Page 55 of Troubled Blood

“Can we check with him, or is he—?”

“Dead,” said Strike, who sat for a moment, thinking, then went on:

“The appointment must’ve been made in Margot’s name. The question is whether she had the procedure, or whether somebody used her name without her knowing.” Strike re-read the first few lines of the passage. “And the date of the appointment isn’t given, either. ‘Shortly before her disappearance’… weasel words. If the appointment had been made for the day she disappeared, the author would say so. That’d be a major revelation and it’d have been investigated by the police. ‘Shortly before her disappearance’ is open to wide interpretation.”

“Coincidence, though, isn’t it?” said Robin. “Her making an appointment so close to Creed’s house?”

“Yeah,” said Strike, but after a moment’s consideration he said, “I don’t know. Is it? How many abortion clinics were there in London in 1974?”

Handing the book back to Robin, he continued,

“This might explain why Roy Phipps was jumpy about his daughter talking to Oonagh Kennedy. He didn’t want her telling his teenage daughter her mother might’ve aborted her sibling.”

“I thought of that, too,” said Robin. “It’d be an awful thing to hear. Especially when she’s lived most of her life wondering whether her mother ran out on her.”

“We should try and get hold of a copy of Whatever Happened to Margot Bamborough?” said Strike. “There might still be copies in existence if they got as far as printing them. He could’ve given some away. Review copies and the like.”

“I’m already on it,” said Robin. “I’ve emailed a few different second-hand book places.”

This wasn’t the first time she had found herself doing something for the agency that made her feel grubby.

“Carl Oakden was only fourteen when Margot disappeared,” she continued. “Writing a book about her, milking the connection, claiming Margot and his mother were close friends—”

“Yeah, he sounds a common-or-garden shit,” Strike agreed. “When did he leave his address in Walthamstow?”

“Five years ago.”

“Had a look on social media?”

“Yes. Can’t find him.”

Strike’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. Robin thought she saw a flicker of panic in his face as he fumbled to find it, and knew that he was thinking of Joan.

“Everything all right?” she asked, watching his expression darken as he looked down at his mobile screen.

Strike had just seen:

Bruv, can we please talk this over face to face? The launch and the new album are a big deal for Dad. All we’re asking—

“Yeah, fine,” he said, stuffing the phone back in his pocket, the rest of the message unread. “So, you wanted to go to—?”

For a moment, he couldn’t remember the unlikely place Robin had told him she wanted to visit, and which was the reason they were currently sitting in this particular café.

“The National Portrait Gallery,” she said. “Three of Postcard’s postcards were bought in their gift shop.”

“Three of—sorry, what?”

He was distracted by what he’d just read. He’d been quite clear with his half-brother that he had no wish either to attend the party celebrating his father’s new album, or to feature in the photograph with his half-siblings which was to be their congratulatory gift to him.

“Postcard’s postcards—the person who’s persecuting our weatherman,” she reminded him, before mumbling, “it doesn’t matter, it was just an idea I had.”

“Which was?”

“Well, the last-but-one picture Postcard sent was of a portrait they said ‘always reminded’ them of our weatherman. So I thought… maybe they see that painting a lot. Maybe they work at the gallery. Maybe they secretly want him to know that, to come looking for them?”

Even as she said it, she thought the theory sounded far-fetched, but the truth was that they had absolutely no leads on Postcard. He or she had failed to turn up at the weatherman’s house since they’d been watching it. Three postcards bought in a single place might mean something, or perhaps nothing at all. What else did they have?

Strike grunted. Unsure whether this indicated a lack of enthusiasm for her theory about Postcard, Robin returned her copy of The Demon of Paradise Park to her handbag and said,

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