Lethal White

seedy job you do. Yes, our marriage was going wrong, what of it? Do you think,
now he’s dead, now he’s killed himself, I want to relive it all with the pair of you,
perfect strangers whom my stupid stepdaughters have dragged in, to stir
everything up and make it ten times worse?”
“So you’ve changed your mind, have you? You think your husband
committed suicide? Because when we were last here, you suggested Aamir
Mallik—”
“I don’t know what I said then!” she said hysterically. “Can you not
understand what it’s been like since Jasper killed himself, with the police and the
family and you? I didn’t think this would happen, I had no idea, it didn’t seem
real—Jasper was under enormous pressure those last few months, drinking too
much, in an awful temper—the blackmail, the fear of it all coming out—yes, I
think he killed himself and I’ve got to live with the fact that I walked out on him
that morning, which was probably the final straw!”
The Norfolk terrier began to yap furiously again. The Labrador woke with a
start and started barking, too.
“Please leave!” shouted Kinvara, getting to her feet. “Get out! I never wanted
you mixed up in this in the first place! Just go, will you?”
“Certainly,” said Strike politely, setting down his empty glass. “Would you
mind waiting while I get my leg back on?”
Robin had already stood up. Strike strapped the false leg back on while
Kinvara watched, chest heaving, glass in hand. At last, Strike was ready to stand,
but his first attempt had him falling back onto the sofa. With Robin’s assistance,
he finally achieved a standing position.
“Well, goodbye, Mrs. Chiswell.”
Kinvara’s only answer was to stalk to the window and fling it open again,
shouting at the dogs, which had got up excitedly, to stay put.

---

No sooner had her unwelcome guests stepped out onto the gravel path than
Kinvara slammed the window behind them. While Robin put her Wellington
boots back on, they heard the shriek of the brass curtain rings as Kinvara
dragged the drapes shut, then called the dogs out of the room.
“Not sure I’m going to be able to make it back to the car, Robin,” said Strike,
who wasn’t putting weight on his prosthesis. “In retrospect, the digging
might’ve… might’ve been a mistake.”
Wordlessly, Robin took his arm and placed it over her shoulders. He didn’t
resist. Together they moved slowly off across the grass.
“Did you understand what I mouthed at you back there?” asked Robin.
“That there was someone upstairs? Yeah,” he said, wincing horribly every
time he put down his false foot. “I did.”
“You don’t seem—”
“I’m not surpr—wait,” he said abruptly, still leaning on her as he came to a
halt. “You didn’t go up there?”
“Yes,” said Robin.
“For fuck’s sake—”
“I heard footsteps.”
“And what would’ve happened if you’d been jumped?”
“I took a weapon and I wasn’t—and if I hadn’t gone up there, I wouldn’t
have seen this.”
Taking out her mobile, Robin brought up the photo of the painting on the
bed, and handed it to him.
“You didn’t see Kinvara’s expression, when she saw the blank wall.
Cormoran, she didn’t realize that painting had been moved until you asked about
it. Whoever was upstairs tried to hide it while she was outside.”
Strike stared at the phone screen for what felt like a long time, his arm heavy
on Robin’s shoulders. Finally, he said:
“Is that a piebald?”
“Seriously?” said Robin, in total disbelief. “Horse colors? Now?”
“Answer me.”
“No, piebalds are black and white, not brown and—”
“We need to go to the police,” said Strike. “The odds on another murder just
went up exponentially.”
“You aren’t serious?”
“I’m completely serious. Get me back to the car and I’ll tell you
everything… but don’t ask me to talk till then, because my leg’s fucking killing
me.”

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