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Chapters (57)
  1. COPYRIGHT
  2. The Cuckoo’s Calling
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Prologue
  6. Three Months Later
  7. Part One
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. Part Two
  16. 1
  17. 2
  18. 3
  19. 4
  20. 5
  21. 6
  22. 7
  23. 8
  24. 9
  25. 10
  26. 11
  27. Part Three
  28. 1
  29. 2
  30. 3
  31. 4
  32. 5
  33. 6
  34. 7
  35. 8
  36. 9
  37. 10
  38. Part Four
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. 13
  52. 14
  53. Part Five
  54. 1
  55. 2
  56. Epilogue
  57. Ten Days Later

‘No, I had to give them back.’

‘Shame,’ said Jack, matter-of-factly.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be playing?’ asked Strike, as renewed shrieks erupted from the garden.

‘I don’t wanna,’ said Jack. ‘Can I take him out?’

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Strike.

While Jack ripped feverishly at the box, Strike slipped Wardle’s DVD out of the player and pocketed it. Then he helped Jack to free the plastic paratrooper from the restraints holding him to the cardboard insert, and to fix his gun into his hand.

Lucy found them both sitting there ten minutes later. Jack was making his soldier fire around the back of the sofa and Strike was pretending to have taken a bullet to the stomach.

‘For God’s sake, Corm, it’s his party, he’s supposed to be playing with the others! Jack, I told you you weren’t allowed to open any presents yet – pick it up – no, it’ll have to stay in here – no, Jack, you can play with it later – it’s nearly time for tea anyway…’

Flustered and irritable, Lucy ushered her reluctant son back out of the room with a dark backwards look at her brother. When Lucy’s lips were pursed she bore a strong resemblance to their Aunt Joan, who was no blood relation to either of them.

The fleeting similarity engendered in Strike an uncharacteristic spirit of cooperation. He behaved, in Lucy’s terms, well throughout the rest of the party, devoting himself in the main to defusing brewing arguments between various overexcited children, then barricading himself behind a trestle table covered in jelly and ice cream, thus avoiding the intrusive interest of the prowling mothers.

3

Strike was woken early on Sunday morning by the ringing of his mobile, which was recharging on the floor beside his camp bed. The caller was Bristow. He sounded strained.

‘I got your message yesterday, but Mum’s in a bad way and we haven’t got a nurse for this afternoon. Alison’s going to come over and keep me company. I could meet you tomorrow, in my lunch hour, if you’re free? Have there been any developments?’ he added hopefully.

‘Some,’ said Strike cautiously. ‘Listen, where’s your sister’s laptop?’

‘It’s here in Mum’s flat. Why?’

‘How would you feel about me having a look at it?’

‘Fine,’ said Bristow. ‘I’ll bring it along tomorrow, shall I?’