Page 272 of The Running Grave

‘What’s happened?’ said Robin.

‘The Franks made their move. What’s going—?’

‘We’re about to take Robin home,’ said Linda. ‘She’s been through—’

‘For God’s sake, Mum,’ said Robin, shrugging off the hand Linda had laid on her arm, ‘I need to tell Cormoran what’s just happened.’

‘He can come back to the flat,’ said Linda, as though this was a favour Strike didn’t deserve.

‘I know he can come back to my flat,’ said Robin, who was rapidly reaching breaking point with her mother, ‘but that’s not what’s going to happen. He and I are going for a drink. Take my keys.’

She thrust them into her father’s hands.

‘You can grab a taxi, and Cormoran can drop me off later. Look – there’s a cab now.’

Robin raised her hand, and the black taxi slowed.

‘I’d rather—’ began Linda.

‘I’m going for a drink with Cormoran. I know you’re worried, Mum, but there’s nothing you can do about this. I’ve got to sort it out.’

‘You can’t blame your mum for being worried,’ said Strike, but judging by Linda’s frigid expression, this effort to ingratiate himself was unsuccessful. Once her parents had been successfully bundled into the cab, Robin waited until the vehicle had drawn away before letting out a huge sigh of relief.

‘Un-bloody-believable.’

‘In fairness—’

‘I really, really need a drink.’

‘There’s a pub up there, I just passed it,’ said Strike.

‘Are you limping?’ said Robin, as they set off.

‘It’s fine, I twisted my knee a bit when I punched Frank One.’

‘Oh God, did—?’

‘It’s all good, police will have got them by now, Mayo’s safe – tell me what happened at the station.’

‘I’m going to need alcohol first,’ said Robin.

The pub was crowded, but a small corner table became available a minute after their entrance. Strike’s bulk, always useful in such situations, ensured that other would-be sitters were blocked from taking it before Robin could.

‘What d’you want?’ he asked Robin, as she sank onto a banquette.

‘Something strong – and could you get me some crisps? I was about to eat a pizza when the police arrived. I haven’t had anything since mid-afternoon.’

Strike returned to the table five minutes later with a neat double whisky, half a pint of lager for himself and six packets of salt and vinegar crisps.

‘Thank you,’ said Robin fervently, reaching for her glass.

‘Right, tell me what happened,’ said Strike, lowering himself onto an uncomfortable stool, but Robin had thrown back half the neat whisky so fast she got some in her windpipe and had to cough for a minute before she could talk again.

‘Sorry,’ she gasped, her eyes watering. ‘Well, the Norfolk police have been to the farm. Jonathan and Mazu were completely bemused as to why the police wanted to search the top floor of the farmhouse, but led them up there—’

‘And there was no Jacob,’ guessed Strike.

‘Correct. There was nothing in the end room but some old suitcases. They searched the whole top floor but he wasn’t there, but when the police asked where Jacob was, Jonathan said, oh, you want Jacob, and took them to him… except it wasn’t Jacob.’