‘Guy would say that. He was just, like, super-protective of Looly. He adored her; he really loved her. He thought Evan was bad for her, but honestly, he doesn’t know the real Evan. Evan’s, like, totally fucked up, but he’s a good person. He went to see Lady Bristow not long ago, and I said to him, “Why, Evan, what on earth did you put yourself through that for?” Because, you know, her family hated him. And d’you know what he said? “I just wanna speak to somebody who cares as much as I do that she’s gone.” I mean, how sad is that?’

Strike cleared his throat.

‘The press have totally got it in for Evan, it’s just so unfair, he can’t do anything right.’

‘Duffield came to your place, didn’t he, the night she died?’

‘God, yeah, and there you are!’ said Ciara indignantly. ‘They made out we were, like, shagging or something! He had no money, and his driver had disappeared, so he just, like, hiked across London so he could crash at mine. He slept on the sofa. So we were together when we heard the news.’

She raised her cigarette to her full mouth and drew deeply on it, her eyes on the floor.

‘It was terrible. You can’t imagine. Terrible. Evan was… oh my God. And then,’ she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, ‘they were all saying it was him. After Tansy Chillingham said she’d heard a row. The press just went crazy. It was awful.’

She looked up at Strike, holding her hair off her face. The harsh overhead light merely illuminated her perfect bone structure.

‘You haven’t met Evan, have you?’

‘No.’

‘D’you want to? You could come with me now. He said he was going along to Uzi tonight.’

‘That’d be great.’

‘Fabby. Hang on.’

She jumped up and called through the open door:

‘Guy, sweetie, can I wear this tonight? Go on. To Uzi?’

Somé entered the small room. He looked exhausted behind his glasses.

‘All right. Make sure you’re photographed. Wreck it and I’ll sue your skinny white arse.’

‘I’m not going to wreck it. I’m taking Cormoran to meet Evan.’

She stuffed her cigarettes away into her enormous bag, which appeared to hold her day clothes too, and hoisted it over her shoulder. In her heels, she was within an inch of the detective’s height. Somé looked up at Strike, his eyes narrowed.

‘Make sure you give the little shit a hard time.’

‘Guy!’ said Ciara, pouting. ‘Don’t be horrible.’

‘And watch yourself, Master Rokeby,’ Somé added, with his usual edge of spite. ‘Ciara’s a terrible slut, aren’t you, dear? And she’s like me. She likes them big.’

‘Guy!’ said Ciara, in mock horror. ‘Come on, Cormoran. I’ve got a driver outside.’

8