‘How d’you know?’ said Strike. ‘Where are you getting this from?’
When Ledwell said nothing, Strike continued:
‘You told me, that night at The Gun, that both Blay and Katya Upcott have the “ethics of alley cats”. Strong language. What made you say that?’
Ledwell didn’t speak.
‘Shall I tell you where I think you got the idea Blay wanted total control?’ said Strike.
But before he could do so, the two little pyjamaed girls reappeared, now in the company of their grandmother, who beamed at the group sitting at the table, apparently oblivious to the tension.
‘The girls want to say night-night to Daddy.’
Grant suffered each of his daughters to kiss him on the cheek. Instead of leaving immediately, Heather’s mother turned to Strike and said,
‘Mia wants to ask you a question. I’ve told her you won’t mind.’
‘Right ho,’ said Strike, inwardly cursing her and the kids.
‘Did it hurt, when your leg was bombed?’ asked the larger of the two girls.
‘It did, yes,’ said Strike.
‘There you are, Mia,’ said their grandmother, beaming. Robin wouldn’t have been altogether surprised if she’d asked whether Strike would be happy to be part of Mia’s next Show and Tell. ‘All right, girls, say night-night to our visitors.’
‘Night-night,’ said the two little girls in unison, and they returned inside.
The sun had now sunk below the roof of the house, casting the Ledwells’ small paved courtyard into shadow, but Grant hadn’t removed his sunglasses, which now reflected the ruby glow of the sky. He’d been given a useful interval of thinking time thanks to his mother-in-law, and before either of the others could speak, he said,
‘It’s just my general impression that Blay wanted her gone.’
‘But you can’t say where this impression came from?’ said Strike.
‘Well, they’d fallen out, hadn’t they?’
‘You said he and Katya had the morals of alley—’
‘They thought Edie was Anomie, didn’t they?’
‘Blay being persuaded Edie was Anomie is exactly the kind of paranoia you’d expect from a perennially stoned bloke in a broken-down relationship,’ said Strike, ‘but you’re the only person who’s ever suggested he wanted to take over The Ink Black Heart in its entirety. Everything we’ve been told during this investigation suggests he was barely in a fit state to pick up a spliff, let alone single-handedly write the cartoon and deal with film studios and Netflix. I think you’ve got a very specific reason for thinking he wanted to take over on his own, and a very specific reason for saying Katya is crooked as well. I think you opened and read the letters you were supposed to be putting into Edie’s coffin, and having read them, you chose only to put Ormond’s in.’
Whether Grant would have admitted it would for ever remain a moot point, because just then Heather came through the open doors onto the patio, an empty wine glass in her hand, beaming at them all.
‘Give me some of that, Grub,’ she said, settling down in the fourth chair. ‘I’ve just got Ethan down, and Mum’s reading the girls a story.’
As Grant filled her glass, his expression still rigid, Heather said eagerly,
‘So, what’ve I missed? Do we know who Anomie is yet?’
‘We will,’ said Strike, before Grant could speak, ‘once we’ve seen the letter that didn’t go in the coffin.’
‘Oh, you’ve told them,’ said Heather, smiling at Grant. ‘I said—’
‘Shut up,’ growled Grant.
Heather couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d slapped her. The uncomfortable silence was broken by a dog yapping furiously in an adjoining garden.
‘Told him to come clean, did you?’ said Strike to Heather. ‘Shame he didn’t listen. Withholding evidence in a murder case, telling lies about communication with the dead woman—’
Heather now looked panicked.
‘Cormoran,’ said Robin, for the third time, ‘nobody was withholding evidence. Personally,’ she continued, turning to address the Ledwells, ‘I think you were well within your rights to read those letters. She was your niece, and either of the men who wrote them could have been responsible for her death, couldn’t they?’
‘That’s exactly what I said!’ said Heather, encouraged. Catching sight of her husband’s expression, she added, ‘Well, it’s true, Grub, I did say—’
‘I’m not admitting we read the letters and I’m not admitting we didn’t put them both in the coffin,’ said Grant. He now took off his sunglasses. His heavy-jawed face looked like a primitive carving in the fading light.
‘But your wife’s just admitted it,’ said Strike.
‘No, she—’
‘Yeah, she did,’ said Strike, ‘and that’s grounds for a search warrant. Of course, if you want to burn the letter before the police get here, that’s your choice, but we’re both going to be able to testify to what Heather just said. And at a pinch, I expect the Home Office would permit an exhumation.’
With what Strike felt was irritating predictability, Heather’s mother now appeared at the French doors and said gaily,
‘Room for a little one?’
‘No,’ snapped Grant. ‘I mean, give us a minute, Wendy.’
Clearly disappointed, she retreated. Next door’s dog continued to yap.
‘I’d advise you both to think hard about the consequences of continuing to deny you’ve got that letter,’ said Strike.
‘It’ll be fine,’ lied Robin, addressing the frightened Heather, ‘if you come clean now. Everyone will understand. Of course you were worried Ormond or Blay had had something to do with Edie’s death. I don’t think anyone would be able to resist opening the letters in your position, not given how she died. It’s a perfectly understandable thing to do.’
Heather looked slightly reassured.
‘Whereas continuing to pretend you haven’t got the letter will look pretty bloody fishy when all this comes out,’ said Strike, returning Grant’s look of hostility with interest. ‘It’s the kind of thing the papers love. “Why didn’t they say?” “Why did they hide it?”’
‘Grub,’ whispered the now frightened-looking Heather, and Robin was sure she was imagining the gossip at the playground gates, should the papers indeed print such stories. ‘I think—’
‘We weren’t hiding it,’ said Ledwell angrily. ‘We just didn’t put it in the coffin. It was disgusting, what he wrote. I wasn’t going to bury her with that.’
‘Could we see it?’ said Strike.
The dog next door continued its frenzied yapping as Grant sat staring at Strike. The detective judged Ledwell to be a stupid man in many ways, but not entirely a fool. At last Grant got slowly to his feet and disappeared into the house, leaving his wife looking extremely anxious.
‘D’you get a lot of that?’ asked Robin pleasantly, pointing in the direction of the noisy dog.
‘Of – of the dog? Oh yes,’ said Heather. ‘It never stops! It’s a Pomeranian. The girls have been begging us for a puppy. We’ve said maybe, once we’re back in Oman – the thing is, home help’s so cheap over there I could probably cope with a dog and the baby. But it won’t be a Pomeranian, that’s for sure.’
‘No, I don’t blame you,’ said Robin, smiling while her pulse accelerated at the thought of the evidence that was about to appear.
Grant reappeared, holding an envelope. Before he could sit down, Strike said,
‘Have you got a clear plastic bag?’
‘What?’ said Grant, who still looked angry.
‘A clear plastic bag. There’ll be DNA evidence on there. I don’t want to contaminate it further.’