Page 283 of Troubled Blood

“I’m supposed to be—”

“I’ve changed the rota,” said Strike. “Can you pick me up early? Say, eight o’clock? I’ll come out to Earl’s Court.”

“Definitely,” said Robin.

“Then I’ll see you—”

“Wait,” said Robin.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” said Strike politely. “Should’ve asked. How’d it go with Gemma?”

“Great,” said Robin. “Shifty’s insider trading, but never mind that now.”

“He’s—?”

“Strike, I don’t want to upstage you or anything,” she said, failing to suppress the note of triumph in her voice, “because finding Douthwaite’s incredible, but I think you ought to know… you’re going to be allowed to interview Dennis Creed in Broadmoor, on September the nineteenth.”

64

… his hand did quake,

And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene,

And troubled blood through his pale face was seene

To come, and goe with tidings from the heart,

As it a ronning messenger had beene.

Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene

“Well,” said Strike, getting into the Land Rover next morning.

They beamed at each other: for a moment, Robin thought she saw the idea of hugging her cross Strike’s mind, but instead he held out his hand, and shook hers.

“My Christ, you wait a year for a breakthrough…”

Robin laughed, put the Land Rover into gear and pulled out onto the road. The day was unusually hot: she was driving in sunglasses, yet Strike noted a scarf protruding from the bag behind her seat.

“Don’t think you’re going to need that. Proper summer weather,” he said, looking out at the clear sky.

“We’ll see,” said Robin skeptically. “We used to visit Skegness when we were kids. Mum’s sister used to live in Boston, up the road. There’s usually a bracing breeze off the North Sea.”

“So, I read the email,” said Strike, referring to the message Robin had forwarded him, which laid out both the terms and conditions of him interviewing Dennis Creed, and the reasoning which had led the authorities to permit Strike to do it.

“What did you think?” Robin asked.

“Other than being bloody astounded you pulled this off—”

“It took ages.”

“I’m not surprised. Other than that, I won’t lie… I’m feeling the pressure.”

“You mean, because of the Tuckers?”

“Yeah,” said Strike, opening the window so he could light a ciga­rette. “Anna doesn’t know I’m getting this shot, so she won’t get their hopes up, but that poor bastard Tucker…”