Chapter Sixteen

Having done yet another nightshift, Strike spent most of the day asleep or trying to get back to sleep. One of the times he checks his phone, it's to see a missed call from Jonny, and a text explaining that it's not urgent. He's alone in the bed, and there's no sound in his apartment—Robin must be downstairs—so he dials his father, asking, "What's up?"

"I saw the news about Whittaker. I know you didn't like the guy, but thought I'd check that you're okay about it."

"Yeah, I'm fine. In the end, I almost felt sorry for him. All he ever wanted was to be famous, but the closest he came to it was marrying Mum, and that was mainly because of her connection with you."

"Yeah. He even tried my agency after she died, looking for money, like I owed him something 'cos he was your stepdad for a while, when I know he didn't lift a finger for you kids. I always thought he was kind of pathetic. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks. It dredged up Mum's death yet again, but I'm not grieving for him."

"Good. And, I've been wracking my brain about your mum, but haven't come up with much. All I can recall is her mentioning how she lied about her age to get married."

Suddenly awake and alert, Strike asks, "What do you mean, that she was underage?"

"I presumed so, but didn't ask the details. I'm sorry, son."

"No, that's okay; any information is good, thanks. I'm swamped with work, but I'll make some time to get a copy of her birth certificate."

"You can do that?"

"Anyone can. You just need the details and enough money for the fee."

"Jesus, you mean people could have a copy of mine?"

Strike smiles, remembering that Jonny Rokeby is famously sensitive about his age, and says, "You should know by now that you can't hide much from fans. Which reminds me, please make sure you keep this between us...maybe Al, if you need to discuss it with someone. Another thing to keep quiet, don't trust Whittaker's son. He goes by Stephen Whitehall. I doubt he'd contact_"

"He already did, years ago, but said he was a Whittaker. He wanted to know anything he could about his mum."

Fuck. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I don't know him from Adam. I told him if he wants to know about Leda, he should ask his father."

"How did he take it?"

"Hung up on me. You think he's suss?"

"I do. You know my business partner, Robin?"

"Yeah, Prue says she's lovely."

Realising that he should have anticipated Prudence mentioning Robin, Strike says, "Right. Well, we're together now, and probably because of that, Whitehall bugged her apartment. He's on bail for it as we speak. Watch out for him. If he'd cross that line, he'd cross others."

"I never heard back from him, so I guess he's not holding a grudge."

Testing a theory, Strike says, "Did anything weird happen just after you spoke to him?"

"Weird how?"

"Like...I dunno, feeling like someone was watching you, or something being leaked to the press about that time?"

"Yeah. Yeah, there was. We still don't know how the press got wind of my cancer treatment, given the private clinic I used is known for discretion. You think that was him?"

"Could be. But there won't be any proof. That's how he operates. Nothing since then?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. There are always vultures lurking."

"Sounds like he considers you even then, so that's something."

"Why's he after you?"

"Not sure. I figured it's just that I left him with his father. But Rob thinks that he's attached himself to Mum and is avenging himself on everyone he feels let her be killed."

"Fuck me. Sounds like a right nutter."

"I think that's fair to say."

"Okay, well, watch yourself. And, please, let me know if I can do anything to help, okay? If not for me, for your Robin?"

Thinking of the fact that Robin is carrying their baby, Strike says, "Yeah, I can do that. Thanks."

"And is it okay if I tell Prue about you and Robin? She thought you two were a good fit."

"Actually, I'm waiting for her to call me back; want to get her opinion on Whitehall. So I'll tell her. Thanks for calling, and for the info."

"No problem. Keep in touch."

When he's gone, Strike plays the entire conversation over in his mind, so that he can update Robin. And then he reaches for his prosthesis. No point trying for more sleep now.

It's not quite an argument, but Robin and Strike haven't yet agreed about her telling Stevie of the pregnancy, and she again attempts, "It's not fair to attend her classes when she doesn't know the risks."

"So quit."

Robin rolls her eyes and reminds him, "I'm not quitting. I told you; I need these. It's not sparring, just defensive moves and holds. So long as I'm careful, there's no more danger to me or the baby than driving in traffic...less, probably." When he silently fumes, she asks, "What are you afraid of; that she'll tell Stephen?"

"She doesn't need to tell him. He could have done anything to her phone while they were together."

"And, as a serving police officer, I'm sure she's aware of such things. What if I just ask her if she's checked? We're on good enough terms for that." When this doesn't alter his dark expression, she says, "So that's not it. What's really bothering you?"

After a moment, Strike admits, "It's where you met him, and I still don't know why he did that."

"He was there for Stevie."

"No, he was there for you. He wanted to meet you. Why?"

Oh. "You know, I hadn't even considered that."

"Which is why I worry. I know you're careful, but you're still too trusting."

Robin finally sees reason to smile as she asks, "Do you know a woman less trusting than I am?"

He gives it some thought and says, "Well, no, but you're also in more danger than any woman I currently know."

She takes a deep breath and says, "Right, I'm going to tell Stevie about the pregnancy. Assuming she's still willing after that, I'll keep doing the classes, but only once a week. That should be enough to keep up my skill level. You can't join in, but I'd be okay with you meeting me afterwards when we finish after dark, if that would ease your mind. But no lurking in the gym like a perv."

He smiles at that, and says, "Spoilsport. What if I work out and do some training at the same time as your class? You know I was considering that anyway."

Robin considers this, and says, "I can live with that."

And then Strike grins, saying, "But if I'm not allowed to lurk, neither are you; no checking me out while I'm working the heavy bag."

That does sound appealing. "No promises."

The next day, Strike is in an unusually buoyant mood, having woken and remembered that in a week he'll be forty-two and married to his best friend. He'd unfortunately also woken alone, to a text from Robin explaining that she's covering for Sam, who cracked a tooth and is at the dentist. The partners of course try to keep their schedules compatible, so it feels odd to be going about his morning routine by himself. And he realises only then that they've been living together in a space barely big enough for one, and yet haven't got on each other's nerves even once, with last night being their only argument since she effectively moved in. And he finds himself feeling optimistic about the future, which would shock just about anyone who knows him.

He heads downstairs to the main office, where Pat greets him, "You're chipper."

Given that he hasn't yet spoken, his happiness must be evident on his face, and he quips, "Don't worry, I'm sure it won't last."

She offers him an opened letter, saying, "Might have the cure here."

Even upside-down he recognises the logo of the developers who've bought not just this building, but all those surrounding it. This letter was only a matter of time. He'd been aware of, but hadn't joined, the protests against the gentrification of Denmark Street, aka "Tin Pan Alley". Not because he doesn't care about history, or even because he's always working, but rather that he was confident money would win out. He doesn't need to read it to know, "Not renewing our lease?"

"No. Want me to start looking for office space?"

"Please. And send out a memo, get everyone on it. I stumbled upon this place by accident. Might get that lucky again."

Pat taps away at her keyboard for a few seconds, saying, "Right you are." And then she asks, "What about your flat?"

He can tell by the way she's avoiding his eye that Pat knows he and Robin have decided to live together. And he asks, "You work it out, or did Rob tell you?"

She smiles at him, saying, "Both. Smart move."

"I think so too, at least on my part. Actually, can you fire off an email to the developers, see if they want to buy the lease on my place? If they offer as much as five percent above what I'm paying, tell them it's on."

"That's a thing?"

He shrugs and points out, "Everything is a thing if you've got money. Only the fight for the club downstairs stopped this entire building being gutted already. They lose money every day we're here. Tell 'em I can be gone by the 12th of December."

"I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

"Yeah, I've let Brynn Morgan know that we'll take her case."

Pat is again typing while asking, "What name for the file?"

"Plus Four."

"Like the breeches?"

He smiles at the understandable error and explains, "Like the most famous car Morgan ever released."

"Ah. That's it?"

Heading to his office, he says, "For now. I'll soon have a list of names to contact and ask if they'll talk to me about Catrin Baker."

"If they don't?"

"Then we get creative."

Strike has barely sat down at his desk when his phone rings, and he greets Spanner, "Find something?"

"Not sure. I've spent some time on that subreddit I mentioned, and wondered if you're certain about your mum being born in 1954."

"Until about twenty-four hours ago, I would've said yes, but my dad thinks she lied about her age to get married."

"That might explain it. You've never seen her gravestone then?"

"I didn't know she had one. She was cremated."

"It was arranged and paid for by fans, with your uncle's permission. They wanted somewhere to mourn her." Fuck's sake. Strike is hoping that his eyeroll isn't audible when Spanner adds, "I don't know if it has her ashes though."

"It doesn't. Shanker and I spread them around music venues that were big in the 60s. It's how I found this place. We were looking for the Astoria theatre." In danger of getting lost in memories, Strike asks, "What does her gravestone say?"

"That she was born in 1952."

"I was told 1954, by Mum."

"That's probably the truth then. Unless you can think why she'd lie about it to you?"

"No, makes much more sense that she lied to the registrar to get married. So, she would have been sixteen. That needs both parents' permission?"

He hears that Spanner is typing, and he soon reveals, "Yep. Since 1929."

"I'm pretty sure she also used a false name. Look, I'm swamped. How are things for you?"

"Not too bad while I wait for the cameras."

"Can you get a copy of Mum's marriage certificate, and see if there's a birth certificate for her? Digital is fine."

"I can do that."

"And maybe send me the details of that subreddit? I'll check it when I've got some spare time."

"You've got an account?"

"Uh, no, but I presume it's easy to join."

"You can use the account I set up. If you only use it for lurking, they won't trace it to you, and I don't need it anymore."

"Okay, thanks."

"That's it?"

"For now. Just, cover your tracks."

"Always do. Laters."

Laters?