1 The Cuckoo's Calling

Rokeby has been married three times: to art-school girlfriend Shirley
Mullens (1969–1973), with whom he has one daughter, Maimie; to
model, actress and human rights activist Carla Astolfi (1975–1979),
with whom he has two daughters, television presenter Gabriella
Rokeby and jewelry designer Daniella Rokeby, and (1981–present) to
film producer Jenny Graham, with whom he has two sons, Edward and
Al. Rokeby also has a daughter, Prudence Donleavy, from his
relationship with the actress Lindsey Fanthrope, and a son, Cormoran,
with 1970s supergroupie Leda Strike.
A piercing scream rose in the inner office behind Robin. She jumped to her feet,
her chair skittering away from her on its wheels. The scream became louder and
shriller. Robin ran across the office to pull open the inner door.
Mrs. Hook, divested of orange coat and purple beret, and wearing what looked
like a flowery pottery smock over jeans, had thrown herself on Strike’s chest and
was punching it, all the while making a noise like a boiling kettle. On and on the
one-note scream went, until it seemed that she must draw breath or suffocate.
“Mrs. Hook!” cried Robin, and she seized the woman’s flabby upper arms
from behind, attempting to relieve Strike of the responsibility of fending her off.
Mrs. Hook, however, was much more powerful than she looked; though she
paused to breathe, she continued to punch Strike until, having no choice, he
caught both her wrists and held them in midair.
At this, Mrs. Hook twisted free of his loose grip and flung herself on Robin
instead, howling like a dog.
Patting the sobbing woman on the back, Robin maneuvered her, by minuscule
increments, back into the outer office.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Hook, it’s all right,” she said soothingly, lowering her into
the sofa. “Let me get you a cup of tea. It’s all right.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Hook,” said Strike formally, from the doorway into his
office. “It’s never easy to get news like this.”
“I th-thought it was Valerie,” whimpered Mrs. Hook, her disheveled head in
her hands, rocking backwards and forwards on the groaning sofa. “I th-thought it
was Valerie, n-not my own—n-not my own sister.”
“I’ll get tea!” whispered Robin, appalled.
She was almost out of the door with the kettle when she remembered that she
had left Jonny Rokeby’s life story up on the computer monitor. It would look too
odd to dart back to switch it off in the middle of this crisis, so she hurried out of
the room, hoping that Strike would be too busy with Mrs. Hook to notice.