Chapter 2

Three days later after Robin had left for the day and business hours were well over, Strike had made it up to his attic bedroom to try to rustle up something for supper. Robin had been bringing by a few groceries for him now and then to help him avoid the need for shopping while he was still partially laid up. He really wasn't sure what he'd have done without her. He sat, contemplating pasta for the fourth time in the past six days when his phone rang.

"Cormoran Strike," he answered as politely as he could muster at this time of day, hoping it wasn't a client, even though they could use the work and Robin could handle the basics.

"Strike," the voice echoed. "It's Liam Jones."

"Oh." Strike was genuinely surprised that the younger man had called.

"I'm staying at my brother's place. They're home to Liverpool tomorrow. He's gone to the hotel after training today. I thought, if you didn't have any other plans, that maybe you'd want to come over." He paused. "That sounds weird." He laughed nervously. "I'm not used to begging people to hang out with me."

Strike was about to say that Liam would get used to it, but instead he looked around his uninspired kitchenette and then at the phone in his hand. He moved it back to his ear. "Yeah. Okay. What's the address?"

"It's in Fulham. It'll be a hike from your place. Might be faster for me to come there and get you."

"I can take a cab," Strike said without thinking.

"It's okay, really. I need to get out of here for a bit." He paused again. "If you don't mind. I'm not a bad driver."

"No. It's fine." They decided on a pickup spot along Charing Cross Road, and Liam arrived about 30 minutes later, pulling up to the curb in a black Audi A7. Strike whistled as he slid into the passenger seat.

"You definitely don't have to worry about sleeping rough. You could just live in this thing."

Liam blushed a little. "I needed a car. You know, wheelchairs, London, rain and all that. I had to get an automatic for the hand controls, and I wanted something that didn't make me feel so damn crippled."

Strike understood that and felt bad for calling the younger man out on his extravagant auto. This kid had been knocked down quite significantly from his former place in life, and rather than helping, Strike had made him feel bad about driving a nice car.

"It's really sleek," he tried to recover. "I wish I could manage something like this."

"I saved a lot when I was playing. Lived at home for a while, didn't have a car for a couple of years, that sort of stuff."

"Smart thinking," Strike nodded, although the kid had been making around 50,000 pounds a week at the time of his injury. Strike might see that this year. Gross.

They drove across the city to SW6 in silence before pulling though an ivy-covered gate that closed automatically behind them.

"My brother, on the other hand," Liam shrugged as they came into the condo, entering through a thoroughly modern kitchen. "It's a bit over the top, but he's 20 and is making twenty thousand a week." He picked up four rectangular pieces of cardstock from a large Lucite dining table and held them up toward Strike. "He left a couple of match tickets for tomorrow. Abby's gonna come. You can have the other two if you'd like." He replaced them on the granite countertop behind him. "Arsenal's at Newcastle, so…" he trailed off. Strike followed him from the kitchen into the main living area. "Make yourself at home."

Strike took a seat on an oversized chair and Liam turned on a giant flat screen TV across the room from them. The volume was low, but much like the other younger men Strike had interacted with and interviewed over the past couple of years, Liam seemed to relax in the glow of the ever-present flicker of the picture. In the large, decently-lit room, Strike finally sized up his companion. He recalled that when part of Arsenal's back four, Liam stood just over six feet in height. He appeared to have lost weight, more than a stone since the year previous. As Abby had mentioned earlier, his dark chestnut hair fell into his eyes, alarmingly unlike the cropped crew cut he'd always worn before. Strike wouldn't have recognized him on the street.

"Liam?" someone called from the kitchen.

Strike turned and Liam rolled back across the room. He re-emerged from the kitchen with his easily recognizable father right behind. Strike started to stand.

The older man stopped him. "No, no. Don't get up. Cormoran Strike, is it?" They'd obviously talked in the kitchen. He shook hands with Strike. "Callum Jones." He glanced around the room. "Did Ben talk to Gary before he did all of this?" he finally asked his elder son.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

He shrugged. "Well, Mum sent lasagna."

"Tell her thanks."

"You'll be at the match tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"Good. Ben will be pleased to have you there. We'll see you then. Don't want to interrupt any further. I'm off." He waved toward Strike. "Good to meet you, Cormoran."

Liam returned a minute later. "Sorry about that. But at least there's lasagna. Mom's a pretty good cook."

"They check up a lot?"

"Yeah." He pushed back his sleeves so Strike could see little white vertical scars ascending both wrists. "They're afraid I'll try that again." He looked up to see Strike's darkened expression. "I won't, though."

Strike unknowingly waded in further and further. He might already be in over his head. He swallowed and looked around the room.

"Shit. I haven't even offered you a drink or anything." He pointed to a full bar at the corner of the room. "Grab whatever you like. I'll warm up some food." Strike reached for the crutches and Liam blushed, realizing the other man wouldn't be able to carry bottles. "Right. I'll get that." He plopped four bottles of beer on his lap and headed back to the kitchen. His mother had sent the lasagna in an insulated carrier, so it was still warm. Liam found some plates and flatware and met him at the table.

"This is good," Strike noted after a couple of bites.

"She was home a lot when we were little kids, but as we got older and busier, she worked more. She always tried to cook us a good meal once a week, though. Usually on Thursdays, for whatever reason."

Strike seemed to remember that she was an American model and actress whose career had blossomed early in her life. She'd quit films to study at some Ivy League school before taking a break to do a West End production. She and Liam's father had met at a nightclub and became an instant item. The children had come in quick succession, keeping the family in the Society Pages for years. Although, that didn't fascinate him as much as Callum Jones' knack for dismantling Arsenal's defensive scheme did. Even when Chelsea proved a lousy side in the league, Jones seemed to always find a way to score against the Gunners. It seemed fitting that he'd hung on until the age of 38 for Chelsea's first Premier League Championship in 2005.

"My sister Lily is in Chicago." Liam had kept talking about his family. "She works in finance or banking or something like that. Then Maureen, she's between Lily and Ben, is doing the Peace Corps in Thailand."

"So there's the four of you?" Strike clarified, making sure he hasn't missed anyone else.

"Yeah. The girls always wanted to go to school and travel like Mom had done, and we boys just wanted to play football like Dad." He pushed a ribbon of pasta from one edge of the plate to the other. "Didn't think too much about what would happen if that wasn't possible."

"You could go back to school."

He nearly glared at Strike. "Oxford isn't an option for everyone." Liam had obviously done some Googling of his own in the past couple of days.

"That's not the only school."

"I take way more after my dad than my mom in that respect."

"So travel. Get away from here for a while. Your mom's American; so is Abby. And your sister lives in Chicago. Why not go there for a while?" Strike had no idea what had suddenly empowered him to suggest a plan for the younger man's life.

"Yeah. I thought about it. My mom mentioned it, too. But what would I do there? Same thing as here. Nothing."

"What do you want to do?"

"Play football."

"Well that isn't going to happen, Liam. And the sooner you get your head wrapped around that the better." Strike pulled out a cigarette. Liam didn't protest when he moved to light it. "If you really want to get on with your life, pick something to do and start doing it." He stood. "I don't know what else to tell you other than that." He started toward the door. "I should go."

Liam swiveled the chair to block him. "No, wait."

"I can't blow smoke up your ass, Liam." Strike began.

"Couldn't feel it even if you did," he pointed out, interrupting what was inevitably going to be some sort of tirade. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "This is exactly why I need this, Cormoran."

Strike swayed a bit with between the crutches. "Still. I should go."

Liam made another move toward the door. "I'll drive. It'll take forever for a cab."

"I'll manage." Strike's voice came out a little colder than he intended.

Liam didn't seem to notice. "No. Seriously. Let me. And I'll pick you up in the morning. It's on my way." Apparently he was used to having people do things he suggested of them.

"It's not," Strike insisted.

"It's on a way."

"You'd have to double back." Apparently these people pissed petrol as well.

"Abby texted a bit earlier. I may stay at her place tonight."

"Where's her place?" As if it was any of his business.

"Islington."

That made a little more sense, but Denmark Street still wasn't on the most direct route back to Fulham Road. "You going there soon?"

"After I eat and get some things together."

"Thought you were supposed to stay here since your brother was gone."

Liam shrugged. "It's fine."

Strike couldn't imagine Lucy asking him to watch anything of hers. Besides, it was again no business of his whether or not Liam spent the night with his girlfriend or at his brother's tricked out condo. He also couldn't technically afford a cab and wasn't completely sure where the closest Tube station that would get him home in a reasonable amount of time would be.

"D'you want the fourth ticket?" Liam asked a bit later as he dropped Strike off along Charing Cross Road.

"I'm not sure I want the third one."

Liam grinned. "I know you want to go, though. Emirates next time, yeah?"

Strike nodded. He really did want to go – both tomorrow hopefully to see Liverpool demolish Chelsea and any title hopes they might have and later to watch Arsenal at the Emirates.

"But just to be clear, I'm not throwing any celery."

Liam laughed. "It's not allowed anymore. But somehow I think you know that."

Strike smiled a little this time. He shut the door behind him and made a hand gesture that was somewhere between a wave and a finger gun toward the younger man. He waited until Liam had driven a block away before he shook his head and turned down Denmark Street toward his place. After he'd finished in the bathroom and with the ice and strapping on his right knee, he plopped down on his bed, setting an alarm for the morning.

Less than 10 hours later, he found himself standing in the same spot on Charing Cross Road and folded himself and his crutches into the same sporty car.

"People are going to think you're working this corner," Liam greeted instead of hello.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he grumbled before he noticed Abby in the backseat. His face flushed as he acknowledged her. "Morning."

She grinned in the rearview mirror. "Cormoran, glad you could make it."

"Yeah."

She handed him a coffee over his right shoulder. "Liam doesn't do personal boundaries very well. I think it's the celebrity of his parents or something, because it seems like everyone else here has figured out when to leave people alone."

"That's not totally true," Liam protested. The other two glared at him. "Okay, maybe mostly true."

"We still have a ticket left," Abby pointed out as they drove across London. "No one you know of who'd use it?"

"I don't actually know anyone who's a Chelsea fan. The fact that they're playing Liverpool might help, though." He realized they had no other options, and he might not mind backup here. "I have a mate that might be free."

"God, yes. Call. Please." Liam encouraged. "I'm not about to be the reason for the one empty seat in the place."

Strike reached into his pocket for his mobile. He reached Nick in a few seconds and was relieved to find that the other man would be happy to join them. Strike sent regards to Ilsa and rung off.

"Wonderful!" Abby exclaimed when he announced the ticket occupied.

"We'll be in a suite with my parents."

Strike nodded. He guessed that you never really got out from under the thumb of your famous parents, if you'd ever actually been under it.

As they approached the stadium, Liam turned the car into a guarded car park. He showed the attendant some sort of card and was waved inside. He found a disabled spot with room for him to exit the car and parked.

"We can wait out front for your friend." They collected themselves and headed toward the gate. Strike had thought about pulling on the prosthesis today to avoid the stares but had ultimately decided against it. He wasn't about to accept any setback in this recovery process.

They'd been at their perch in front for about ten minutes when Nick arrived.

"Couldnt've been Spurs anytime you get these things?" he inquired as he ambled toward them, still not completely believing he was approaching Stamford Bridge of his own accord for any reason other than to cheer on Tottenham. Strike laughed as they shook hands. "And who are these children?" Nick whispered as they turned to Liam and Abby.

Strike gave his friend an exasperated look as he started the introductions. "Liam and Abby, this is Nick."

"Hi, Nick," Abby greeted gleefully. She certainly was in a good mood today.

Liam extended his hand, looking up at the older man. "Shall we?"

They followed Liam back around the car park and to a lift that took them directly to the level of the exclusive suites.

Nick looked over at Strike and whistled. Strike just shrugged. They followed Liam and Abby into the box. Callum Jones and his wife Elle Manning (Strike had finally Googled her upon arriving home last night) were both standing, as though waiting for the arrival of their eldest child. Liam accepted a hug and a kiss from his mom and a clap on the shoulder from his dad before they turned their greetings to Abby. Once that had been completed, Liam introduced the two older men.

"Cormoran, nice to see you again," Callum Jones shook his hand. "And Nick, good to meet you."

Elle's greeting was a bit cooler, no doubt wondering about the association between this large grizzled man and her handsome, well-bred son. Abby jumped in quickly to fill the chilly silence and explained their connection. Strike and Nick accepted seats and pints and prepared for the start of the game. Liam maneuvered to the front of the box so he had a full view of the action. Strike noticed how intently he followed the play, almost enthusiastically. It was only when the teams broke at the end of the half that Strike watched his expression turn melancholic. Thankfully, Nick had engaged both Abby and Mrs. Jones in conversation while Callum had moved one box over to meet up with some previous teammates. Strike slid down a seat beside him.

"Everything alright?"

Liam shot him a look of disdain. Obviously it wasn't, but the younger man deflected. "Ashley Cole is otherworldly. No wonder I can barely get an England cap, and when I do it's on the right. The way he moves play forward, it's just crazy. They don't want me doing that at Arsenal, though, because of Emmanuel and Theo on the right. I need to stay back." He stopped and shook his head. "Needed. Past tense. All of it. You know what I mean."

Strike nodded. "Yeah."

"I can't lose it here, though. Not in front of my Mom." He looked over toward where she still sat with Abby and Nick, a waiter taking new drink orders. "This is supposed to be about Ben, anyway. Not me."

"Doubt he'll get in today, though. It's bound to be close."

Liam shrugged. "He might get a few minutes at the end to try to inject some pace."

Nick dropped down beside them, a new pint for Strike. "Not so bad, Oggy. We don't usually get the box at White Heart Lane."

Strike laughed, a fully round, real laugh. "We have to spend more time with the actual footballers to get digs like this."

Liam blushed. "Glad you're having a good time. Both of you." He turned. "I'm gonna get some air. I'll be back."

The second half started a few minutes later, and they all sat, transfixed as Liverpool took the lead about halfway through and never relinquished control of the game, the substitution of the younger Jones brother at 75 minutes notwithstanding. When the final whistle blew, Strike turned around to find their area completely filled with Chelsea alumni and various London celebs. Instead of exiting back to the car park, they were swallowed by the crowd of people that flowed into the players lounge.

They'd barely made it into the room when a few of the players arrived. Ben Jones made a beeline for his brother, the resemblance between the two of them wasn't lost on Strike or anyone else in the room. The surrounding din decreased ever so slightly as most eyes in the room trained on them but then increased back to baseline as more players trickled in.

Despite the influx of celebrities, Strike found himself acutely aware of a conversation taking place in the far corner of the room between John Cantrell, former Chelsea but current Liverpool midfielder and a woman of about 30. Their body language initially implied a close relationship, but the more they talked, the more animosity they expressed. Finally, throwing his hands down in frustration, Cantrell sighed, shook his head and reached toward the woman. She rolled her eyes, and in a gesture of submission, leaned into him. They hugged quickly and he was gone, shaking a few hands on his way out the door. The woman smoothed her overcoat and moved to take a glass of white wine from the bar. After she'd downed about half of it, she caught sight of the elder Joneses and approached.

Strike continued to watch in stunned silence as Elle Manning and then Callum Jones embraced her warmly. She spoke briefly with both of them before moving to the boys and Abby. She kissed each of Ben's cheeks before grabbing Abby's hands and taking a seat to the right of Liam, offering him a quick hug. Nick nudged Strike to a seat on the other side of Abby. He couldn't quite hear the conversation but made out the words "Didn't even bother to send a text. And when I have the day off, I definitely want to spend it at the stadium."

At the conclusion of this, Abby turned to introduce Strike and Nick to Elizabeth Cantrell, ex-wife of the aforementioned midfielder. They all nodded politely toward one another.

"What are you doing here?" Liam asked. "Not because of him?"

She cut that down quickly. "No." Then she backed off a bit. "Well, not technically. Carrie was supposed to be here with the boys, but the baby had a cold." She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. "They were supposed to come down last evening but put it off until today, and you know she had to know hours ago that she wasn't coming." She looked up, acutely aware of her surroundings and near whining tone. "Anyway. I thought they were going to be here today. Otherwise I don't usually choose to spend Saturdays when the Gunners are away at the Bridge." She looked toward Strike and Nick, realizing they weren't in on the whole story and appeared to be of her generation. "Co-parenting. Always a joy."

The two men, neither of whom had such experience, nodded politely if not knowingly. Strike leaned across to Abby. "Nick and I are going to go."

"Already?"

He nodded. "I agreed to a football match, not this."

"Okay," she faux-pouted. "I'll walk you out."

"We'll find our way," Strike assured her, nudging her toward Liam, whose pallor increased the longer they lingered in the lounge. "Get him sorted."

Nick stood first and shielded Strike slightly from the rest of the room as he rose, collected his crutches and traversed the room. Once they hit the lift, Nick spoke.

"You gonna tell me the story behind this?" Strike nodded, and Nick continued. "Good, because Ilsa's gonna want to hear this, too. You're coming over." Strike nodded again and followed Nick to the Tube station.

TBC