Having examined and discounted the Facebook accounts of another six Amanda Whites, Robin yawned, stretched and decided she was owed a break. Setting her laptop down on a side table, she swung her legs carefully off the sofa so as not to disturb Wolfgang, and crossed the open-plan area that combined kitchen, dining and living rooms, to make herself one of the low-calorie hot chocolates she was trying to convince herself was a treat, because she was still, in the middle of this long, sedentary stretch of surveillance, trying to keep an eye on her waistline.
As she stirred the unappetizing powder into boiling water, a whiff of tuberose mingled with the scent of synthetic caramel. In spite of her bath, Fracas still lingered in her hair and on her pajama. This perfume, she’d finally decided, had been a costly mistake. Living in a dense cloud of tuberose made her feel not only perpetually on the verge of a headache, but also as though she were wearing fur and pearls in broad daylight.
Robin’s mobile, which was lying on the sofa beside Wolfgang, rang as she picked up her laptop again. Startled from his sleep, the disgruntled dog rose on arthritic legs. Robin lifted him to safety before picking up her phone and seeing, to her disappointment, that it wasn’t Strike, but Morris.
“Hi, Saul.”
Ever since the birthday kiss, Robin had tried to keep her manner on the colder side of professional when dealing with Morris.
“Hey, Robs. You said to call if I had anything, even if it was late.”
“Yes, of course.” I never said you could call me “Robs,” though. “What’s happened?” asked Robin, looking around for a pen.
“I got Gemma drunk tonight. Shifty’s PA, you know. Under the influence, she told me she thinks Shifty’s got something on his boss.”
Well, that’s hardly news, thought Robin, abandoning the fruitless search for a writing implement.
“What makes her think so?”
“Apparently he’s said stuff to her like, ‘Oh, he’ll always take my calls, don’t worry,’ and ‘I know where all the bodies are buried.’”
An image of a cross of St. John slid across Robin’s mind and was dismissed.
“As a joke,” Morris added. “He passed it off like he was joking, but it made Gemma think.”
“But she doesn’t know any details?”
“No, but listen, seriously, give me a bit more time and I reckon I’ll be able to persuade her to wear a wire for us. Not to blow my own horn here—can’t reach, for one thing—no, seriously,” he said, although Robin hadn’t laughed, “I’ve got her properly softened up. Just give me a bit more time—”
“Look, I’m sorry, Saul, but we went over this at the meeting,” Robin reminded Morris, suppressing a yawn, which made her eyes water. “The client doesn’t want us to tell any of the employees we’re investigating this, so we can’t tell her who you are. Pressuring her to investigate her own boss is asking her to risk her job. It also risks blowing the whole case if she decides to tell him what’s going on.”
“But again, not to toot—”
“Saul, it’s one thing her confiding in you when she’s drunk,” said Robin (why wasn’t he listening? They’d been through this endlessly at the team meeting). “It’s another asking a girl with no investigative training to work for us.”
“She’s all over me, Robin,” said Morris earnestly. “It’d be crazy not to use her.”
Robin suddenly wondered whether Morris had slept with the girl. Strike had been quite clear that that wasn’t to happen. She sank back down on the sofa. Her copy of The Demon of Paradise Park was warm, she noticed, from the dachshund lying on it. The displaced Wolfgang was now gazing at Robin from under the dining table, with the sad, reproachful eyes of an old man.
“Saul, I really think it’s time for Hutchins to take over, to see what he can do with Shifty himself,” said Robin.
“OK, but before we make that decision, let me ring Strike and—”
“You’re not ringing Strike,” said Robin, her temper rising. “His aunt’s—he’s got enough on his plate in Cornwall.”
“You’re so sweet,” said Morris, with a little laugh, “but I promise you, Strike would want a say in this—”
“He left me in charge,” said Robin, anger rising now, “and I’m telling you, you’ve taken it as far as you can with that girl. She doesn’t know anything useful and trying to push her further could backfire badly on this agency. I’m asking you to give it up now, please. You can take over on Postcard tomorrow night, and I’ll tell Andy to get to work on Shifty.”
There was a pause.
“I’ve upset you, haven’t I?” said Morris.
“No, you haven’t upset me,” said Robin. After all, “upset” wasn’t quite the same as “enrage.”
“I didn’t want to—”
“You haven’t, Saul, I’m only reminding you what we agreed at the meeting.”
“OK,” he said. “All right. Hey—listen. Did you hear about the boss who told his secretary the company was in trouble?”
“No,” said Robin, through clenched teeth.
“He said, ‘I’m going to have to lay you or Jack off.’ She said, ‘Well, you’ll have to jack off, because I’ve got a headache.’”
“Ha ha,” said Robin. “Night, Saul.”
“Why did I say ‘ha ha’?” she asked herself furiously, as she set down her mobile. Why didn’t I just say, “Stop telling me crap jokes?” Or say nothing! And why did I say sorry when I was asking him to do what we all agreed at the meeting? Why am I cossetting him?
She thought of all those times she’d pretended with Matthew. Faking orgasms had been nothing compared to pretending to find him funny and interesting through all those twice-told tales of rugby club jokes, through every anecdote designed to show him as the cleverest or the funniest man in the room. Why do we do it? she asked herself, picking up The Demon of
