Page 142 of The Running Grave

‘OK, I’ll get back to the client. This might mean keeping someone on her house for a bit, as well as the Franks.’

‘Bloody hell. Who’d have thought this pair of freaks would turn out to be so labour intensive?’

‘Not me,’ admitted Strike.

After he’d hung up the phone he reached for his vape pen, frowning slightly as he inhaled nicotine, lost in thought for a minute. He then turned his attention back to the weekly rota.

Littlejohn and Shah had both had the previous evening off. Bigfoot’s extramarital activities were confined to daylight hours and he went home nightly to his suspicious, irritable wife. Strike was still asking himself whether the idea he’d just had was ludicrous, when his mobile rang again, forwarded from the office as before. Expecting his actress client, he realised too late that he was talking to Charlotte Campbell.

‘It’s me. Don’t hang up,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s in your best interests to hear what I’ve got to say.’

‘Say it, then,’ said Strike irritably.

‘A journalist from the Mail called me. They’re trying to run some sleazy profile of you, saying you sleep with female clients. Like father, like son, that kind of thing.’

Strike could feel the tension gripping every part of his body.

‘I told her I didn’t believe you’d ever sleep with a client, that you’re very honourable and that you’ve got strict ethics about that kind of thing. And I said you’re nothing like your father.’

Strike couldn’t have said what he was feeling, except a dim surprise mixed with some ghostly vestige of what he’d once felt for her, resurrected by the sorrowful voice he’d sometimes heard at the end of their worst fights, when even Charlotte’s ineradicable love of conflict left her spent and atypically honest.

‘I know they’ve been to a few of your exes as well,’ said Charlotte.

‘Who?’ said Strike.

‘Madeline, Ciara and Elin,’ said Charlotte. ‘Madeline and Elin have both said they’ve never hired a private detective and refused to give any other comment. Ciara says she just laughed when the Mail called her, then hung up.’

‘How the hell did they know I was with Elin?’ said Strike, more to himself than Charlotte. That affair, which had ended acrimoniously, had been conducted with what he’d thought was complete discretion on both their parts.

‘Darling, people talk,’ sighed Charlotte. ‘You should know that, seeing as it’s your job to make them. But I just wanted you to know, nobody’s cooperating and I’ve done what I could. You and I were together longest, so – so that should count for something.’

Strike tried to find something to say and finally mustered a ‘Well – thanks.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Charlotte. ‘I know you think I want to ruin your life, but I don’t. I don’t.’

‘I never thought you wanted to ruin my life,’ said Strike, now rubbing his face with his hand. ‘I just thought you didn’t mind messing with it a bit.’

‘What d’you—?’

‘Shit-stirring,’ said Strike. ‘With Madeline.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. ‘Yeah… I did do that, a bit.’

The answer forced a reluctant laugh out of Strike.

‘How are you?’ he said. ‘How’s your health?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I mean, they’ve caught it early.’

‘OK, well, thanks for doing what you could with the Mail. I’ll just have to hope they haven’t got enough to run with.’

‘Bluey,’ she said urgently, and his heart sank.

‘What?’