Page 294 of Troubled Blood

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be better, or different, is there?” asked Robin. “Nothing wrong with wanting to improve things?”

“Not at all,” said Strike. “But people who fundamentally change are rare, in my experience, because it’s bloody hard work compared to going on a march or waving a flag. Have we met a single person on this case who’s radically different to the person they were forty years ago?”

“I don’t know… I think I’ve changed,” said Robin, then felt embarrassed to have said it out loud.

Strike looked at her without smiling for the space it took him to chew and swallow a chip, then said,

“Yeah. But you’re exceptional, aren’t you?”

And before Robin had time for anything other than a slight blush, Strike said,

“Are you not finishing those chips?”

“Help yourself,” said Robin, shoving the tray toward him. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll look up that one weird tip to lose belly fat.”

Strike smirked. After wiping her hands on her paper napkin, Robin checked her emails.

“Have you seen this from Vanessa Ekwensi? She’s copied you in.”

“What?”

“She might know someone who could replace Morris… woman called Michelle Greenstreet… she wants to leave the police. She’s been in eight years,” said Robin, scrolling slowly down the email, “not enjoying response policing… she’s in Manchester… wants to relocate to London, very keen on the detective side…”

“Sounds promising,” said Strike. “Let’s schedule an interview. She’s already cleared the first hurdle with flying colors.”

“What hurdle?” said Robin, looking up.

“Doubt she’s ever sent a dick pic.”

He patted his pockets, pulled out his packet of Benson & Hedges but found it empty.

“I need more fags, let’s—”

“Wait,” said Robin, who was still staring down at her mobile. “Oh my God. Cormoran—Gloria Conti’s emailed me.”

“You’re kidding,” said Strike. Having partly risen, he now let himself fall back onto the bench.

“‘Dear Miss Ellacott,’” Robin read aloud, “‘I’m sorry I haven’t answered your emails. I wasn’t aware you were trying to contact me and have only just found out. If convenient, I’d be available to talk to you tomorrow evening at 7pm. Yours sincerely…’ and she’s given her phone number,” said Robin, looking up at Strike, astonished. “How can she only just have found out? It’s been months of me emailing her without any response… unless Anna’s prompted her?”

“Could be,” said Strike. “Which doesn’t suggest someone who wants the investigation over.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” said Robin. “But for sanity’s sake, you’d have to draw the line somewhere.”

“So what does that make us?”

Robin smiled and shook her head.

“Dedicated?”

“Conti: last person to see Margot alive. Closest person to Margot at the practice…”

“I’m thanking her,” said Robin, who was typing fast onto her mobile, “and agreeing to the call tomorrow.”

“We could do it from the office, together,” said Strike. “Maybe FaceTime her, if she’s agreeable?”

“I’ll ask,” said Robin, still typing.

They set off a few minutes later in search of cigarettes, Robin reflecting on how casually she’d just agreed to go into work on a Saturday evening, so she could conduct Gloria’s interview with Strike. There was no angry Matthew at home any more, furious about her committing herself to long hours, suspicious about what she and Strike were up to, alone in the office in the evening. And she thought back to Matthew’s refusal to look her in the eye across the table at the mediation. He’d changed his partner, and his firm; he’d soon be a father. His life had changed, but had he?