1 The Cuckoo's Calling

to Rochelle Onifade (on the off-chance; no answer; no chance of leaving a
message: “Voicemail full.”)
“I’m still having no luck with Mr. Bestigui,” Robin told Strike, when he
emerged from his inner office to find her performing searches related to an
unidentified brunette posing with Lula on a beach. “I phoned again this morning,
but he just won’t call me back. I’ve tried everything; I’ve pretended to be all sorts
of people, I’ve said it’s urgent—what’s funny?”
“I was just wondering why none of these people who keep interviewing you
have offered you a job,” said Strike.
“Oh,” said Robin, blushing faintly. “They have. All of them. I’ve accepted the
human resources one.”
“Oh. Right,” said Strike. “You didn’t say. Congratulations.”
“Sorry, I thought I’d told you,” lied Robin.
“So you’ll be leaving…when?”
“Two weeks.”
“Ah. I expect Matthew’s pleased, is he?”
“Yes,” she said, slightly taken aback, “he is.”
It was almost as if Strike knew how little Matthew liked her working for him;
but that was impossible; she had been careful not to give the slightest hint of the
tensions at home.
The telephone rang, and Robin answered it.
“Cormoran Strike’s office?…Yes, who’s speaking, please?…It’s Derrick
Wilson,” she told him, passing over the receiver.
“Derrick, hi.”
“Mister Bestigui’s gone away for a coupla days,” said Wilson’s voice. “If you
wanna come an’ look at the building…”
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” said Strike.
He was on his feet, checking his pockets for wallet and keys, when he became
aware of Robin’s slight air of dejection, though she was continuing to pore over
the unincriminating photographs.
“D’you want to come?”
“Yes!” she said gleefully, seizing her handbag and closing down her computer.