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1 The Cuckoo's Calling

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“And when did you find out that Lula was dead?”<br />

Duffield drew his legs up to his chest again.<br />

“Ciara woke me up and told me. I couldn’t—I was fucking—yeah, well.<br />

Fucking hell.”<br />

He put his arms over the top of his head and stared at the ceiling.<br />

“I couldn’t fucking…I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t fucking believe it.”<br />

And as Strike watched, he thought he saw realization wash over Duffield that<br />

the girl of whom he spoke so flippantly, and who he had, by his own account,<br />

provoked, taunted and loved, was really and definitely never coming back; that<br />

she had been smashed into pulp on snow-covered asphalt, and that she and their<br />

relationship were now beyond the possibility of repair. For a moment, staring at<br />

the blank white ceiling, Duffield’s face became grotesque as he appeared to grin<br />

from ear to ear; it was a grimace of pain, of the exertion necessary to beat back<br />

tears. His arms slipped down, and he buried his face in them, his forehead on his<br />

knees.<br />

“Oh, sweetie,” said Ciara, putting her wine down on the table with a clunk,<br />

and reaching forward to place a hand on his bony knee.<br />

“This has fucked me up proper,” said Duffield thickly from behind his arms.<br />

“This has fucked me up good. I wanted to marry her. I fucking loved her, I did.<br />

Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”<br />

He jumped up and left the room, sniffing ostentatiously and wiping his nose on<br />

his sleeve.<br />

“Didn’t I tell you?” Ciara whispered to Strike. “He’s a mess.”<br />

“Oh, I don’t know. He seems to have cleaned up his act. Off heroin for a<br />

month.”<br />

“I know, and I don’t want him to fall off the wagon.”<br />

“This is a lot gentler than he would have had from the police. This is polite.”<br />

“You’ve got an awful look on your face, though. Really, like, stern and as if<br />

you don’t believe a word he’s saying.”<br />

“D’you think he’s going to come back?”<br />

“Yes, of course he is. Please be a bit nicer…”<br />

She sat quickly back in her seat as Duffield walked back in; he was grim-faced<br />

and his camp strut was very slightly subdued. He flung himself into the chair he<br />

had previously occupied and said to Strike:

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