Page 182 of Troubled Blood

Having cleared up, Robin returned downstairs, where she showered before changing for the night’s surveillance. With an hour to go before she needed to take over from Hutchins, she sat back down on her bed and idly typed variations on the name Paul Satchwell into Google. Paul L Satchwell. LP Satchwell. Paul Leonard Satchwell. Leo Paul Satchwell.

Her mobile rang. She glanced down. It was Strike. After a moment or two, she picked it up, but said nothing.

“Robin?”

“Yes.”

“Are you OK to talk?”

“Yes,” she said again, her heart beating faster than usual as she frowned up at the ceiling.

“Calling to apologize.”

Robin was so astonished, she said nothing for several seconds. Then she cleared her throat and said,

“Can you even remember what you’re apologizing for?”

“Er… yeah, I think so,” said Strike. “I… didn’t mean that to get dragged up. Should’ve realized it wasn’t a subject you’d want discussed over dinner. Didn’t think.”

Tears started in Robin’s eyes at last.

“OK,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“And I’m sorry for being rude to your brother and his friends.”

“Thank you,” said Robin.

There was a silence. The rain still fell outside. Then Strike said,

“Have you heard from Ilsa?”

“No,” said Robin. “Have you heard from Nick?”

“No,” said Strike.

There was another silence.

“So, we’re OK, yeah?” said Strike.

“Yes,” said Robin, wondering whether it was true.

“If I’ve taken you for granted,” said Strike, “I’m sorry. You’re the best I’ve got.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Strike,” said Robin, abandoning the pretense that she wasn’t crying as she snorted back tears.

“What?”

“You just… you’re bloody infuriating.”

“Why?”

“Saying that. Now.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve said it.”

“It is, actually.”

“I’ve told other people.”

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