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The Mercedes had rounded the corner on to an al hi calfridden pillion, following them Princess Diana and the Parisian underpass; the ah to the darkened glass as it passed; both careered through his thoughts as the car sped through the dark streets

Duffield lit a cigarette Out of the corner of his eye, Strike saw Kolovas-Jones scowl at his passenger in the rearview h heto Duffield Strike thought he heard his own name

Five minutes later, they turned another corner and saw, ahead of thean flashing and running towards the car the ht behind the to catch the moined hi expensive ca on to concrete as their holders crumpled And as if he had read Strike’s mind, Duffield said, with his hand poised on the door handle:

“Knock their fucking lights out, Cormoran, you’re built for it”

The open doors, the night air andflashes; bull-like, Strike walked fast with his big head bowed, his eyes on Ciara’s tottering heels, refusing to be blinded Up three steps they ran, Strike at the rear; and it was he who slaraphers

Strike felt himself mo hunted The tiny, dimly lit lobby felt safe and friendly The paparazzi were still yelling to each other on the other side of the door, and their terse shouts recalled soldiers recceing a building Duffield was fiddling at an inner door, trying a succession of keys in the lock

“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks,” he explained, finally opening it with a barging shoulder Once over the threshold, he wriggled out of his tight jacket, threw it on to the floor by the door and then led the way, his narrow hips swinging in only slightly less exaggerated fashion than Guy So room, where he switched on lamps

The spare, elegant gray and black decor had been overlaid by clutter and stank of cigarette smoke, cannabis and alcohol fumes Strike was reminded vividly of his childhood

“Need a slash,” announced Duffield, and called over his shoulder as he disappeared, with a directive jab of the thumb, “Drinks are in the kitchen, Cici”

She threw a sh the door Duffield had indicated

Strike glanced around the rooh it had been left, by parents of ier Every surface was covered in debris, uitars stood propped against the walls A cluttered glass coffee table was surrounded by black-and-white seats, angled towards an enormous plasma TV Bits of debris had overflowed fro below Beyond the long ith their gauzy gray curtains, Strike couldbeneath the street light

Duffield had returned, tugging up his fly On finding hile

“Make yourself at ho fella Hey, I know your old man, actually”

“Yeah?” said Strike, sitting down in one of the squashy ponyskin cube-shaped armchairs

“Yeah Met him a couple of times,” said Duffield “Cool dude”

He picked up a guitar, began to pick out a twiddling tune on it, thought better of it and put the instruainst the wall

Ciara returned, carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses

“Couldn’t you get a cleaner, dearie?” she asked Duffield reprovingly

“They give up,” said Duffield He vaulted over the back of a chair and landed with his legs sprawled over the side “No fucking stamina”

Strike pushed aside the mess on the coffee table so that Ciara could set down the bottle and glasses

“I thought you’dout wine

“Yeah, that didn’t work out,” said Duffield, raking through the detritus on the table for cigarettes “Ol’ Freddie’s rentedout to Pinewood He wants to keep me away from me old haunts”

His grubby fingers passed over a string of what seearette packets with bits of card torn out of theraved Zippo; Rizla papers; tangled leads unattached to appliances; a pack of cards; a sordid stained handkerchief; sundry cru a picture of Duffield in moody black and white on the cover; opened and unopened loves; a quantity of loose change and, in a clean china ashtray on the edge of the debris, a single cufflink in the forun At last he unearthed a soft packet of Gitanes fro jet of s, then addressed Ciara, who had placed herself on the sofa at right angles to the twoher wine

“They’ll say we’re fucking each other, again, Ci,” he said, pointing out of theat the prowling shadows of the waiting photographers

“And what’ll they say Corlance at Strike “A threesome?”

“Security,” said Duffield, appraising Strike through narrowed eyes “He looks like a boxer Or a cage fighter Don’t you want a proper drink, Cormoran?”

“No, thanks,” said Strike

“What’s that, AA or being on duty?”

“Duty”

Duffield raised his eyebrows and sniggered He seeers on the glass table When Ciara asked hiain, he seemed relieved to be offered a subject

“Fuck, no Once was enough It was fucking horrible Poor bitch On her fucking deathbed”

“It was beyond nice of you to go, though, Evan”

Strike knew that she was trying to show Duffield off in his best light

“Do you know Lula’s mother well?” he asked Duffield

“No I only met her once before Lu died She didn’t approve of eted, “I just wanted to talk to soives a shit that she’s dead”

“Evan!” Ciara pouted “I care she’s dead, excuse me!”

“Yeah, well…”

With one of his oddly feminine, fluid movements, Duffield curled up in the chair so that he was alarette On a table behind his head, illuraph of him with Lula Landry, clearly taken froainst a backdrop of fake trees; she earing a floor-length red dress, and he was in a slim black suit, with a hairy wolf’s mask pushed up on top of his forehead

“I wonder what ot an injunction out againstfather Because I nicked their telly a couple of years ago D’you knohat?” he added, craning his neck to look at Ciara, “I’ve been clean five weeks, two days”

“That’s so fabulous, baby! That’s fantastic!”

“Yeah,” he said He swiveled upright again “Aren’t you gonna ask ht you were investigating Lu’s murder?”

The bravado was under up and down, just like John Bristow’s

“D’you think it was murder?” Strike asked

“No” Duffield dragged on his cigarette “Yeah Maybe I dunno Murder makes more sense than fuc

king suicide, anyway Because she wouldn’ta gone without leavingfor a note to turn up, y’know, and then I’ll know it’s real It don’t feel real I can’t even re head I took sowalk I think, if I could just reet my head round”

He ja with his fingers on the edge of the glass table After a while, apparently discomforted by Strike’s silent observation, he demanded:

“Ask , then Who’s hired you, anyway?”

“Lula’s brother John”

Duffield stopped dru

“That , poker-arsed wanker?”

“Money-grabbing?”

“He was fucking obsessed with how she spent her fuckingbusiness Rich people always think everyone else is a fucking freeloader, have you noticed that? Her whole frigging fa, and after a bit,” he raised a finger to his te motion, “it went in, it planted doubts, y’know?”

He snatched one of the Zippos fronite Strike watched tiny blue sparks erupt and die as Duffield talked

“I expect he thought she’d be better off with so accountant, like him”

“He’s a lawyer”

“Whatever What’s the difference, it’s all about helping rich people keep their ot his fucking trust fund from Daddy, what skin is it off his nose what his sister did with her own money?”

“What was it that he objected to her buying, specifically?”

“Shit forfamily was the same; they didn’tfamily, that was OK Lu knew they were a mercenary load of fuckers, but, like I say, it still left its fucking mark Planted ideas in her head”

He threw the dead Zippo back on to the table, drew his knees up to his chest and glared at Strike with his disconcerting turquoise eyes

“So he still thinks I did it, does he? Your client?”