Strike saw for the first time the boy’s resemblance to his grandmother, Strike’s own mother, Leda. He had the same very dark hair, pale skin and finely drawn mouth. He would, in fact, have made a beautiful girl, but Leda’s son knew what puberty was about to do to the boy’s jaw and neck… if he lived. Course he’s going to bloody live. The nurse said— He’s in intensive fucking care. They don’t put you in here for hiccups.
