Chapter Five

When Robin sees that it's Stevie calling, a fraction of the tension she'd been carrying since they last spoke eases, and she answers the phone, "How are you?"

Stevie sigh and says, "Well, I'm single and suspended, so I'd have to say pretty shit."

"Suspended?"

"Do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course. I've been worried about you."

"Yeah, sorry about that. But Steve persuaded me that I owed him a hearing, so we went to lunch as planned. It started off tense, but in many ways, it was the best conversation we've had since we got together. He's barely spoken about his past, and now I understand why. He said, from the moment he learned that his supposed parents were lying to him, he became obsessed with finding out about his real parents."

"Makes sense."

"Yeah, I thought so too. And, from that research, he kind of fixated on Mr. Strike, that he felt a connection with him, partly because they have a connection, but also the fact that they're both amputees. He insists that he's no danger to you, and that he only became interested in you because you're with Cor..Mr. Strike."

"You can use his first name. I'm sure he won't mind. Actually, can I put you on speaker? I'm at his place."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

A few seconds later, after a quick recap, Robin's phone is on the table between her and Strike, and he says, "Hey, Stevie. Thanks for this. Robin mostly calls me 'Strike', but you can call me whatever you like."

"Okay, thanks. Well, like I said, Steve kind of fixated on you, and has been following your career since he was a child. Oh, and it's kind of weird, but he insists that he's never lied since then."

Strike looks to Robin to make sense of this statement, to see a reflection of his confusion, so he asks, "Never lied?"

"That's what he said. Apparently, finding out that his parents were in fact his great-grandparents, that his birth mother died of a heroin overdose, and that his real father is alive but a total scumbag can have a profound effect on a kid."

Strike breathes a laugh and says, "Yeah, I can see that. Stevie, did you ask him about bugging Rob's apartment?"

"I asked several times, and he kept dancing around it. In the end, he confessed, so I told him we're through."

Robin thinks to ask, "And then you went to Wardle, and told him you'd let slip about the mask?"

"Yeah. Did he call you?"

"No, but you said you're suspended, and it just made sense with what I know about you."

Strike interjects, "Rob's obviously not psychic, but she'll make you wonder." Robin is blushing when he asks Stevie, "How did Wardle take it?"

"Like I said, suspended me, but he was pretty chill. It's just regulations. I get that. Should only be for a week or two, because...anyway, I'm sure that there's a serious grilling in my near future, but he was far more interested in Steve's confession."

There's a stunned silence of several seconds where the partners just stare at each other, and then Strike asks, "Whitehall formally confessed to bugging Rob's apartment?"

"Yep. We walked into the station hand-in-hand. It seriously made me reconsider dumping him."

Strike's only response is, "Fuck me."

Stevie laughs and says, "Yeah. This is all quite bizarre and more than a little disturbing, but he still seems like a good guy. After all, it kind of makes sense that he's messed up, after all that's happened to him. He told me some of...hey, Rob, you said Wardle is...uh, is he reopening the case into your mum's death, Mr. Strike?"

Another lengthy silence precedes Strike commenting, "Looks like Rob isn't the only one who seems psychic. How the fuck did you work that out?"

"I didn't, not exactly. Stephen said he solved... Actually, maybe we should discuss this in person? He's made me fucking paranoid, and I didn't need another reason."

"Can you get to our office in Denmark Street? We're just finishing dinner and have work later."

"No problem. I'll see you soon."

Robin hangs up and then just stares at him for a few seconds before saying, "Shit."

"Sweetheart, it's not your fault she got suspended. She fucked up, and knows it. That's why she went to Wardle."

She smiles, that he guessed what was troubling her, and says, "You've never called me that before."

Also smiling, he asks, "Is it okay? I think it suits you."

"Thank you. And, yes, it's okay." She then looks down at the remains of her now cold dinner, and says, "I appear to have lost my appetite."

Strike grins, accusing "Literal lightweight," even as he scrapes her leftovers onto his plate before shovelling a scary amount into his mouth. Robin is staring at her phone, apparently lost in thought, so he swallows and asks, "You okay?"

"Just thinking. She said 'solved'. You don't think...could Stephen have worked out that Lady Whittaker killed your mother?"

Focused on Robin's wellbeing and then her meal, he hadn't even considered that, but now says, "Fuck, he might have. He's smart, gifted smart, and he was in that house with our mother's murderer. She might have even let slip, given how unstable she was. Fuck me, it's a wonder he even passes for sane with a childhood like that." At Robin's quiet smile, he asks, "What?"

"Oh, just that you said 'our'. I think that's the first time you've spoken as if Stephen is your brother."

He shrugs, saying, "Not saying we'll catch a game together any time soon, but it's possible I misjudged him."

Robin's eyes widen and she says, "Just had a horrible thought."

Strike, another scary amount of food on the way to his mouth, freezes and asks, "What?"

Managing to almost keep a straight face, she says, "What if he doesn't barrack for Arsenal?"

Strike grins and says, "Fuck, don't do that. And, so long as he's not a Spurs' fan, I can live with that."

"Tottenham Hotspurs, right?"

Strike beams, and says, "You've been studying."

"Not really. I just pay attention."

"Yes, you do. I love you, Robin Ellacott."

"Good, because I'm nuts about you, Cormoran Strike." Suddenly standing, she says, "And I have to pee." When he's not quite fast enough quelling his smile, Robin asks, "What is it?"

Shaking his head, he says, "Nothing."

"Not nothing."

"Nothing to worry about."

Studying him for a few seconds, she then asks, "Oh, my God, can you hear me when I'm on the loo?"

Amused at her outrage, he's smiling as he shrugs and says, "It's a small apartment. You can't hear me when I take a piss?"

Robin is turning as red as her namesake when she says, "Well, yeah, but I figured it's something to do with you standing up. Actually, you're really loud, like a waterfall crashing into a still pond."

"Thank you."

She rolls her eyes, but is smiling when she insists, "It's not a compliment, Strike. Right, I'm going to pee, and you're going to do a better job of pretending you can't hear me, okay?"

He salutes her, saying, "Yes, boss."

So she has to kiss him and tenderly accuse, "You're incorrigible."

He smiles up at her, vowing, "And you're delightful." He waits until she's out of sight before adding, "Even when you pee." And isn't a bit surprised when her only reply is to shut the bathroom door harder than usual.

They learn nothing momentous from the meeting with Stevie, merely confirming that Stephen solved his mother's murder, though both partners are surprised that he did so at the age of fifteen. Wanting nothing more to do with his great-grandparents after that, he changed his name by deed poll as soon as he could, and was accepted into Oxford as Stephen Whitehall just before his seventeenth birthday. And he hasn't seen them since.

Robin is pondering all this while she's on a different stakeout later that night, this time yet another infidelity case, when Strike calls, asking, "Have you had any anonymous calls tonight?"

"No. Why?"

"Wardle rang, fucking furious, because a reporter asked if he'd like to comment on the case into Leda Strike's death being reopened, with the late Lady Whittaker suspected of her murder. He assumed we'd leaked it, because barely anyone knows at his end, as he's only just started looking into it. I think he believed me that Lucy and I would've been happy for Mum's death to never be publicised. But we'd better expect some attention. An excellent time to leave the country."

"Sounds like it. Do you think this was Stephen?"

"It's not Old Man Whittaker; he's in custody and being monitored as a suicide risk. I haven't even told Shanker yet; was going to do that in person before the meeting tomorrow. Suppose I'd better call him now, before he hears about it from someone else. The other option is Stevie, but I really don't think she would."

"No, nor do I. Do we need to do anything?"

"No. Wardle was pretty fucking clear about that. Like I said, he seemed to believe me, but he's not a happy detective. Something else, Whitehall has already been released."

"Damn, I thought they might hold him at least overnight."

"He made a full confession to a non-violent crime, and promised never to do it again. He's been charged, and may yet do time, though I doubt it. In the meantime, he's free to anonymously fuck with us if he's careful."

"God, Cormoran, if he's evil, he's good at it. I swap my opinion of him about every hour."

"Yeah, I know. Oh, gotta go. Looks like I've attracted the attention of the local constabulary."

Suddenly afraid, Robin asks, "You're sure it's the police?"

"Blue lights, garish paint job, stern expressions. Yep, I'm sure. Don't worry. Probably some concerned citizen reported a basajaun lurking in the area. But I might as well head home after this."

Robin laughs at the description, and says, "Okay, but text me when you're home?"

"Will do. And you watch your back."

Smiling, she says, "Yes, boss."

When he's hung up, Robin sighs, missing him already. There's still no sign of life at the address she's watching, and then she remembers it's been a while since she checked her surroundings. Her compact night vision device isn't as good as Strike's goggles, but at least it easily fits in her handbag. She first scans the target building, just in case some paramour is lurking in the shadows, but there's nothing. And then she simply sweeps her head around, scope to one eye. She's never seen more than a cat and one time maybe a rat watching her, but Strike was adamant that she needed something that gives her an edge on night shift. A blur of movement as she pans past an alley makes her heart skip, but there's nothing when she sweeps back to the spot. Double-checking that all her doors are locked, she tries to focus on the job at hand, while regularly checking the alley. It seems a long time before the end of her shift.