining the different piles of documents she had made, "Which do you want to start with?"
"Witness statements?"
Robin reached forward, handing them over to him. He watched her settle herself back, sitting cosily at an angle in the window seat. The rain that had threatened during their drive from the hospital, was slapped against the window by the wind behind her and the outside was reduced to a grey blur. Robin's cheeks glowed pink from their proximity to the fireplace and her golden hair caught the light of the lamp above them. No wonder he had denied her beauty for so long, he would never had been able to bring himself to leave the office.
Without looking up Robin sensed his gaze, "Cormoran," she admonished with a suppressed laugh.
Cormoran looked down at the report, embarrassed that she had caught him looking at her like a love-struck teenager. Again. "Okay, I'm getting on with it," he groaned wearily.
Strike scanned the paper but couldn't focus on a single word. His mind went suddenly blank, it was determined to drift. In recent years, happiness had been a transient state for Strike. The images of the night before replayed in his head, not for the first time that day. Her long legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she sat in his lap. Their bodies slick with sweat from their efforts to prolong the end. One of his hands gripping the soft skin of her bottom. The palpitation of her wet, pliant clit as he caressed and cajoled her. The heightened sensation as she ground herself down onto him again, in complete control of his pleasure. Her fingertips tickling his scalp. The magnetism that brought their mouths together, until all they could manage was to breathe the other's breath. His lips crushed against hers. Her tongue sliding against his.
Strike had experienced something at that moment with Robin which he supposed he could pass off of as just incredible sex. Although, his innate honesty meant he could admit he had felt consumed by an overwhelming connection to Robin that had woven around their bodies, pulling them closer, deeper. Like the explosion that had detonated around him taking part of his leg, the air around them had shifted and he could never be the person he was before. He had pulled back wanting to watch her as their bodies had begun to shudder and they held each other up when all control had gone. Her awed expression and glassy eyes showed she felt it too. He was pretty sure his own eyes had welled up. You're a stupid fucker! But, he would have been happy for that to have been the last thing he ever felt.
Just after Charlotte married Jago Ross, Strike, alone in his flat and finally in possession of some of the evidence that would incriminate Liz Tassle, had wondered if he finally was where he was supposed to be. Getting the business up and running had also been a bittersweet experience. Strike had nearly run himself and the business into the ground with Robin everything had changed. It had become one of the most fulfilling areas of his life when he was not having to hunt down errant partners or corrupt employees. He'd been selling himself short telling himself he could only have one or the other. He was able to feel profound love, have it unreservedly returned and share his love for his work with Robin.
Robin was also finding it hard to concentrate. The autopsy had been difficult but she wasn't about to admit aloud that she could do with some time cuddled into Cormoran's warm heft, only having to be aware of the comforting feel of his soft cotton shirt and clean scent. His eyes were cast downwards as he read; his lashes dark against his pale skin. She tried again to count the tan freckles on his cheek. When she lost count, her eyes traced the crooked line of his nose to his mouth which was pressed into a straight line. The tip of his tongue slipped between his lips which was the usual sign that he was in a state of deep concentration. She felt overwhelmingly smitten with him and couldn't believe there had been a time when she thought herself able to be anything but.
Strike looked up unexpectedly and her darkened eyes met his and she giggled. Strike's lips quirked upwards into a small smile feigning disparagement, "Robin…"
Finally, their mutual fascination for ascertaining the truth took over from their preoccupation with each other. They both carefully went over each of the family member's accounts to see if there was anything Gwenifer had not mentioned and cross-referencing them against the notes they had taken earlier.
Next were the statements from witnesses who had seen him on the way to the boatyard. Scutari had left the Bolventor at around eleven in the morning and had greeted some regular, and Strike assumed wealthy, patrons of the hotel as they had arrived. He'd then had a temper tantrum on the quay when a car had not given way where the road narrowed outside of the Co-op. The manager had come out to diffuse the situation and Scutari had to be persuaded back into his car.
"Don't know why he went that way anyway! It's the slowest way to get out of town from the hotel, wanted to show off his fancy car I bet," Strike spat out.
"Cormoran," Robin murmured, her eyes having not left the sheet of paper, "Look at this,"
Strike took the sheaves of paper Robin held out to him and scanned the pages. It was a complaint against Scutari to the police for the previous year in August. He was accused of attacking a maid, Kasia Młynarski, she had arrived from Poland in the spring and had worked at the Bolventor but she had decided not to press charges.
"Hmm…" He placed the sheets on the table, writing the maid's name, place and time of employment and the address where she had lived at the time near Falmouth.
"I doubt she still works there," Robin mused.
"She might have only been there for the season – "
"Her boss tried to rape her," Robin paused, her words had come out too forcefully, "She was probably too scared in a new country to press charges, not to mention the thought of going up against the legal team Scutari would have been able to instruct,"
Nodding at Robin solemnly, Strike sighed at his own thoughtlessness "Of course,"
He realised she understood its effects better than most people, however much he wished she didn't. Strike knew, her reaction did not come from being over-sensitive about the subject of rape but Robin sometimes seemed to think this was exactly what he was thinking and he was glad to see her visibly relax at his response rather than her eyes narrowing any further. They were interrupted by the ringtone of his phone. He flipped it around to show Robin who the call was from and she nodded, picking up her pen and notebook.
"Gwenifer?" He listened for a moment, tucked the mobile under his chin and picked up his pen, moving the notebook so Robin could read it as he and wrote in block capitals - FORENSIC REPORT HIGHLIGHTS. She read as his hand moved down the page:
THE FINGERPRINTS FOUND ON THE BOAT
WERE SCUTARI'S AND A NUMBER OF OTHERS.
BLOOD AND DNA FOUND ON THE BOAT THAT
DID NOT MATCH SCUTARI.
POLICE NEED TO FINGERPRINT THE WHOLE
FAMILY AND ANY OTHER SUSPECTS, FAMILY
BACK IN FOR THIS TODAY.
"Sorry, carbonara?"
Robin looked up to see a young woman had brought their lunch.
"Thanks, that one's over there and the soup is mine,"
The food went untouched as she went back to reading the notebook and Cormoran's hand pushed it over to her as he ended his call with Gwenifer.
LOTS OF DIFFERENT FIBRES WERE FOUND.
THE BOOM HAD NOT SHOWN UP ANY EVIDENCE
OF BLOOD TRANSFER.
THE SOC TEAM ALSO FELT THAT NO ONE HAD
INTERFERED WITH THE CRIME SCENE.
"Not good news, nothing stands out unless any of the family were stupid enough to leave their own blood at the scene,"
Robin picked up her spoon, "Have you got any theories so far?" she asked.
Strike had begun shovelling the pasta into his mouth while Robin blew on her first spoonful of soup.
"Could be one of his children, you know, for the inheritance, Gwenifer's team will be finding out the details of the will. Genevieve is clearly the key player behind the Bolventor, perhaps Scutari was getting in the way of her ambitions,"
"Peter strikes me as a bit of a loose cannon, everyone else in the family managed to put on a brave face on Christmas day. The family could be quite emotionally repressed, which wouldn't be surprising with all those rumours about Scutari but Isabella still stays with him. Perhaps he snapped or needs the money for something. He's quite louche really,"
Strike raised both eyebrows this time, "Quite?" He filled his mouth with pasta to stop himself remarking about his own feelings towards Peter Scutari's behaviour towards Robin on Christmas Day.
Her shy smile revealed she knew what he was getting at, "Enjoying that?"
"Mmm…want to try some?" he asked as he dug the fork back in.
The sight of the comforting creamy pasta had Robin placing her spoon back in the soup, "Yes, please,"
Strike lent over with his fork, so Robin could take a bite.
"Then there's the number one suspect. The wife. Especially, if he was cheating on her,"
"Matthew got a lucky escape then!" Strike looked at her in mock horror.
Robin gently kicked the metal rod of his prosthesis, and he pretended to wince, "I just can't imagine a woman like that getting her hands dirty. But it's completely unlikely to be a professional job from the sound of the forensic report," Robin surmised.
"Unless they were trying to look completely amateurish to baffle the police, not hard to do,"
Robin looked away, thinking that Strike's new relationship with the police had done nothing to improve his derogatory opinion of their habit to fall back on a lack of method.
"I think we need to talk to the family ourselves; Jon Ridley is a friend of Tom's, so talking to him won't be a problem. Also, the boy who says he saw the boat in the harbour is the son of an ex-girlfriend so that should help too," He took his last mouthful of pasta and dropped the spoon in the bowl.
Robin was looking at him with a wry smile, "And if we can find out who he was having an affair with, that'll be helpful, I'll talk to Joan,"
He smiled at Robin's quick ability to understand a person's character. After a few days with Joan, she knew his aunt's greatest weakness was gossip.
"I think we need to come up with some secret code,"
Strike looked at her as if he was doubting her sanity.
"So that when we meet someone you've been out with or slept with, you can cough twice and then I know,"
He chuckled and looked down at the menu again, "There's not that many,"
Robin heard the note of false modesty, "By whose estimation?"
He gave her a soft but guilty smile and his eyes, warm and dark travelled over her face. With Robin he could tease her jealous streak without worrying the plate in front of him would be smashed to pieces. Robin, knew the game he was playing and she watched his reaction as the tip of her finger fell between her parted lips and she bit down before her lips closed over it and she pulled it out.
Robin smiled smugly as she took in Strike's awestruck expression, "Dessert?"
