page13 (1/2)

By the tih the usual chaos and debris to Denmark Street, extracted the key froain by a superior-sounding girl in Freddie Bestigui’s office, Robin was in a thoroughly bad temper

Though he did not know it, Strike was, at that verythe scene of the most romantic moments of Robin’s life The steps below the statue of Eros were swar, as Strike went by on the St Ja for Glasshouse Street

The entrance to Barrack, the nightclub which had so pleased Deeby Macc that he had reeles, was only a short walk from Piccadilly Circus The facade looked as if it was made out of industrial concrete, and the na black letters, vertically placed The club extended up over four floors As Strike had expected, its dooras surht, would coverthe fire exits, and h sketch of the area

After a second long internet session the previous evening, Strike felt that he had a thorough grasp of the subject of Deeby Macc’s publicly declared interest in Lula Landry The rapper had mentioned the model in the lyrics of three tracks, on two separate albums; he had also spoken about her in interviews as his ideal woe how seriously Macc intended to be taken when he made these comments; allowance had to be made, in all the print interviews Strike had read, firstly for the rapper’s sense of hued with fear every interviewer seemed to feel when confronted with him

An ex-gangoffenses in his native Los Angeles, Macc was now a multimillionaire, with a nu career There was no doubt that the press had become “excited,” to use Robin’s word, when news had leaked out that Macc’s record company had rented him the apartment below Lula’s There had been ht happen when Deeby Macc found himself a floor away from his supposed dreaht affect the volatile relationship between Landry and Duffield These non-stories had all been peppered with undoubtedly spurious comments from friends of both—“He’s already called her and asked her to dinner,” “She’s preparing a small party for him in her flat when he hits London” Such speculation had aled comment from sundry columnists that the twice-convicted Macc, whosethe country at all

When he had decided that the streets surrounding Barrack had nonotes of yellow lines in the vicinity, of Friday-night parking restrictions and of those establishments nearby that also had their own security cameras His notes complete, he felt that he had earned a cup of tea and a bacon roll on expenses, both of which he enjoyed in a s an abandoned copy of the Daily Mail

Hishis second cup of tea, halfway through a gleeful account of the Prioted” without realizing that his microphone was still turned on

A week ago, Strike had allowed his unwanted teo to voicemail Today, he picked up

“Hi, Robin, how’re you?”

“Fine I’es”

“Fire away,” said Strike, as he drew out a pen

“Alison Cresswell’s just called—John Bristow’s secretary—to say she’s booked a table at Cipriani at one o’clock toui”

“Great”

“I’ve tried Freddie Bestigui’s production co irritated They say he’s in LA I’ve left another request for him to call you”

“Good”

“And Peter Gillespie’s telephoned again”

“Uh huh,” said Strike

“He says it’s urgent, and could you please get back to him as soon as possible”

Strike considered asking her to call Gillespie back and tell hio and fuck himself

“Yeah, will do Listen, could you text ht-club Uzi?”

“Right”

“And try and find a nuner”

“It’s pronounced ‘ghee,’ ” said Robin

“What?”

“His Christian name It’s pronounced the French way: ‘Ghee’ ”

“Oh, right Well, could you try and find a contact number for him?”

“Fine,” said Robin

“Ask hi who I am, and who’s hired me”

“Fine”

It was borne in on Strike that Robin’s tone was frosty After a second or two, he thought he ht knohy

“By the way, thanks for that text you sent yesterday,” he said “Sorry I didn’t get back to you; it would have looked strange if I’d started texting, where I was But if you could call Nigel Cleent, and ask for an appointreat too”

Her animosity fell away at once, as he had rees war, in fact, on excited

“But Duffield can’t have had anything to do with it, can he? He had a cast-iron alibi!”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” said Strike, deliberately ominous “And listen, Robin, if another death threat comes in—they usually arrive on Mondays…”

“Yes?” she said eagerly

“File it,” said Strike

He could not be sure—it seeht he heard herup

Strike spent the rest of the day engaged in tedious but necessary spadework When Robin had texted hihtclub of the day, this titon The contrast with Barrack was extreht have been to a smart private house There were security cameras over its doors, too Strike then took a bus to Charles Street, where he was fairly sure Guy Souessed to be the ner’s address and the house where Landry had died

His leg was aching badly again by late afternoon, and he stopped for a rest andout for the Feathers, near Scotland Yard, and his appointment with Eric Wardle

It was another Victorian pub, this ti, looking out on to a great gray 1920s building decorated with statues by Jacob Epstein The nearest of these sat over the doors, and stared down through the pub s; a fierce seated deity was being embraced by his infant son, whose body eirdly twisted back on itself, to show his genitalia Time had eroded all shock value

Inside the Feathers,prihts; the wall-mounted plas West Bromwich Albion versus Chelsea with the sound off, while Amy Winehouse throbbed and moaned from hidden speakers The na bar, which faced a wide dark-wood staircase with curving steps and shining brass handrails, leading up to the first floor

Strike had to wait to be served, giving him time to look around The place was full of irls with tangerine tans stood around a high table, throwing back their over-straightened peroxide hair, in their tiny, tight spangled dresses, shifting their weight unnecessarily on their teetering heels They were pretending not to know that the only solitary drinker, a handsoh bar seat beside the nearby as exa them, point by point, with a prac

ticed eye Strike bought himself a pint of Doom Bar and approached their appraiser

“Cor Wardle’s table Wardle had the kind of hair Strike envied in other men; nobody would ever have called Wardle “pubehead”

“Yeah, I thought ithands “Anstis said you were a big bloke”

Strike pulled up a bar stool, and Wardle said, without preamble:

“What’ve you got for me, then?”

“There was a fatal stabbing just off Ealing Broadway last month Guy called Liam Yates? Police informant, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he got a knife in the neck But we knoho did it,” said Wardle, with a patronizing laugh “Half the crooks in London know If that’s your information—”

“Don’t knohere he is, though, do you?”

With a quick glance at the deterirls, Wardle slid a notebook out of his pocket

“Go on”

“There’s a girl orks in Betbusters on the Hackney Road called Shona Holland She lives in a rented flat two streets away frouest at the moment called Brett Fearney, who used to beat up her sister Apparently he’s not the sort of bloke you refuse a favor”

“Got the full address?” asked Wardle, as scribbling hard

“I’ve just given you the na a bit of detective work?”

“And where did you say you got this?” asked Wardle, still jotting rapidly with the notebook balanced under the table on his knee

“I didn’t,” replied Strike equably, sipping his beer