1 The Cuckoo's Calling

7
A MAN IN HIS MID-TWENTIES was edging his way into the tiny café. He was short,
slight and extravagantly good-looking.
“Hey, Derrick,” he said, and the driver and security guard exchanged a dap
greeting, gripping each other’s hands and bumping knuckles, before Kolovas-
Jones took his seat beside Wilson.
A masterpiece produced by an indecipherable cocktail of races, Kolovas-
Jones’s skin was an olive-bronze, his cheekbones chiseled, his nose slightly
aquiline, his black-lashed eyes a dark hazel, his straight hair slicked back off his
face. His startling looks were thrown into relief by the conservative shirt and tie
he wore, and his smile was consciously modest, as though he sought to disarm
other men, and preempt their resentment.
“Where’sa car?” asked Derrick.
“Electric Lane.” Kolovas-Jones pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “I
got maybe twenty minutes. Gotta be back at the West End by four. Howya
doing?” he added, holding out his hand to Strike, who shook it. “Kieran Kolovas-
Jones. You’re…?”
“Cormoran Strike. Derrick says you’ve got—”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Kolovas-Jones. “I dunno whether it matters, probably not,
but the police didn’t give a shit. I just wanna know I’ve told someone, right? I’m
not saying it wasn’t suicide, you understand,” he added. “I’m just saying I’d like
this thing cleared up. Coffee, please, love,” he added to the middle-aged waitress,
who remained impassive, impervious to his charm.
“What’s worrying you?” Strike asked.
“I always drove her, right?” said Kolovas-Jones, launching into his story in a
way that told Strike he had rehearsed it. “She always asked for me.”
“Did she have a contract with your company?”
“Yeah. Well…”
“It’s run through the front desk,” said Derrick. “One of the services provided.
If anyone wants a car, we call Execars, Kieran’s company.”
“Yeah, but she always asked for me,” Kolovas-Jones reiterated firmly.
“You got on with her, did you?”
“Yeah, we got on good,” said Kolovas-Jones. “We’d got—you know—I’m not
saying close—well, close, yeah, kinda. We were friendly; the relationship had
gone beyond driver and client, right?”