The Running Grave (Cormoran Strike, #7)

by Robert Galbraith

Such people clung to more dominant personalities, training themselves like mistletoe on a tree, absorbing their opinions, their mannerisms and mirroring their style.

There are dangers lurking… pay especial attention to small and insignificant things. The I Ching or Book of Changes

Too many people, even intelligent ones – no, especially intelligent ones – presume innocence when they meet weirdness. “Bit odd, but I mustn’t let my prejudices cloud my judgement.” Then they over-correct, and what d’you get? A kid disappears off the face of the earth, and the whole story’s bloody odd, but the robes and the mystic bullshit get in the way, and nobody wants to look like a bigot, so they say, “Strange, going paddling in the North Sea at five in the morning, but I s’pose that’s the kind of thing people like that do. Probably something to do with moon phases.”’

‘On the contrary. I’m just like you, Jonathan,’ said Strike. ‘Every day, I get up, look myself in the mirror and ask, “Cormoran, are you a righteous vessel for truth and justice?”’

… one may spend a full cycle of time with a friend of kindred spirit without fear of making a mistake. The I Ching or Book of Changes

Such musings came dangerously close to forcing her to confront something she was determinedly avoiding. Ruminations on Strike’s true feelings, as she knew from past experience, led only to confusion and pain.

Strength in the face of danger does not plunge ahead but bides its time, whereas weakness in the face of danger grows agitated and has not the patience to wait. The I Ching or Book of Changes

No plain not followed by a slope. No going not followed by a return. He who remains persevering in danger Is without blame. Do not complain about this truth; Enjoy the good fortune you still possess. The I Ching or Book of Changes

… if one is intent on retaining his clarity of mind, good fortune will come from this grief. For here we are dealing not with a passing mood, as in the nine in the third place, but with a real change of heart. The I Ching or Book of Changes

Unlike Sir Colin Edensor, who’d been born working class, and unlike Lucy, whose childhood had been unclassifiable, Amelia Crichton didn’t cry in public. However, she did press her thin lips together and blink rather rapidly.

‘She was always so… unhappy.’ ‘Yeah,’ said Strike. ‘I know.’ ‘But she wouldn’t ever… there was a – a darkness in her.’ ‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘and she was in love with it. It’s dangerous to make a cult of your own unhappiness. Hard to get out, once you’ve been in there too long. You forget how.’

The sun slid out from behind its cloud, and it was that, surely, and nothing else, that made Strike’s eyes sting.

‘Always a bit of delusion in love, isn’t there?’ said Strike, watching the vapour rise to the ceiling. ‘You fill in the blanks with your own imagination. Paint them exactly the way you want them to be. But I’m a detective… some fucking detective. If I’d stuck to hard facts – if I’d done that, even in the first twenty-four hours I knew her – I’d have walked and never looked back.’ ‘You were nineteen,’ said Robin. ‘Exactly the same age Will was, when he heard Jonathan Wace speak for the first time.’ ‘Ha! You think I was in a cult, do you?’ ‘No, but I’m saying… we’ve got to forgive who we were, when we didn’t know any better. I did the same thing, with Matthew. I did exactly that. Painted in the gaps the way I’d have liked them to be. Believed in Higher-Level Truths to explain away the bullshit. “He doesn’t really mean it.” “He isn’t really like that.” And, oh my God, the evidence was staring me in the face, and I bloody married him – and regretted it within an hour of him putting the ring on my finger.’

‘She said that even though I was a bastard to her, she still loved me. That I’d know one day what I’d given up, that I’d never be happy, deep down, without her. That—’ Strike and Robin had once before sat in this office, after dark and full of whisky, and he’d come dangerously close to crossing the line between friend and lover. He’d felt then the fatalistic daring of the trapeze artist, preparing to swing out into the spotlight with only black air beneath him, and he felt the same now. ‘—she knew I was in love with you.’

‘They make a good couple,’ said Pat complacently. ‘We’ll see,’ said Strike. Ignoring the office manager’s swift, penetrating look, he added, ‘I’ll be in the Flying Horse if you want me.’ Picking up his jacket and the folder Robin had left, he departed. Time would tell whether he’d just done something foolish or not, but Cormoran Strike had at last decided to practise what he’d preached to Charlotte, all those years ago. Happiness is a choice that requires an effort at times, and it was well past time for him to make the effort.