Chapters (57)
‘We heard all about your poor leg,’ she said, staring down at his shoes. ‘Lucy kept us all posted. Gosh, you wouldn’t even know, would you? I couldn’t even see you limping when you arrived. Isn’t it amazing what they can do these days? I expect you can run faster now than you could before!’
Perhaps she imagined that he had a single carbon-fibre prosthetic blade under his trousers, like a Paralympian. He sipped his lager, and forced a humourless smile.
‘Is it true?’ she asked, ogling him, her face suddenly full of naked curiosity. ‘Are you really Jonny Rokeby’s son?’
Some thread of patience, which Strike had not realised was strained to breaking point, snapped.
‘Fucked if I know,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you call him and ask?’
She looked stunned. After a few seconds, she walked away from him in silence. He saw her talking to another woman, who glanced towards Strike. Another child fell over, crashing its head on to the cricket stump decorated with a giant strawberry, and emitting an ear-splitting shriek. With all attention focused on the fresh casualty, Strike slipped back inside the house.
The front room was blandly comfortable, with a beige three-piece suite, an Impressionist print over the mantelpiece and framed photographs of his three nephews in their bottle-green school uniform displayed on shelves. Strike closed the door carefully on the noise from the garden, took from his pocket the DVD Wardle had sent, inserted it into the player and turned on the TV.
There was a photograph on top of the set, taken at Lucy’s thirtieth birthday party. Lucy’s father, Rick, was there with his second wife. Strike stood at the back, where he had been placed in every group photograph since he was five years old. He had been in possession of two legs then. Tracey, fellow SIB officer and the girl whom Lucy had hoped her brother would marry, was standing next to him. Tracey had subsequently married one of their mutual friends, and had recently given birth to a daughter. Strike had meant to send flowers, but had never got round to it.
He dropped his gaze to the screen, and pressed ‘play’.
The grainy black-and-white footage began immediately. A white street, thick blobs of snow drifting past the eye of the camera. The 180° view showed the intersection of Bellamy and Alderbrook Roads.