Lethal White (A Cormoran Strike Novel)

“I’ve got a number for him and I tried it, but he’s not picking up. I thought I’d see if he’s still at the B&B down the road as I’m in the vicinity, but the owner says he’s moved on.”

“Shame. What was the other interesting thing?” asked Robin.

“Is that Strike?” asked Matthew loudly, from behind her. She ignored him.

“What was that?” asked Strike.

“Nothing,” said Robin. “Go on.”

“Well, the second interesting thing is that Della met Kinvara last year, who was hysterical because she thought Chiswell—”

Robin’s mobile was pulled roughly out of her hand. She wheeled around. Matthew ended the call with a stab of his finger.

“How dare you?” shouted Robin, holding out her hand. “Give that back!”

“We’re trying to save our fucking marriage and you’re taking calls from him?”

“I’m not trying to save this marriage! Give me back my phone!”

He hesitated, then thrust it back at her, only to look outraged when she coolly phoned Strike back again.

“Sorry about that, Cormoran, we got cut off,” she said, with Matthew’s wild eyes on her.

“Everything all right there, Robin?”

“It’s fine. What were you saying about Chiswell?”

“That he was having an affair.”

“An affair!” said Robin, her eyes on Matthew’s. “Who with?”

“Christ knows. Have you had any luck getting hold of Raphael? We know he’s not that bothered about protecting his father’s memory. He might tell us.”

“I left a message for him, and for Tegan. Neither of them have called back.”

“OK, well, keep me posted. This all sheds an interesting light on the hammer round the head, though, doesn’t it?”

“Certainly does,” said Robin.

“That’s me at the Tube. Sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, of course,” said Robin, with what she hoped sounded like workaday impatience. “Speak soon.”

She hung up.

“‘Speak soon,’” Matthew imitated her, in the high-pitched, wispy voice he always used when impersonating women. “‘Speak later, Cormoran. I’m running out on my marriage so I can be at your beck and call forever, Cormoran. I don’t mind working for minimum wage, Cormoran, not if I can be your skivvy.’”

“Fuck off, Matt,” said Robin calmly. “Fuck off back to Sarah. The earring she left in our bed is upstairs on my bedside table, by the way.”

“Robin,” he said, suddenly earnest, “we can get through this. If we love each other, we can.”

“Well, the problem with that, Matt,” said Robin, “is that I don’t love you anymore.”

She had always thought the idea of eyes darkening was literary license, but she saw his light eyes turn black as his pupils dilated in shock.

“You bitch,” he said quietly.

She felt a cowardly impulse to lie, to back away from the absolute statement, to protect herself, but something stronger in her held on: the need to tell the unvarnished truth, when she had been lying to him and herself for so long.

“No,” she said. “I don’t. We should have split up on the honeymoon. I stayed because you were ill. I felt sorry for you. No,” she corrected herself, determined to do the thing properly, “actually, we should never have gone on the honeymoon. I ought to have walked out of the wedding once I knew you’d deleted those calls from Strike.”

She wanted to check her watch to see when her cab would arrive, but she was scared to take her eyes off her husband. There was something in his expression that recalled a snake peering out from under a rock.

“How do you think your life looks to other people?” he asked quietly.

“What d’you mean?”

“You bailed out on uni. Now you’re bailing out on us. You even bailed on your therapist. You’re a fucking flake. The only thing you haven’t run out on is this stupid job that’s half-killed you, and you got sacked from that. He only took you back because he wants to get into your pants. And he probably can’t get anyone else so cheap.”

She felt as though he had punched her. Winded, her voice sounded weak.

“Thanks, Matt,” she said, moving towards the door. “Thanks for making this so easy.”

But he moved quickly to block her exit.

“It was a temping job. He paid you attention, so you kidded yourself that was the career for you, even though it’s the last fucking thing you should’ve been doing, with your history—”

She was fighting tears now, but determined not to succumb.

“I wanted to do police work for years and years—”

“No, you fucking didn’t!” jeered Matthew, “when did you ever—?”

“I had a life before you!” Robin shouted. “I had a home life where I said things you never heard! I never told you, Matthew, because I knew you’d laugh, like my dickhead brothers! I did psychology hoping it would take me to some kind of forensic—”

“You never said this, you’re trying to justify—”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d sneer—”

“Bullshit—”

“It isn’t bullshit!” she shouted. “I’m telling you the truth, this is the whole truth, and you’re proving my point, you don’t believe me! You liked it when I dropped out of uni—”

“The hell d’you mean?”

“‘There’s no hurry to go back,’ ‘you don’t have to have a degree…’”

“Oh, so now I’m being fucking blamed for being sensitive!”