Page 328 of Troubled Blood

“We’re coming up to London for a weekend.”

Polworth sounded about as excited as a man facing a colonoscopy.

“I thought London was the heart of all evil?”

“Not my choice. It’s Roz’s birthday. She wants to see the fucking Lion King and Trafalgar Square and shit.”

“If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, I’ve only got one bedroom.”

“We’re booked into an Airbnb. Weekend after next. Just wondered if you were up for a pint. Could bring your Robin along, so Penny’s got someone to talk to. Unless, I dunno, the fucking Queen’s got a job for you.”

“Well, she has, but I told her the waiting list’s full. That’d be great,” said Strike. “What else is new?”

“Nothing,” said Polworth. “You saw the Scots bottled it?”

The old Land Rover had appeared in a line of traffic. Having no desire to get onto the subject of Celtic nationalism, Strike said,

“If ‘bottling’ ’s what you want to call it, yeah. Listen, I’m gonna have to go, mate, Robin’s about to pick me up in the car. I’ll ring you later.”

Chucking his cigarette end down a nearby storm drain, he was ready to climb into the Land Rover as soon as Robin pulled up.

“Morning,” she said, as Strike hoisted himself into the passenger seat. “Am I late?”

“No, I was early.”

“Nice beard,” said Robin, as she pulled away from the curb in the rain. “You look like a guerrilla leader who’s just pulled off a successful coup.”

“Feel like one,” said Strike, and in fact, right now, reunited with Robin, he felt the straightforward sense of triumph that had eluded him for days.

“Was that Pat you were just talking to?” asked Robin. “On the phone?”

“No, Polworth. He’s coming up to London weekend after next.”

“I thought he hated London?”

“He does. One of his kids wants to visit. He wants to meet you, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Why not?” asked Robin, who was mildly flattered.

“Women don’t usually like Polworth.”

“I thought he was married?”

“He is. His wife doesn’t like him.”

Robin laughed.

“Why did you think Pat would be calling me?” asked Strike.

“I’ve just had her on the phone. Miss Jones is upset at not getting updates from you personally.”

“I’ll FaceTime her later,” said Strike, as they drove across the common, windscreen wipers working. “Hopefully the beard’ll put her off.”

“Some women like them,” said Robin, and Strike couldn’t help wondering whether Robin was one of them.

“Sounds like Hutchins and Barclay are closing in on Dopey’s partner,” he said.

“Yes,” said Robin. “Barclay’s offering to go out to Majorca and have a look around.”

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