The Silkworm(65)

 

Strike then headed back to the office. Once on the Tube he examined his phone and saw that his missed call was from his oldest friend, the shark-mangled Dave Polworth.

Polworth had the ancient habit of calling Strike Diddy'. Most people assumed this was an ironic reference to his size (all through primary school, Strike had been the biggest boy of the year and usually of the year above), but in fact it derived from the endless comings and goings from school that were due to his mother's peripatetic lifestyle. These had once, long ago, resulted in a small, shrill Dave Polworth telling Strike he was like a didicoy, the Cornish word for gypsy.

Strike returned the call as soon as he got off the Tube and they were still talking twenty minutes later when he entered his office. Robin looked up and began to speak, but seeing that Strike was on the phone merely smiled and turned back to her monitor.

Coming home for Christmas?' Polworth asked Strike as he moved through to the inner office and closed his door.

Maybe,' said Strike.

Few pints in the Victory?' Polworth urged him. Shag Gwenifer Arscott again?'

I never,' said Strike (it was a joke of long standing), shagged Gwenifer Arscott.'

Well, have another bash, Diddy, you might strike gold this time. Time someone took her cherry. And speaking of girls neither of us ever shagged … '

The conversation degenerated into a series of salacious and very funny vignettes from Polworth about the antics of the mutual friends they had both left behind in St Mawes. Strike was laughing so much he ignored the call waiting' signal and did not bother to check who it was.

Haven't got back with Milady Berserko, have you, boy?' Dave asked, this being the name he usually used for Charlotte.

Nope,' said Strike. She's getting married in …  four days,' he calculated.

Yeah, well, you be on the watch, Diddy, for signs of her galloping back over the horizon. Wouldn't be surprised if she bolts. Breathe a sigh of relief if it comes off, mate.'

Yeah,' said Strike. Right.'

That's a deal then, yeah?' said Polworth. Home for Christmas? Beers in the Victory?'

Yeah, why not,' said Strike.

After a few more ribald exchanges Dave returned to his work and Strike, still grinning, checked his phone and saw that he had missed a call from Leonora Quine.

He wandered back into the outer office while dialling his voicemail.

I've watched Michael Fancourt's documentary again,' said Robin excitedly, and I've realised what you-'

Strike raised a hand to quiet her as Leonora's ordinarily deadpan voice spoke in his ear, sounding agitated and disorientated.

Cormoran, I've been bloody arrested. I don't know why  –  nobody's telling me nothing  –  they've got me at the station. They're waiting for a lawyer or something. I dunno what to do  –  Orlando's with Edna, I don't  –  anyway, that's where I am … '

A few seconds of silence and the message ended.

Shit!' said Strike, so loudly that Robin jumped. SHIT!'

What's the matter?'

They've arrested Leonora  –  why's she calling me, not Ilsa? Shit … '

He punched in Ilsa Herbert's number and waited.

Hi Corm-'

They've arrested Leonora Quine.'

What?' cried Ilsa. Why? Not that bloody old rag in the lock-up?'

They might have something else.'

(Kath's got proof … )

Where is she, Corm?'

Police station …  it'll be Kilburn, that's nearest.'

Christ almighty, why didn't she call me?'

Fuck knows. She said something about them finding her a lawyer-'

Nobody's contacted me  –  God above, doesn't she think? Why didn't she give them my name? I'm going now, Corm, I'll dump this lot on someone else. I'm owed a favour … '

He could hear a series of thunks, distant voices, Ilsa's rapid footsteps.

Call me when you know what's going on,' he said.

It might be a while.'

I don't care. Call me.'

She hung up. Strike turned to face Robin, who looked appalled.

Oh no,' she breathed.

I'm calling Anstis,' said Strike, jabbing again at his phone.

But his old friend was in no mood to dispense favours.

I warned you, Bob, I warned you this was coming. She did it, mate.'

What've you got?' Strike demanded.

Can't tell you that, Bob, sorry.'

Did you get it from Kathryn Kent?'

Can't say, mate.'

Barely deigning to return Anstis's conventional good wishes, Strike hung up.

Dickhead!' he said. Bloody dickhead!'

Leonora was now in a place where he could not reach her. Strike was worried about how her grudging manner and the animosity to the police would appear to interlocutors. He could almost hear her complaining that Orlando was alone, demanding to know when she would be able to return to her daughter, indignant that the police had meddled with the daily grind of her miserable existence. He was afraid of her lack of self-preservation; he wanted Ilsa there, fast, before Leonora uttered innocently self-incriminating comments about her husband's general neglect and his girlfriends, before she could state again her almost incredible and suspicious claim that she knew nothing about her husband's books before they had proper covers on, before she attempted to explain why she had temporarily forgotten that they owned a second house where her husband's remains had lain decaying for weeks.

Five o'clock in the afternoon came and went without news from Ilsa. Looking out at the darkening sky and the snow, Strike insisted Robin go home.

But you'll ring me when you hear?' she begged him, pulling on her coat and wrapping a thick woollen scarf around her neck.

Yeah, of course,' said Strike.

But not until six thirty did Ilsa call him back.

Couldn't be worse,' were her first words. She sounded tired and stressed. They've got proof of purchase, on the Quines' joint credit card, of protective overalls, wellington boots, gloves and ropes. They were bought online and paid for with their Visa. Oh  –  and a burqa.'

You're fucking kidding me.'

I'm not. I know you think she's innocent-'

Yeah, I do,' said Strike, conveying a clear warning not to bother trying to persuade him otherwise.

All right,' said Ilsa wearily, have it your own way, but I'll tell you this: she's not helping herself. She's being aggressive as hell, insisting Quine must have bought the stuff himself. A burqa, for God's sake …  The ropes bought on the card are identical to the ones that were found tying the corpse. They asked her why Quine would want a burqa or plastic overalls of a strength to resist chemical spills, and all she said was: "I don't bloody know, do I?" Every other sentence, she kept asking when she could go home to her daughter; she just doesn't get it. The stuff was bought six months ago and sent to Talgarth Road  –  it couldn't look more premeditated unless they'd found a plan in her handwriting. She's denying she knew how Quine was going to end his book, but your guy Anstis-'

There in person, was he?'

Yeah, doing the interrogation. He kept asking whether she really expected them to believe that Quine never talked about what he was writing. Then she says, "I don't pay much attention." "So he does talk about his plots?" On and on it went, trying to wear her down, and in the end she says, "Well, he said something about the silkworm being boiled." That was all Anstis needed to be convinced she's been lying all along and she knew the whole plot. Oh, and they've found disturbed earth in their back garden.'

And I'll lay you odds they'll find a dead cat called Mr Poop,' snarled Strike.

That won't stop Anstis,' predicted Ilsa. He's absolutely sure it's her, Corm. They've got the right to keep her until eleven a.m. tomorrow and I'm sure they're going to charge her.'

They haven't got enough,' said Strike fiercely. Where's the DNA evidence? Where are the witnesses?'

That's the problem, Corm, there aren't any and that credit card bill's pretty damning. Look, I'm on your side,' said Ilsa patiently. You want my honest opinion? Anstis is taking a punt, hoping it's going to work out. I think he's feeling the pressure from all the press interest. And to be frank, he's feeling agitated about you slinking around the case and wants to take the initiative.'

Strike groaned.

Where did they get a six-month-old Visa bill? Has it taken them this long to go through the stuff they took out of his study?'

No,' said Ilsa. It's on the back of one of his daughter's pictures. Apparently the daughter gave it to a friend of his months ago, and this friend went to the police with it early this morning, claiming they'd only just looked at the back and realised what was on there. What did you just say?'
 
 

 

Nothing,' Strike sighed.

It sounded like "Tashkent".'

Not that far off. I'll let you go, Ilsa …  thanks for everything.'

Strike sat for a few seconds in frustrated silence.

Bollocks,' he said softly to his dark office.

He knew how this had happened. Pippa Midgley, in her paranoia and her hysteria, convinced that Strike had been hired by Leonora to pin the murder on somebody else, had run from his office straight to Kathryn Kent. Pippa had confessed that she had blown Kathryn's pretence never to have read Bombyx Mori and urged her to use the evidence she had against Leonora. And so Kathryn Kent had ripped down her lover's daughter's picture (Strike imagined it stuck, with a magnet, to the fridge) and hurried off to the police station.

Bollocks,' he repeated, more loudly, and dialled Robin's number.





39




I am so well acquainted with despair,

I know not how to hope …

Thomas Dekker and Thomas Middleton,

The Honest Whore



As her lawyer had predicted, Leonora Quine was charged with the murder of her husband at eleven o'clock the following morning. Alerted by phone, Strike and Robin watched the news spread online where, minute by minute, the story proliferated like multiplying bacteria. By half past eleven the Sun website had a full article on Leonora headed ROSE WEST LOOKALIKE WHO TRAINED AT THE BUTCHER'S.