Page 321 of The Running Grave

‘For taking our father’s money?’

‘Whether you do or you don’t is none of my business,’ said Robin. ‘But I didn’t want you two to fall out any worse than you have already, because I meant what I said to you before. I think you might be exactly what he needs.’

The waiter now reappeared to clear away the antipasti, of which only Robin had partaken. Prudence’s expression had softened somewhat, and Robin decided to press her advantage.

‘Let me tell you, from my experience of Chapman Farm, what factors I think might make Flora afraid of testifying. Firstly,’ she said, counting on her fingers, ‘the sex stuff. I empathise. I’ve already told Strike she’ll have been effectively raped for five years.

‘Secondly, all sex is unprotected, so there’s a possibility she had children in there.’

She saw the tiniest flicker of Prudence’s left eye, but pretended she hadn’t noticed.

‘Thirdly, she might have done things in there that are criminal, and be terrified of prosecution. It’s well-nigh impossible not to end up coerced into criminal behaviour at Chapman Farm, as I know.’

This time, Prudence’s hand rose, apparently unconsciously, to obscure her face, as she brushed her hair unnecessarily out of her face.

‘Lastly,’ said Robin, wondering whether she was about to ruin the interview entirely, but certain she ought to say it, ‘you, as her therapist, might have urged caution about testifying or going to the police, because you’re worried she’s not mentally strong enough to cope with the fallout, especially as a lone witness.’

‘Well,’ said Prudence, ‘let me repay the compliment. You’re clearly very good at your job, too.’

The waiter now brought their main courses. Too hungry to resist, Robin took one mouthful of her tagliatelle with ragu and let out a moan of pleasure.

‘Oh my God, you weren’t wrong.’

Prudence still looked tense and anxious. She started on her own spaghetti and ate in silence for a while. Finally, having cleared half her plate, Robin said,

‘Prudence, I swear to you I wouldn’t say this if it weren’t true. We believe Flora witnessed something very serious inside the church. Very serious.’

‘What?’

‘If she hasn’t told you, I don’t think I should.’

Prudence now put down her spoon and fork. Judging it best to let Prudence speak in her own time, Robin continued to eat.

At last, the therapist said quietly,

‘There’s something she won’t tell me. She skirts around it. She comes close, then backs off. It’s to do with the Drowned Prophet.’

‘Yes,’ said Robin, ‘it would be.’

‘Robin…’

Prudence appeared to have reached a decision. In a whisper, she said,

‘Flora’s morbidly obese. She self-harms. She’s got a drink problem. She’s on so many anti-depressants she barely knows what day it is.’

‘She’s trying to block out something terrible,’ said Robin. ‘She witnessed something most of us will never witness. At best, it was gross negligence manslaughter. At worst, it was murder.’

‘What?’

‘All I wanted to say to you tonight,’ said Robin, ‘all I wanted to ask, is that you bear in mind how much good she could do, if she testified. We’re certain immunity from prosecution could be arranged. Flora and our client’s relative were both young and vulnerable, and I can testify as to what the church does to enforce silence and obedience.

‘The thing is,’ said Robin, ‘I was a nice intelligent middle-class girl with a steady boyfriend when I was raped. The only two other girls who survived him – they weren’t like that. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. One of the girls fell apart completely under questioning. They made out the other one was so promiscuous, she’d almost certainly had sex with him consensually – all because she’d once worn a pair of fluffy handcuffs to have sex with a man she met in a club.

‘Flora’s well educated and wealthy. Nobody can paint her as some chancer who’s after a pay-out.’

‘There’d be other ways to discredit her, Robin.’

‘But if our client’s relative testifies, she’d have back-up. The trouble is, our other two potential witnesses have been in the church pretty much all their lives. One of them’s sixteen at most. They’re going to struggle to reorientate themselves, even if we get them out. No clocks, no calendars, no normal frames of reference – I can see the church’s lawyers making mincemeat out of them, unless they’re given cover by people with more credibility.