Strike concluded that the one thing he could profitably do in the short term was tell Wardle what had happened and give him the registration number of the van. He did this in the hope that the police would think it worth their while to check for drugs and any other incriminating evidence within the vehicle or, even better, inside that flat over the chippy.

Wardle listened to Strike’s insistence that he had smelled crack fumes without any form of enthusiasm. Strike was forced to admit, when their call had concluded, that if he were in Wardle’s position he would not have considered his own evidence grounds for a search warrant. The policeman clearly thought that Strike had it in for his ex-stepfather, and no amount of pointing out the Blue Öyster Cult connection between himself and Whittaker seemed likely to change Wardle’s mind.

When Robin phoned that night with her usual progress report, Strike found relief and solace in telling her what had happened. Although she had news of her own, she was instantly distracted by the announcement that he had come face to face with Whittaker, and listened to the whole story in eager silence.

“Well, I’m glad you hit him,” she said when Strike had finished castigating himself for allowing the altercation to happen.

“You are?” said Strike, taken aback.

“Of course I am. He was strangling the girl!”

The moment the words left Robin’s mouth she wished she had not said them. She did not want to give Strike any further reason for remembering the thing that she wished she had never told him.

“As knights errant go, I was on the crap side. She fell over with him and cracked her head on the pavement. What I don’t get,” he added, after a short pause for reflection, “is her. That was her chance. She could’ve left: I’d’ve got her to a refuge, I’d’ve seen her right. Why the fuck did she go back to him? Why do women do that?”

In the fractional hesitation before Robin replied, Strike realized that a certain personal interpretation could be put on these words.

“I suppose,” began Robin, and simultaneously Strike said, “I didn’t mean—”

Both stopped.

“Sorry, go on,” said Strike.

“I was only going to say that abused people cling to their abusers, don’t they? They’ve been brainwashed to believe there’s no alternative.”

I was the bloody alternative, standing there, right in front of her!

“Any sign of Laing today?” Strike asked.

“No,” said Robin. “You know, I really don’t think he’s there.”

“I still think it’s worth—”

“Look, I know who’s in every flat except for one of them,” said Robin. “People go in and out of all the others. The last one’s either unoccupied, or someone’s lying in there dead, because the door never opens. I haven’t even seen carers or nurses visit.”

“We’ll give it another week,” said Strike. “It’s the only lead we’ve got for Laing. Listen,” he added irritably, as she tried to protest, “I’ll be in the same position, staking out that strip club.”