Page 98 of Troubled Blood

Robin noticed that he hadn’t promised, but Gregory seemed happy.

“I’ll drop it off, then,” he said. “I’m coming up West this afternoon. Taking the twins to see Father Christmas.”

When Gregory had rung off, Strike said,

“You notice the Talbots are still convinced, forty years on—”

The phone rang in the outer office again.

“—that Margot was killed by Creed? I think I know what the symbol on this can of film is going to be, because—”

Pat knocked on the door of the inner office.

“Fuck’s sake,” muttered Strike, whose throat was starting to burn. “What?”

“Charming,” said Pat, coldly. “There’s a Mister Shanker on the line for you. It diverted from your mobile. He says you wanted to—”

“Yeah, I do,” said Strike. “Transfer it back to my mobile—please,” he added, and turning to Robin, he said, “sorry, can you give me a moment?”

Robin left the room, closing the door behind her, and Strike pulled out his mobile.

“Shanker, hi, thanks for getting back to me.”

He and Shanker, whose real name he’d have been hard pressed to remember, had known each other since they were teenagers. Their lives had been moving in diametrically different directions even then, Strike heading for university, army and detective work, Shanker pursuing a career of ever-deepening criminality. Nevertheless, a strange sense of kinship had continued to unite them and they were, occasionally, useful to each other, Strike paying Shanker in cash for information or services that he could get no other way.

“What’s up, Bunsen?”

“I wanted to buy you a pint and show you a photo,” said Strike.

“Up your way later today, as it goes. Going to Hamleys. Got the wrong fackin’ Monster High doll for Zahara.”

Everything except “Hamleys” had been gibberish to Strike.

“OK, call me when you’re ready for a drink.”

“Fair dos.”

The line went dead. Shanker didn’t tend to bother with goodbyes.

Robin returned carrying two fresh mugs of tea and closed the door with her foot.

“Sorry about that,” said Strike, absentmindedly wiping sweat off his top lip. “What was I saying?”

“That you think you know what symbol’s on Talbot’s can of old film.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Strike. “Symbol for Capricorn. I’ve been having a go at deciphering these notes,” he added, tapping the leather-bound notebook sitting beside him, and he took Robin through the reasons Bill Talbot had come to believe that Margot had been abducted by a man born under the sign of the goat.

“Talbot was ruling out suspects on the basis that they weren’t Capricorns?” asked Robin in disbelief.

“Yeah,” said Strike, frowning, his throat burning worse than ever. He took a sip of tea. “Except that Roy Phipps is a Capricorn, and Talbot ruled him out, too.”

“Why?”

“I’m still trying to deciper it all, but he seems to have been using a weird symbol for Phipps that I haven’t been able to identify on any astrological site so far.

“But the notes explain why he kept interviewing Janice. Her star sign’s Cancer. Cancer is Capricorn’s ‘opposing’ sign and Cancerians are psychic and intuitive, according to Talbot’s notes. Talbot concluded that, as a Cancerian, Janice was his natural ally against Baphomet, and that she might have supernatural insights into Baphomet’s identity, hence the dream diary.

“Even more significant in his mind was that Saturn, Capricorn’s ruler—”

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