Page 218 of Troubled Blood

Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene

The domed turrets of the Tower of London rose behind the wall of dirty yellow brick, but Robin had no attention to spare for ancient landmarks. Not only was the meeting she’d set up without Strike’s knowledge supposed to start in thirty minutes’ time, she was miles from where she’d expected to be at one o’clock, and completely unfamiliar with this part of London. She ran with her mobile in her hand, glancing intermittently at the map on its screen.

Within a few paces, the phone rang. Seeing that it was Strike, she answered the call.

“Hi. Just seen Janice.”

“Oh good,” said Robin, trying not to pant as she scanned her surroundings for either a Tube sign or a taxi. “Anything interesting?”

“Plenty,” said Strike, who was strolling back along Nightingale Grove. Notwithstanding his recent exchange with the nurse, he’d just lit a Benson & Hedges. As he walked into the cool breeze, the smoke was snatched from his lips every time he exhaled. “Where are you at the moment?”

“Tower Bridge Road,” said Robin, still running, still looking around in vain for a Tube sign.

“Thought you were on Shifty’s Boss this morning?”

“I was,” said Robin. It was probably best that Strike knew immediately what had just happened. “I’ve just left him on Tower Bridge with Barclay.”

“When you say ‘with’ Barclay—”

“They might be talking by now, I don’t know,” said Robin. Unable to talk normally while jogging, she slowed to a fast walk. “Cormoran, SB looked as though he was thinking of jumping.”

“Off Tower Bridge?” asked Strike, surprised.

“Why not Tower Bridge?” said Robin, as she rounded a corner onto a busy junction. “It was the nearest accessible high structure…”

“But his office isn’t anywhere near—”

“He got off at Monument as usual but he didn’t go into work. He looked up at the office for a bit, then walked away. I thought he was just stretching his legs, but then he headed out onto Tower Bridge and stood there, staring down at the water.”

Robin had spent forty anxious minutes watching SB stare down at the cement-colored river below, his briefcase hanging limply by his side, while traffic rumbled along the bridge behind him. She doubted that Strike could imagine how nerve-racking she’d found the wait for Barclay to come and relieve her.

There was still no sign of a Tube station. Robin broke into a jog again.

“I thought of approaching him,” she said, “but I was worried I’d startle him into jumping. You know how big he is, I couldn’t have held him back.”

“You really think he was—”

“Yes,” said Robin, trying not to sound triumphant: she’d just caught sight of a circular red Tube sign through a break in the traffic and started running. “He looked utterly hopeless.”

“Are you running?” asked Strike, who could now hear her feet hitting the ground even over the growl of traffic.

“Yes,” said Robin, and then, “I’m late for a dental appointment.”

She’d regretted not coming up with a solid reason earlier for not being able to interview Janice Beattie, and had decided on this story, should Strike ask again.

“Ah,” said Strike. “Right.”

“Anyway,” Robin said, weaving around passers-by, “Barclay arrived to take over—he agreed SB looked like he was thinking of jumping—and he said—”

She was developing a stitch in her side now.

“—said—he’d go and try—and talk to him—and that’s when I left. At least—Barclay’s big enough—to hold him back if he tries anything,” she finished breathlessly.

“But it also means SB will recognize Barclay in future,” Strike pointed out.

“Well, yeah, I know that,” said Robin, slowing to a walk again as she was almost at the Underground steps, and massaging the stitch in her side, “but given that we thought he might be about to kill himself—”

---