“I—Max, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t good,” said Max, taking a sip of his beer. “Two unnecessary open-heart surgeries, endless complications. I lost jobs, I was unemployed for four years and I’m still on anti-depressants. Matthew said I had to pursue a claim against the doctors. I probably wouldn’t have done, if he hadn’t nagged me. Lawyers’ fees. Ton of stress. But I won in the end, got a big payout, and he persuaded me to sink it all into a decent property. He’s a barrister, he earns great money. Anyway, we bought this place.”

Max pushed his thick blond hair out of his face and glanced down at Wolfgang, who’d trotted to the table to savor the smell of casse­role once more.

“A week after we moved in, he sat me down and told me he was leaving. The ink was barely dry on the mortgage. He said he’d struggled against it, because he felt a loyalty to me, because of what I’d been through, but he couldn’t fight his feelings any longer. He told me,” said Max, with a hollow smile, “he’d realized pity wasn’t love. He wanted me to keep the flat, didn’t want me to buy him out—as if I could have done—so he signed over his half. That was to make him feel less guilty, obviously. And off he went with Tiago. He’s Brazilian, the new guy. Owns a restaurant.”

“That,” said Robin quietly, “sounds like hell.”

“Yeah, it was… I really need to stop looking at their bloody Instagram accounts.” Max heaved a deep sigh and absentmindedly rubbed the shirt over the scars on his chest. “Obviously I thought of just selling up, but we barely lived here together, so it’s not as though it’s got a ton of memories. I didn’t have the energy to go through more house-hunting and moving, so here I’ve stayed, struggling to make the mortgage every month.”

Robin thought she knew why Max was telling her all this, and her hunch was confirmed when he looked directly at her and said,

“Anyway, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about what happened to you. I had no idea. Ilsa only told me you were held at gunpoint—”

“Oh, I didn’t get raped then,” said Robin, and to Max’s evident surprise, she started to laugh. Doubtless it was her tiredness, but it was a relief to find dark comedy in this litany of terrible things humans did to each other, though none of it was really funny at all: his mutilated heart, the gorilla mask in her nightmares. “No, the rape happened ten years ago. That’s why I dropped out of university.”

“Shit,” said Max.

“Yeah,” said Robin, and echoing Max, she said, “it wasn’t good.”

“So when did the knife thing happen?” asked Max, eyes on Robin’s forearm, and she laughed again. Really, what else was there to do?

“That was a couple of years ago.”

“Working for Strike?”

“Yes,” said Robin, and she stopped laughing now. “Listen, about last night—”

“I enjoyed last night,” said Max.

“You can’t be serious,” said Robin.

“I’m completely serious. It was really useful for building my character. He’s got some proper big man, take-no-bullshit energy about him, hasn’t he?”

“You mean he acts like a dick?”

Max laughed and shrugged.

“Is he very different sober?”

“Yes,” said Robin, “well—I don’t know. Less of a dick.” And before Max could ask anything else about her partner, she said quickly, “He’s right about your cooking, anyway. That was fantastic. Thanks so much, I really needed that.”

Having cleared up, Robin returned downstairs, where she showered before changing for the night’s surveillance. With an hour to go before she needed to take over from Hutchins, she sat back down on her bed and idly typed variations on the name Paul Satchwell into Google. Paul L Satchwell. LP Satchwell. Paul Leonard Satchwell. Leo Paul Satchwell.

Her mobile rang. She glanced down. It was Strike. After a moment or two, she picked it up, but said nothing.

“Robin?”

“Yes.”

“Are you OK to talk?”

“Yes,” she said again, her heart beating faster than usual as she frowned up at the ceiling.

“Calling to apologize.”

Robin was so astonished, she said nothing for several seconds. Then she cleared her throat and said,

“Can you even remember what you’re apologizing for?”

“Er… yeah, I think so,” said Strike. “I… didn’t mean that to get dragged up. Should’ve realized it wasn’t a subject you’d want discussed over dinner. Didn’t think.”

Tears started in Robin’s eyes at last.

“OK,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“And I’m sorry for being rude to your brother and his friends.”

“Thank you,” said Robin.

There was a silence. The rain still fell outside. Then Strike said,

“Have you heard from Ilsa?”

“No,” said Robin. “Have you heard from Nick?”

“No,” said Strike.

There was another silence.

“So, we’re OK, yeah?” said Strike.

“Yes,” said Robin, wondering whether it was true.

“If I’ve taken you for granted,” said Strike, “I’m sorry. You’re the best I’ve got.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Strike,” said Robin, abandoning the pretense that she wasn’t crying as she snorted back tears.

“What?”

“You just… you’re bloody infuriating.”

“Why?”

“Saying that. Now.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve said it.”

“It is, actually.”

“I’ve told other people.”

“Yeah, well,” said Robin, now laughing and crying simultaneously as she reached for tissues, “you see how that isn’t the same thing as telling me?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” said Strike. “Now you mention it.”

He was smoking at his small Formica kitchen table while the eternal rain fell outside his attic window. Somehow, the texts from Charlotte had made him realize he had to call Robin, had to make things right with her before he set off for Cornwall and Joan. Now the sound of her voice, and her laughter, acted on him as it usually did, by making everything seem fractionally less awful.

“When are you leaving?” Robin asked, drying her eyes.

“Tomorrow at eight. Lucy’s meeting me at the car hire. We’ve got a jeep.”

“Well, be careful,” said Robin. She’d heard on the news that day about the three people who’d died, trying to travel through the wind and the floods.

“Yeah. Can’t pretend I don’t wish you were driving. Lucy’s bloody terrible behind the wheel.”

“You can stop flattering me now. I’ve forgiven you.”

“I’m serious,” said Strike, his eyes on the relentless rain. “You and your advanced driving course. You’re the only person who doesn’t scare the shit out of me behind the wheel.”

“D’you think you’ll make it?”