His mother had once said to him: ‘If Joan’s right, and I end up in hell, it’ll be eternal Sunday in bloody St Mawes.’

Strike, who was heading away from the commercial centre towards the Thames, phoned his client as he walked.

‘John Bristow?’

‘Yeah, sorry to disturb you at the weekend, John…’

‘Cormoran?’ said Bristow, immediately friendly. ‘Not a problem, not a problem at all! How did it go with Wilson?’

‘Very good, very useful, thanks. I wanted to know whether you can help me find a friend of Lula’s. It’s a girl she met in therapy. Her Christian name begins with an R – something like Rachel or Raquelle – and she was living at the St Elmo hostel in Hammersmith when Lula died. Does that ring any bells?’

There was a moment’s silence. When Bristow spoke again, the disappointment in his voice verged on annoyance.

‘What do you want to speak to her for? Tansy’s quite clear that the voice she heard from upstairs was male.’

‘I’m not interested in this girl as a suspect, but as a witness. Lula had an appointment to meet her at a shop, Vashti, right after she saw you at your mother’s flat.’

‘Yeah, I know; that came out at the inquest. I mean – well, of course, you know your job, but – I don’t really see how she would know anything about what happened that night. Listen – wait a moment, Cormoran… I’m at my mother’s and there are other people here… need to find a quieter spot…’

Strike heard the sounds of movement, a murmured ‘Excuse me’, and Bristow came back on the line.

‘Sorry, I didn’t want to say all this in front of the nurse. Actually, I thought, when you rang, you might be someone else calling up to talk to me about Duffield. Everybody I know has rung to tell me.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘You obviously don’t read the News of the World. It’s all there, complete with pictures: Duffield turned up to visit my mother yesterday, out of the blue. Photographers outside the house; it caused a lot of inconvenience and upset with the neighbours. I was out with Alison, or I’d never have let him in.’

‘What did he want?’

‘Good question. Tony, my uncle, thinks it was money – but Tony usually thinks people are after money; anyway, I’ve got power of attorney, so there was nothing doing there. God knows why he came. The one small mercy is that Mum doesn’t seem to have realised who he is. She’s on immensely strong painkillers.’

‘How did the press find out he was coming?’

‘That,’ said Bristow, ‘is an excellent question. Tony thinks he phoned them himself.’

‘How is your mother?’

‘Poorly, very poorly. They say she could hang on for weeks, or – or it could happen at any moment.’