1 The Cuckoo's Calling

“Is she stunning-looking in person?” asked Robin with an unconvincing
casualness as she folded the Standard.
“Yeah, she is,” said Strike, and he wondered whether it was his imagination
that the three syllables sounded like a boast. “D’you want cheese and pickle, or
egg mayonnaise?”
Robin made her selection at random and returned to her desk chair to eat. Her
new hypothesis about Strike’s overnight whereabouts had eclipsed even her
excitement over the progress of the case. It was going to be difficult to reconcile
her view of him as a blighted romantic with the fact that he had just (it seemed
incredible, and yet she had heard his pathetic attempt to conceal his pride) slept
with a supermodel.
The telephone rang again. Strike, whose mouth was full of bread and cheese,
raised a hand to forestall Robin, swallowed, and answered it himself.
“Cormoran Strike.”
“Strike, it’s Wardle.”
“Hi, Wardle; how’s it going?”
“Not so good, actually. We’ve just fished a body out of the Thames with your
card on it. Wondered what you could tell us about it.”