Only when she was definitely out of sight of Whittaker did she lose the sensation that invisible ants were crawling up her spine. Robin pulled out her mobile and called Strike.

“I know,” she said, before Strike could start telling her off, “it’s getting late but I’m on my way to the station right now and when you’ve heard what I’ve got, you’ll understand.”

She walked fast, chilly in the increasing cool of the evening, telling him everything that Stephanie had said.

“So he’s got an alibi?” said Strike slowly.

“For Heather’s death, yes, if Stephanie’s telling the truth, and I honestly think she is. She was with him—and the whole of Death Cult, as I say.”

“She definitely said Whittaker was there while she was servicing the band?”

“I think so. She was just answering that when Whittaker turned up and—hang on.”

Robin stopped and looked around. Busy talking, she had taken a wrong turning somewhere on the way back to the station. The sun was setting now. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow move behind a wall.

“Cormoran?”

“Still here.”

Perhaps she had imagined the shadow. She was on a stretch of unfamiliar residential road, but there were lit windows and a couple walking along in the distance. She was safe, she told herself. It was all right. She just needed to retrace her steps.

“Everything OK?” asked Strike sharply.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ve taken a wrong turn, that’s all.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“Near Catford Bridge station,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ve ended up here.”

She did not want to mention the shadow. Carefully she crossed the darkening road, so that she would not have to walk past the wall where she thought she had seen it, and after transferring her mobile into her left hand she took a tighter hold of the rape alarm in her right pocket.

“I’m going back the way I came,” she told Strike, wanting him to know where she was.

“Have you seen something?” he demanded.

“I don’t kn—maybe,” she admitted.

Yet when she drew level with the gap between houses where she had thought she had seen the figure, there was nobody there.

“I’m jumpy,” she said, speeding up. “Meeting Whittaker wasn’t fun. There’s definitely something—nasty—about him.”

“Where are you now?”

“About twenty feet away from where I was the last time you asked me. Hang on, I can see a street name. I’m crossing back over, I can see where I’ve gone wrong, I should’ve turned—”

She heard the footsteps only when they were right behind her. Two massive black-clad arms closed around her, pinning hers to her sides, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her mobile slipped out of her hand and fell with a crack onto the pavement.

52

Do not envy the man with the x-ray eyes.

Blue Öyster Cult, “X-Ray Eyes”

Strike, who had been standing in the shadow of a warehouse in Bow, keeping watch on Blondin Street, heard Robin’s sudden gasp, the thud of the mobile on the pavement and then the scuffling and skidding of feet on asphalt.