“I thought I was supposed to be your partner,” said Robin.

“Makes no difference,” said Strike, “partner or not, I’ve still got a responsibility—”

“So you’d rather see this business fail than let me work?” said Robin, an angry flush rising in her pale face, and while Strike felt he was losing on points he took an obscure pleasure in the fact that she was losing her cool. “I helped you build it up! You’re playing right into his hands, whoever he is, sidelining me, neglecting paying cases and working yourself into the—”

“How do you know I’ve—?”

“Because you look like shit,” said Robin baldly and Strike, caught off guard, almost laughed for the first time in days.

“Either,” she resumed, “I’m your partner or I’m not. If you’re going to treat me like some piece of special-occasion china that gets taken out when you don’t think I’ll get hurt, we’re—we’re doomed. The business is doomed. I’d do better to take Wardle up on—”

“On what?” said Strike sharply.

“On his suggestion that I apply to the police,” said Robin, looking Strike squarely in the face. “This isn’t a game to me, you know. I’m not a little girl. I’ve survived far worse than being sent a toe. So—” She screwed up her courage. She had hoped it would not come to an ultimatum. “—decide. Decide whether I’m your partner or a—a liability. If you can’t rely on me—if you can’t let me run the same risks you do—then I’d rather—”

Her voice nearly broke, but she forced herself onwards.

“—rather get out,” she finished.

In her emotion, she swung her chair round to face her computer a little too forcefully and found herself facing the wall. Mustering what dignity she felt she had left, she adjusted her seat to face the monitor and continued opening emails, waiting for his answer.

She had not told him about her lead. She needed to know whether she was reinstated as his partner before she either shared her spoils or gave it to him as a farewell gift.

“Whoever he is, he butchers women for pleasure,” said Strike quietly, “and he’s made it clear he’d like to do the same to you.”

“I’ve grasped that,” said Robin in a tight voice, her eyes on the screen, “but have you grasped the fact that if he knows where I work, he probably also knows where I live, and if he’s that determined he’ll follow me anywhere I go? Can’t you understand that I’d much rather help catch him than sit around waiting for him to pounce?”

She was not going to beg. She had emptied the inbox of twelve spam emails before he spoke again, his voice heavy.

“All right.”

“All right what?” she asked, looking around cautiously.

“All right… you’re back at work.”

She beamed. He did not return the smile.

“Oh, cheer up,” she said, getting to her feet and moving around the desk.

For one crazy moment Strike thought she might be about to hug him, she looked so happy (and with the protective ring back on her finger, perhaps he had become a safely huggable figure, a de-sexed noncompetitor), but she was merely heading for the kettle.