Author's Note: Thought I'd get a bit done on this second in the series before posting, and looked up to see that I've written over twenty chapters. Fair to say I'm still enjoying it. Hope you are too:-)

Chapter Two

The next day, Strike returns to his apartment, incredibly grateful that Robin is waiting for him. She wordlessly greets him with a warm embrace and a loving kiss, and then they just hold each other for a while, until he kisses the top of her head and releases her, saying, "Thanks, I needed that."

Filling and turning on the kettle, Robin asks, "How did Lucy take it?"

"Not too bad actually. There was quite a bit of crying, of course. Mostly from me." When she merely smiles at this, he continues, "But, if ever my sister was going to understand a motive for murder, love of a child would be it."

With a darted glance at him, Robin asks, "And did she understand why your mother had to die?"

He smiles, because she's really asking if he now understands. "She worked it out right away, and I'd solved that particular mystery on the drive over there, from something Shanker once said."

Robin is now preparing two mugs of tea, as she asks, "Oh?"

"He said that Mum loved all three of her children, which threw me at the time, because I mostly don't even think of Switch as my brother." At the slight twitch of her head, he asks, "What?"

"Oh, just...might be part of the reason he has an issue with you."

He emits a harsh laugh, and agrees, "Might be a big part." But what's done is done, so he sighs and explains, "Anyway, I realised on the way to see Luce that Mum had to die because she loved her children. And, though she sometimes left us in the care of others for a while, would never have yielded her parental rights without a fight."

Confirming that Robin understood this immediately and had been hoping he'd come to the same conclusion, she turns a brilliant smile on him, and says, "I'm glad." Then looking momentarily stricken, she says, "Oh, that you worked it out, not that_"

He interrupts her with a quick kiss, and says, "I know." Glancing at her laptop, open on the table, he then asks, "How far have you got?"

Pouring their teas—two teabags in his—Robin replies, "I've read your notes twice, and thought I'd wait for you before listening to the recording."

"Impressions so far?"

In a reproachful tone, Robin says, "That when you promised me Sir Randolph was no threat, you suspected he had a gun."

Ah. "I didn't lie. Nothing I'd ever learned about the man suggested he could take a life. I was honestly more worried about his wife, given that the few public accounts of her illness suggested a propensity for violence when unmedicated, and the fact that I strongly believed she'd murdered at least once. But I figured that even a sad, middle-aged prick who used to be handy with his fists should be a match for one little old great-grandmother."

She laughs, and then smiles her love for him, asking, "Am I ever going to be able to stay mad at you?"

Strike accepts the mug of tea, saying, "Hope not." He gestures to her laptop, adding, "There are large gaps where he took his sweet time answering, but I got a little more out of him. Have a listen and let me know what you think."

"All right." Robin sits down and takes a sip of her tea before pressing play:

"Okay if I record this, sir?" "Would you mind saying it out loud? I'll share this with the police, so would prefer_"

"Yes, it's all right if you record this conversation. Perhaps I could make it official, state my part in all this?"

"Thank you, sir. That would be very helpful."

"My name is Randolph Howard Whittaker, and I believe that my wife, Helen Patricia Whittaker, murdered Leda...I'm sorry, m'boy, I don't know your mother's middle name."

"It doesn't matter, sir. Please, go on."

"If you say so. Uh, I believe my recently deceased wife murdered Leda Strike in 1994...apologies again, I cannot now recall the exact date. I did not witness the deed itself, but arrived soon afterwards, and heard my wife's uncoerced confession. At that point, in a panic, I physically dragged her out of there and got her to a treatment facility, where she stayed for some time. Meanwhile, without my knowledge or consent, someone erased all traces of our presence at the...uh, murder scene. Only then did it occur to me that perhaps no one else need know of my wife's involvement. That is my biggest crime, and the one thing in my life I'm truly ashamed of, but do not regret. I suspect that anything more on the subject will degenerate into self-involved twaddle, so that will have to suffice."

"All right, sir. Thank you. Are you ready to talk about Switch now?" "You said he's smarter than his father?"

"And more focused...more everything, really, probably due to your mother's influence. Jeffrey's aspirations plateaued when he learned in adolescence that viciousness could gain him some measure of notoriety. But I doubt there's a limit to his son's ambitions. What he wants to achieve, he finds a way to make happen, and he is infinitely patient."

"And you've no idea why he might have fixated on me?"

"Other than you're his brother?"

"Sir Randolph, I think you fear his intentions with regards to me. Would you let yourself be made culpable in another crime?"

"Have I not said that we might have been friends? All right, m'boy. There was an incident, soon after he came to us. Oh, Cormoran, the years behind us, they'll make you weep. In short, Helen was on new medication after...after your mother, but the dose wasn't quite right, and she solved that, as she had in the past, by merely pretending to take her pills. The result was that she...might I have a glass of water, m'boy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not prepared to leave you alone. We can go together?"

"No, that's all right. I'm comfortable enough. Where was I?"

"An incident, when Switch was still a baby."

"Ah, yes. Helen really did try to be a good mother, but her illness made it always challenging, and occasionally impossible. Long story short, as they say, Helen saw flying demons trying to cart the baby away, so she fetched and loaded the shotgun we keep for deterring foxes."

"Fucking hell!"

"Succinctly and accurately put. I was in the garden and heard the first shot. By the time I got to the nursery, she'd emptied the second barrel, taking the boy's left foot...at least mangling it enough that it couldn't be saved. I was able to wrest the weapon from her, but she flew into a rage, believing that I was in league with the devils...or whatever it was she hallucinated that day. As you can imagine, it was hard to get coherent answers from her when she was like that. And I was a little distracted."

"What happened? I never found any of this in my research last night."

"I'm sure you could, in time. But I did warn you that we're a very private family. I'm tired, m'boy."

"Yes, sir. Me too. The police should be here soon, and then you'll be rid of me. What happened then?"

"Then, Helen was committed against her will for an extended period, until she could be trusted around her great-grandson without hurting him, and only ever under supervision."

"Who cared for Switch in the meantime, once he recovered? You were still working, right?"

"I hired a nanny."

"And?"

"And she stayed with us for many years, until the boy left for Oxford. Understand, she was less his nanny by then, and more a companion for Helen."

"And to make sure Lady Whittaker took her medication?"

"And that."

"Was that Maureen, sir?"

"You know, your mother really was quite beautiful, in any way one cares to measure such things. I'd hoped that Jeffrey bothering to marry her was a positive sign."

"He was after the money my father put aside for me, but she no longer had unfettered access to it."

"Granted, Jeffrey isn't the finest specimen of our species or even our gender. But, as I told you, he had access to money through Helen. Though I'm sure it was never enough, and can easily believe he hoped to access your trust fund. Still, that wasn't a reason to marry; he had seduced and fleeced wealthy women in the past without resorting to matrimony. No, I think he loved your mother, as far as he was able. Her death was, I think, the last straw for his fragile psyche."

"You didn't see. You weren't there. I'm sorry, sir, but he was and almost certainly is a pig of a man."

"No doubt, no doubt. But that doesn't make him incapable of devotion."

"Is his son capable of devotion, sir?"

A doorbell is audible, and then the recording ends. Strike explains, "That was Wardle arriving."

Robin releases the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and then rests a hand on Strike's forearm, asking, "You okay?"

His smile is weak when he momentarily covers her hand with his, and then says, "I'm fine. Your first impressions?"

"Well, he's afraid of his great-grandson; that much is clear." When Strike merely nods, Robin continues, "And there's something very sketchy about the nanny, and maybe the housekeeper."

Strike nods again, saying, "I believe they're the same person. Maureen triggered a memory of Mum, but I discounted it, given why I was there. And I was also distracted enough that I didn't at first register what else was off about her greeting. She knew me; I mean recognised me. You know how careful I am to stay relatively anonymous. And then I remembered her. She was at that squat, but she was 'Reen' then. She was one of Whittaker's groupies, about my age. He was probably fucking her, if not before Mum was killed, certainly after. I wonder if she was the one who sanitised the scene. I told Wardle my theory; maybe he can get it out of the old man."

"You think Maureen...what, pressured Sir Randolph into letting her become the nanny?"

"Not so much pressured, but I can imagine him feeling eternally obligated to her. So, perhaps he either offered her the job or didn't feel able to refuse when she asked for the position. You have to understand, there were always nutters on the edge around Mum and Whittaker. If she worshipped him, she probably viewed Switch as something of a messiah figure."

"So, is Maureen also in custody?"

"That's the other thing that supports my theory; an unlicenced handgun on the premises gave Wardle pretty much carte blanche to search rooms. She's done a bunk, was probably packing while I chatted with Old Man Whittaker."

"Well, that seems fairly conclusive. What about...oh, that's the other thing I noticed; he never says his great-grandson's name."

Strike smiles, and says, "I knew you'd spot it. I presume either Sir Randolph or Switch changed the name, not that I blame them, and the old man didn't want me to know."

"How do we find out?"

"We don't. We're going to Australia. I sent Rose the gist of Barry's report, and she still wants me to check it out in person, see what else I can find out."

"What? You can't leave it like that."

"I can. I've solved my mother's murder. It's time for a holiday."

Robin smiles and reminds him, "Only one of us will be on holiday."

Mirroring her smile, Strike says, "I prefer to think of it as both of us being on half a holiday."

"Will there be food and sex?"

"I'm pretty sure they have both those things in the Antipodes. If not, we'll order in."