1 The Cuckoo's Calling

Bestigui did not answer. Strike could see him putting it all together in his own
mind for the very first time.
“I heard…yeah…footsteps. Running past. On the stairs.”
“Yes,” said Strike. “And could you make out whether there was one set, or
two?”
Bestigui frowned, his eyes unfocused, looking beyond the detective into the
treacherous past. “There was…one. So I thought it was Wilson. But it
couldn’t…Wilson was still up on the third floor, searching her flat…because I
heard him coming down again, afterwards…after I’d called the police, I heard
him go running past the door…
“I forgot that,” said Bestigui, and for a fraction of a second he seemed almost
vulnerable. “I forgot. There was a lot going on. Tansy screaming.”
“And, of course, you were thinking about your own skin,” said Strike briskly,
inserting notepad and pen back in his pocket and hoisting himself out of the
leather chair. “Well, I won’t keep you; you’ll be wanting to call your lawyer.
You’ve been very helpful. I expect we’ll see each other again in court.”