1 The Cuckoo's Calling

6
THERE WAS NO CLEAR MOMENT of moving from sleep to consciousness. At first he
was lying facedown in a dreamscape of broken metal, rubble and screams,
bloodied and unable to speak; then he was lying on his stomach, doused in sweat,
his face pressed into the camp bed, his head a throbbing ball of pain and his open
mouth dry and rank. The sun pouring in at the unblinded windows scoured his
retinas even with his eyelids closed: raw red, with capillaries spread like fine
black nets over tiny, taunting, popping lights.
He was fully clothed, his prosthesis still attached, lying on top of his sleeping
bag as though he had fallen there. Stabbing memories, like glass shards through
his temple: persuading the barman that another pint was a good idea. Robin,
across the table, smiling at him. Could he really have eaten a kebab in the state he
was in? At some point he remembered wrestling his fly, desperate to piss but
unable to extract the end of shirt caught in his zip. He slid a hand underneath
himself—even this slight movement made him want to groan or vomit—and
found, to his vague relief, that the zip was closed.
Slowly, like a man balancing some fragile package on his shoulders, Strike
moved himself into a sitting position and squinted around the brightly lit room
with no idea what time it could be, or indeed what day it was.
The door between inner and outer offices was closed, and he could not hear
any movement on the other side. Perhaps his temp had left for good. Then he saw
a white oblong lying on the floor, just inside the door, pushed under the gap at
the bottom. Strike moved gingerly on to his hands and knees, and retrieved what
he soon saw was a note from Robin.
Dear Cormoran (he supposed there was no going back to “Mr. Strike” now),
I read your list of points to investigate further at the front of the file. I
thought I might be able to follow up the first two (Agyeman and the
Malmaison Hotel). I will be on my mobile if you would rather I came back to
the office.
I have set an alarm just outside your door for 2 p.m., so that you have
enough time to get ready for your 5 p.m. appointment at I Arlington Place, to
interview Ciara Porter and Bryony Radford.
There is water, paracetamol and Alka-Seltzer on the desk outside.
Robin
PS Please don’t be embarrassed about last night. You didn’t say or do
anything you should regret.