Lethal White (A Cormoran Strike Novel)

“The Butcher brothers knew her,” said Billy. “Mates of Jimmy’s from home. They did a bit of work round the Chiswells’ place sometimes, with Dad. Bit of gardening and help with the horses.”

“They knew Suki Lewis?”

“Yeah. She ran away, didn’t she?” said Billy. “She was on the local news. The Butchers were excited because they seen her picture on the telly and they knew her family. Her mum was a headcase. Yeah, she was in care and she ran away to Aberdeen.”

“Aberdeen?”

“Yeah. That’s what the Butchers said.”

“She was twelve.”

“She had family up there. They let her stay.”

“Is that right?” said Strike.

He wondered whether Aberdeen had seemed unfathomably remote to the teenage Butchers of Oxfordshire, and whether they had been more inclined to believe this story because it was, to them, uncheckable and so, strangely, more believable.

“We’re talking about Tegan’s brothers, right?” asked Strike.

“You can see he’s good,” Billy said naively over his shoulder, to the male psychiatrist, “can’t you? See how much he knows? Yeah,” he said, turning back to Strike. “She’s their little sister. They were like us, working for the Chiswells. There used to be a lot to do in the old days, but they sold off a lot of the land. They don’t need so many people anymore.”

He drank some more tea, the mug in both hands.

“Billy,” said Strike, “d’you know where you’ve been since you came to my office?”

At once, the tic reappeared. Billy’s right hand released the warm mug and touched his nose and chest in quick, nervous succession.

“I was… Jimmy doesn’t want me to talk about that,” he said, setting the mug clumsily back on the desk. “He told me not to.”

“I think it’s more important you answer Mr. Strike’s questions than worry about what your brother thinks,” said the male doctor, from behind Strike. “You know, you don’t have to see Jimmy if you don’t want to, Billy. We can ask him to give you some time here, to get better in peace.”

“Did Jimmy visit you where you’ve been staying?” Strike asked.

Billy chewed his lip.

“Yeah,” he said at last, “and he said I had to stay there or I’d cock everything up for him again. I thought the door had explosives round it,” he said, with a nervy laugh. “Thought if I tried to go out the door I’d explode. Probably not right, is it?” he said, appearing to search Strike’s expression for a clue. “I get ideas about stuff sometimes, when I’m bad.”

“Can you remember how you got away from the place you were being kept?”

“I thought they switched off the explosives,” said Billy. “The guy told me to run for it and I did.”

“What guy was this?”

“The one who was in charge of keeping me there.”

“Can you remember anything you did while you were being kept captive?” Strike asked. “How you spent your time?”

The other shook his head.

“Can you remember,” said Strike, “carving anything, into wood?”

Billy’s gaze was full of fear and wonder. Then he laughed.

“You know it all,” he said, and held up his bandaged left hand. “Knife slipped. Went right in me.”

The male psychiatrist added helpfully:

“Billy had tetanus when he came in. There was a very nasty infected gash on that hand.”

“What did you carve into the door, Billy?”

“I really did that, then, did I? Carved the white horse on the door? Because afterwards I didn’t know if I really did that or not.”

“Yeah, you did it,” said Strike. “I’ve seen the door. It was a good carving.”

“Yeah,” said Billy, “well, I used to—do some of that. Carving. For my dad.”

“What did you carve the horse onto?”

“Pendants,” said Billy, surprisingly. “On little circles of wood with leather through ’em. For tourists. Sold them in a shop over in Wantage.”

“Billy,” said Strike, “can you remember how you ended up in that bathroom? Did you go there to see someone, or did somebody take you there?”

Billy’s eyes roamed around the pink walls again, a deep furrow between his eyes as he thought.

“I was looking for a man called Winner… no…”

“Winn? Geraint Winn?”

“Yeah,” said Billy, again surveying Strike with astonishment. “You know everything. How do you know all this?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Strike. “What made you want to find Winn?”

“Heard Jimmy talking about him,” said Billy, gnawing at his nail again. “Jimmy said Winn was going to help find out all about the kid who was killed.”

“Winn was going to help find out about the child who was strangled?”

“Yeah,” said Billy, nervously. “See, I thought you were one of the people trying to catch me and lock me up, after I saw you. Thought you were trying to trap me and—I get like that, when I’m bad,” he said hopelessly. “So I went to Winner—Winn—instead. Jimmy had a phone number and address for him written down, so I went to find Winn and then I got caught.”

“Caught?”