He watched It talking and he imagined drawing back a fist and punching It so hard in It’s ugly fucking face that the bones splintered…

Yet he needed It a little while longer, at least until he did The Secretary.

It still loved him, that was the trump card: he knew he could bring It back into line with the threat of leaving for good. He didn’t want to overplay that one, though. So he pressed on with the flowers, the kisses, the kindness that made the memory of his rage soften and dissolve in It’s stupid, addled memory. He liked to add a little emollient to her drinks, a little extra something to keep her off balance, weeping into his neck, clinging to him.

Patient, kind, but determined.

At last she agreed: a week away, completely away, free to do as he liked.

45

Harvester of eyes, that’s me.

Blue Öyster Cult, “Harvester of Eyes”

Detective Inspector Eric Wardle was far from delighted that Jason and Tempest had lied to his men, but Strike found him less angry than he might have expected when they met for a pint, at Wardle’s invitation, on Monday evening in the Feathers. The explanation for his surprising forbearance was simple: the revelation that Kelsey had been picked up from her rendezvous in Café Rouge by a man on a motorbike fitted perfectly with Wardle’s new pet theory.

“You remember the guy called Devotee who was on their website? Got a fetish for amputees, went quiet after Kelsey was killed?”

“Yeah,” said Strike, who recalled Robin saying that she had had an interaction with him.

“We’ve tracked him down. Guess what’s in his garage?”

Strike assumed, from the fact that no arrest had been made, that they had not found body parts, so he obligingly suggested: “Motorbike?”

“Kawasaki Ninja,” said Wardle. “I know we’re looking for a Honda,” he added, forestalling Strike, “but he crapped himself when we came calling.”

“So do most people when CID turn up on their doorstep. Go on.”

“He’s a sweaty little guy, name of Baxter, a sales rep with no alibi for the weekend of the second and third, or for the twenty-ninth. Divorced, no kids, claims he stayed in for the royal wedding, watching it. Would you have watched the royal wedding without a woman in the house?”

“No,” said Strike, who had only caught footage on the news.

“He claims the bike’s his brother’s and he’s just looking after it, but after a bit of questioning he admitted he’s taken it out a few times. So we know he can ride one, and he could have hired or borrowed the Honda.”

“What did he say about the website?”

“He downplayed that completely, says he’s only pissing around, doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s not turned on by stumps, but when we asked whether we could have a look at his computer he didn’t like it at all. Asked to talk to his lawyer before he gave an answer. That’s where we’ve left it, but we’re going back to see him again tomorrow. Friendly chat.”