Page 209 of Troubled Blood

“I was just intrigued by that ‘Could Cetus be right?’ because Talbot mistrusted Irene from the start, didn’t he? Then he starts wondering whether she could have been right about… about something connected to enemies, secrets and undoing…”

“If we ever find out what happened to Margot Bamborough,” said Strike, “I’ll bet you a hundred quid you’ll be able to make equally strong cases for Talbot’s occult stuff being bang on the money, and completely off beam. You can always stretch this symbolic stuff to fit the facts. One of my mother’s friends used to guess everyone’s star signs and she was right every single time.”

“She was?”

“Oh yeah,” said Strike. “Because even when she was wrong, she was right. Turned out they had a load of planets in that sign or, I dunno, the midwife who delivered them was that sign. Or their dog.”

“All right,” said Robin, equably. She’d expected Strike’s skepticism, after all, and now put both the leather-bound notebook and Astrology 14 back into her bag. “I know it might mean nothing at all, I’m only—”

“If you want to go and see Irene Hickson again, be my guest. Tell her Talbot thought she might’ve had profound insight into something connected to asteroids and—I dunno—cheese—”

“The twelfth house doesn’t govern cheese,” said Robin, trying to look severe.

“What number’s the house of dairy?”

“Oh, bugger off,” she said, laughing against her will.

Robin’s mobile vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out. A text had just arrived.

Hi Robin, if you want I can talk now? I’ve just agreed to work a later shift, so I’m not needed at work for a few hours. Otherwise it’ll have to be after 8 tonight—Amanda

“Amanda White,” she told Strike. “She wants to talk now.”

“Works for me,” said Strike, relieved to be back on firm investigative ground. Liar or not, Amanda White would at least be talking about an actual woman at a real window.

Robin pressed Amanda’s number, switched the mobile to speaker­phone and laid it on the table between her and Strike.

“Hi,” said a confident female voice, with a hint of North London. “Is that Robin?”

“Yes,” said Robin, “and I’m with Cormoran.”

“Morning,” said Strike.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Amanda, sounding delighted. “I am honored. I’ve been dealing with your assistant.”

“She’s actually my partner,” said Strike.

“Really? Business, or the other?” said Amanda.

“Business,” said Strike, not looking at Robin. “I understand Robin’s been talking to you about what you saw on the night Margot Bamborough disappeared?”

“That’s right,” said Amanda.

“Would you mind if we take a recording of this interview?”

“No, I s’pose not,” said Amanda. “I mean, I want to do the right thing, although I won’t pretend it hasn’t been a bit of a dilemma, because it was really stressful, last time. Journalists, two police interviews, and I was only fourteen. But I’ve always been a stubborn girl, haha, and I stuck to my guns…”

So Amanda told the story with which Strike and Robin were already familiar: of the rain, and the angry schoolfriend, and the upper window, and the retrospective recognition of Margot, when Amanda saw her picture in the paper. Strike asked a couple of questions, but he could tell that nothing would ever change Amanda’s story. Whether she truly believed she’d seen Margot Bamborough at the window that night or not, she was evidently determined never to relinquish her association with the forty-year-old mystery.

“… and I suppose I’ve been haunted ever since by the idea that I didn’t do anything, but I was fourteen and it only hit me later, I could’ve been the one to save her,” she ended the story.

“Well,” said Robin, as Strike nodded at her, signaling he had everything he wanted, “thank you so much for talking to us, Amanda. I really—”

“There’s something else, before you go,” said Amanda. “Wait until you hear this. It’s just an amazing coincidence, and I don’t think even the police know about this, because they’re both dead.”

“Who’re dead?” asked Robin, while Strike lit himself another cigarette.

“Well,” said Amanda, “how’s this for strange? My last job, this young girl at the office’s great-aunt—”

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