1 The Cuckoo's Calling

Momentarily fooled by his casual tone, Alison opened her mouth to respond;
then the meaning of his words hit her, and her self-assurance shattered.
“That’s not true!” she said fiercely, her face burning. “Who said that to you?
It’s a lie. It’s a complete lie. It’s not true. It isn’t.”
He heard a terrified child behind the woman’s protest.
“Really? Why did Cyprian May send you to Oxford to find Tony on the
seventh of January then?”
“That—it was only—he’d forgotten to get Tony to sign some documents,
that’s all.”
“And he didn’t use a fax machine or a courier because…?”
“They were sensitive documents.”
“Alison,” said Strike, enjoying her agitation, “we both know that’s balls.
Cyprian thought Tony had sloped off somewhere with Ursula for the day, didn’t
he?”
“He didn’t! He hadn’t!”
Up at the bar, Aunt Winifred was waving her arms, windmill-like, at Bristow
and Robin, who were wearing frozen smiles.
“You found him in Oxford, did you?”
“No, because—”
“What time did you get there?”
“About eleven, but he’d—”
“Cyprian must’ve sent you out the moment you got to work, did he?”
“The documents were urgent.”
“But you didn’t find Tony at his hotel or in the conference center?”
“I missed him,” she said, in furious desperation, “because he’d gone back to
London to visit Lady Bristow.”
“Ah,” said Strike. “Right. Bit odd that he didn’t let you or Cyprian know that
he was going back to London, isn’t it?”
“No,” she said, with a valiant attempt at regaining her vanished superiority.
“He was contactable. He was still on his mobile. It didn’t matter.”
“Did you call his mobile?”