Page 76 of Troubled Blood

Well then, sayd Artegall, let it be tride.

First in one ballance set the true aside.

He did so first; and then the false he layd

In th’other scale…

Edmund Spenser

The Faerie Queene

“Well, I’m no doctor,” said Strike, as they crossed the road back to the Land Rover, “but I blame the curry.”

“Don’t,” said Robin, laughing against her will. She couldn’t help but feel a certain vicarious embarrassment.

“You weren’t sitting as near her as I was,” said Strike, as he got back into the car. “I’m guessing lamb bhuna—”

“Seriously,” said Robin, half-laughing, half-disgusted, “stop.”

As he drew his seatbelt back over himself, Strike said,

“I need a proper drink.”

“There’s a decent pub not far from here,” said Robin. “I looked it up. The Trafalgar Tavern.”

Looking up the pub was doubtless yet another Nice Thing that Robin had chosen to do for his birthday, and Strike wondered whether it was her intention to make him feel guilty. Probably not, he thought, but that, nevertheless, was the effect, so he passed no comment other than to ask,

“What did you think of all that?”

“Well, there were a few cross-currents, weren’t there?” said Robin, steering out of the parking space. “And I think we were told a couple of lies.”

“Me too,” said Strike. “Which ones did you spot?”

“Irene and Janice’s row at the Christmas party, for starters,” said Robin, turning out of Circus Street. “I don’t think it was really about Margot examining Janice’s son—although I do think Margot examined Kevin without permission.”

“So do I,” said Strike. “But I agree: I don’t think that’s what the row was about. Irene forced Janice to tell that story, because she didn’t want to admit the truth. Which makes me wonder… Irene getting Janice to come to her house, so we can interview them both together: was that so Irene could make sure Janice didn’t tell us anything she wouldn’t want told? That’s the trouble with friends you’ve had for decades, isn’t it? They know too much.”

Robin, who was busy trying to remember the route to the Trafalgar she’d memorized that morning, thought at once about all those stories Ilsa had told her about Strike and Charlotte’s relationship. Ilsa had told her Strike had refused an invitation to go over to their house that evening for dinner, claiming that he had a prior arrangement with his sister. Robin found it hard to believe this, given Strike’s and Lucy’s recent row. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she’d also wondered whether Strike wasn’t avoiding being in her company outside work hours.

“You don’t suspect Irene, do you?”

“Only of being a liar, a gossip and a compulsive attention-seeker,” said Strike. “I don’t think she’s bright enough to have abducted Margot Bamborough and not given herself away in forty years. On the other hand, lies are always interesting. Anything else catch your interest?”

“Yes. There was something funny about that Leamington Spa story, or rather, Irene’s reaction when she heard Janice talking about it… I think Leamington Spa meant something to her. And it was odd that Janice hadn’t told her what that patient said. You’d think she definitely would have done, given that they’re best friends, and they both knew Margot, and they’ve stayed in touch all these years. Even if Janice thought that man Ramage was making it all up, why wouldn’t she tell Irene?”

“Another good point,” said Strike, looking thoughtfully at the neo-classical façade of the National Maritime Museum as they drove past wide stretches of beautifully manicured emerald lawn. “What did you think of Janice?”

“Well, when we were allowed to hear her speak, she seemed quite decent,” said Robin cautiously. “She seemed fair-minded about Margot and Douthwaite. Why she puts up with being treated as Irene’s skivvy, though…”

“Some people need to be needed… and there might be a sense of obligation, if Irene was telling the truth about her and her husband helping Janice out financially when she needed it.”

Strike spotted the pub Robin had chosen from a distance. Large and opulent-looking, with many balconies and awnings, not to mention window-baskets and coats of arms, it stood on the bank of the Thames. Robin parked and they proceeded past black iron bollards to the paved area where many wooden tables afforded a view over the river, in the midst of which a life-size black statue of the diminutive Lord Nelson faced the water.

“See?” said Robin, “you can sit outside and smoke.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold?” said Strike.

“This coat’s padded. I’ll get the—”

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