He returned to his inner office, where he placed calls to John Bristow (in a meeting, and not to be disturbed; ‘Please get him to call me as soon as you can’), to Eric Wardle (voicemail: ‘I’ve got a question about Lula Landry’s laptop’) and to Rochelle Onifade (on the off-chance; no answer; no chance of leaving a message: ‘Voicemail full’.)

‘I’m still having no luck with Mr Bestigui,’ Robin told Strike, when he emerged from his inner office to find her performing searches related to an unidentified brunette posing with Lula on a beach. ‘I phoned again this morning, but he just won’t call me back. I’ve tried everything; I’ve pretended to be all sorts of people, I’ve said it’s urgent – what’s funny?’

‘I was just wondering why none of these people who keep interviewing you have offered you a job,’ said Strike.

‘Oh,’ said Robin, blushing faintly. ‘They have. All of them. I’ve accepted the human resources one.’

‘Oh. Right,’ said Strike. ‘You didn’t say. Congratulations.’

‘Sorry, I thought I’d told you,’ lied Robin.

‘So you’ll be leaving… when?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘Ah. I expect Matthew’s pleased, is he?’

‘Yes,’ she said, slightly taken aback, ‘he is.’

It was almost as if Strike knew how little Matthew liked her working for him; but that was impossible; she had been careful not to give the slightest hint of the tensions at home.

The telephone rang, and Robin answered it.

‘Cormoran Strike’s office?… Yes, who’s speaking, please?… It’s Derrick Wilson,’ she told him, passing over the receiver.

‘Derrick, hi.’

‘Mister Bestigui’s gone away for a coupla days,’ said Wilson’s voice. ‘If you wanna come an’ look at the building…’

‘I’ll be there in half an hour,’ said Strike.

He was on his feet, checking his pockets for wallet and keys, when he became aware of Robin’s slight air of dejection, though she was continuing to pore over the unincriminating photographs.

‘D’you want to come?’

‘Yes!’ she said gleefully, seizing her handbag and closing down her computer.

3