Page 313 of Troubled Blood

“What?”

“I think I know what M54 is.”

“Not—”

“—the motorway? No. M54 is a globular cluster—”

“A what?”

“A spherical cluster of stars.”

“Stars?” said Strike, with a sinking sensation. “Hang on—”

“Listen,” said Robin. “Creed thought he was being clever, but it only takes a Google search—”

“They haven’t got internet in there,” said Strike. “He was whining about it—”

“Well, M54 is a cluster of stars in the constellation Sagittarius,” said Robin.

“Not astrology again,” said Strike, closing his eyes. “Robin—”

“Listen to me. He said ‘You’ll find her where you find M54,’ right?”

“Yeah—”

“The constellation Sagittarius is also known as the Archer.”

“So?”

“Brian showed us the map, Strike! Dennis Creed was a regular visitor to the Archer Hotel in Islington in the early seventies, when he was delivering their dry cleaning. There was a well on the property, in the back garden. Boarded up, and now covered over with a conservatory.”

A pair of jolly men with matching beer bellies walked into the pub across the road. Strike barely registered them. He’d even forgotten to take drags of the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Think this through,” said Robin in his ear. “Creed’s got a body he didn’t expect in the van, but he can’t take it to Epping Forest, because there was still an active crime scene there. They’d just found the remains of Vera Kenny. I don’t know why he didn’t take the body to the basement—”

“I do,” said Strike. “He’s just told me. He drove past the house and Vi Cooper was awake and at the window.”

“OK—right—so he’s got to empty the van before work. He knows his way around the Archer garden, and he knows there’s a back gate. He’s got tools in the back of the van, he could prize those boards up easily. Cormoran, I’m sure she’s in the old Archer well.”

There was a brief pause, then hot ash fell into Strike’s lap from his neglected cigarette.

“Bollocks—”

He flicked the end out of the window, earning himself a look of disapproval from a passing old woman pulling a tartan shopping trolley.

“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” he told Robin. “I’ll phone Tucker and tell him what’s just happened, including your deduction. You call George Layborn and tell him about the well at the Archer. The quicker the police search it, the better for the Tuckers, especially if the news leaks that Creed’s confessed.”

“OK, I’ll get on to that right—”

“Hang on, I haven’t finished,” said Strike. He’d closed his eyes now, and he was rubbing his temples as he thought through everything the agency needed to do, and quickly. “When you’ve spoken to Layborn, I want you to ring Barclay and tell him he’s going on a job with you, tomorrow morning. He can forget Miss Jones’s boyfriend for a few hours. Or, most probably, all day, if what I think’s going to happen happens.”

“What job are Barclay and I doing?” asked Robin.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Strike, opening his eyes again. “We’re up against the clock if Douthwaite talks to anyone.”

“So Barclay and I are…?”

“Finding Margot’s body,” said Strike. “Yes.”

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