1 The Cuckoo's Calling

Bristow threw himself into the seat opposite, breathing hard and squinting at
Strike in the bright evening sun streaming in through the window behind him.
“Somebody,” he said furiously, “called my secretary up this morning,
purporting to be a very important client of ours in Rye, who was requesting an
urgent meeting. I traveled all the way there to find that he’s out of the country,
and nobody had called me at all. Would you mind,” he added, raising a hand to
shield his eyes, “pulling down that blind? I can’t see a thing.”
Strike tugged the cord, and the blind fell with a clatter, casting them both into
a cool, faintly striped gloom.
“That’s a very strange story,” said Strike. “It’s almost as though somebody
wanted to lure you away from town.”
Bristow did not reply. He was glaring at Strike, his chest heaving.
“I’ve had enough,” he said abruptly. “I’m terminating this investigation. You
can keep all the money I’ve given you. I’ve got to think of my mother.”
Strike slid his mobile out of his pocket, pressed a couple of buttons and laid it
on his lap.
“Don’t you even want to know what I found today in your mother’s
wardrobe?”
“You went—you went inside my mother’s wardrobe?”
“Yeah. I wanted to have a look inside those brand-new handbags Lula got, the
day she died.”
Bristow began to stutter:
“You—you…”
“The bags have got detachable linings. Bizarre idea, isn’t it? Hidden under the
lining of the white bag was a will, handwritten by Lula on your mother’s blue
notepaper, and witnessed by Rochelle Onifade. I’ve given it to the police.”
Bristow’s mouth fell open. For several seconds he seemed unable to speak.
Finally he whispered:
“But…what did it say?”
“That she was leaving everything, her entire estate, to her brother, Lieutenant
Jonah Agyeman of the Royal Engineers.”
“Jonah…who?”
“Go and look on the computer monitor outside. You’ll find a picture there.”