Career of Evil

“It’s over there,” he said, pointing frantically to the opposite side of the broadest market square he had ever seen, which was packed with people at food stalls. As Shanker drove none too slowly around the periphery of the market several bystanders scowled and one man in a flat cloth cap shook his fist at the scarred man driving so dangerously in the sedate heart of Masham.

“Park here, anywhere here!” said Strike, spotting two dark blue Bentleys adorned with white ribbons parked at the far end of the square, the chauffeurs talking with their hats off in the sunshine. They looked around as Shanker braked. Strike threw off his seatbelt; he could see the church spire over the treetops now. He felt almost sick, due, no doubt, to the forty cigarettes he must have smoked overnight, the lack of sleep and Shanker’s driving.

Strike had hurried several steps away from the car before dashing back to his friend.

“Wait for me. I might not be staying.”

He hurried away again past the staring chauffeurs, nervously straightened his tie, then remembered the state of his face and suit and wondered why he bothered.

Through the gates and into the deserted churchyard Strike limped. The impressive church reminded him of St. Dionysius in Market Harborough, back when he and Robin had been friends. The hush over the sleepy, sunlit graveyard felt ominous. He passed a strange, almost pagan-looking column covered in carvings to his right as he approached the heavy oak doors.

Grasping the handle with his left hand he paused for a second.

“Fuck it,” he breathed to himself, and opened it as quietly as he could.

The smell of roses met him: white roses of Yorkshire blooming in tall stands and hanging in bunches at the ends of the packed queues. A thicket of brightly colored hats stretched away towards the altar. Hardly anybody looked around at Strike as he shuffled inside, although those that did stared. He edged along the rear wall, staring at the far end of the aisle.

Robin was wearing a coronet of white roses in her long, wavy hair. He could not see her face. She was not wearing her cast. Even at this distance, he could see the long, purple scar ru

“Do you,” came a ringing voice from an unseen vicar, “Robin Venetia Ellacott, take this man, Matthew John Cunliffe, to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward—”

Exhausted, tense, his gaze fixed on Robin, Strike had not realized how near he was to the flower arrangement that stood on a fine, tulip-like bronze stand.

“—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death—”

“Oh shit,” said Strike.

The arrangement he had hit toppled as though in slow motion and fell with a deafening clang to the floor. Congregation and couple turned and looked back.

“I’m—Christ, I’m sorry,” said Strike hopelessly.

Somewhere in the middle of the congregation a man laughed. Most returned their gazes to the altar at once, but a few guests continued to glare at Strike before remembering themselves.

“—do you part,” said the vicar with saintly tolerance.

The beautiful bride, who had not once smiled in the entire service, was suddenly beaming.

“I do,” said Robin in a ringing voice, looking straight into the eyes, not of her stony-faced new husband, but of the battered and bloodied man who had just sent her flowers crashing to the floor.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I can’t remember ever enjoying writing a novel more than Career of Evil. This is odd, not only on account of the grisly subject matter, but also because I’ve rarely been busier than over the last twelve months and have had to keep switching between projects, which is not my favorite way to work. Nevertheless, Robert Galbraith has always felt like my own private playground, and he didn’t let me down on this occasion.

I have to thank my usual team for ensuring that my once-secret identity remains such fun: my peerless editor, David Shelley, who has now been godfather to four of my novels and who makes the editing process so rewarding; my wonderful agent and friend, Neil Blair, who has been Robert’s stalwart supporter from the first; Deeby and SOBE, who have allowed me to pick their military brains clean; the Back Door Man, for reasons best left undisclosed; Amanda Donaldson, Fiona Shapcott, Angela Milne, Christine Collingwood, Simon Brown, Kaisa Tiensu and Da

Particular thanks are due to MP, who enabled me to make a fascinating visit to 35 Section SIB (UK) RMP in Edinburgh Castle. Thanks are also due to the two policewomen who didn’t arrest me for taking photographs of the perimeter of a nuclear facility in Barrow-in-Furness.

To all the lyricists who have worked with and for Blue Öyster Cult, thank you for writing such great songs and for letting me use some of your words in this novel.

To my children, Decca, Davy and Kenz: I love you beyond words and I want to thank you for being so understanding about the times when the writing bug is particularly active.

Lastly and mostly: thank you, Neil. Nobody helped more when it came to this book.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ROBERT GALBRAITH is a pseudonym for J.K. Rowling, bestselling author of the Harry Potter series and The Casual Vacancy. Career of Evil is the third book in the highly acclaimed Cormoran Strike crime fiction series. The Cuckoo’s Calling was published in 2013 and The Silkworm in 2014.

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@RGalbraith

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Also by Robert Galbraith

The Cuckoo’s Calling

The Silkworm

CREDITS

“Career of Evil” (here) Words by Patti Smith. Music by Patti Smith and Albert Bouchard © 1974, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “This Ain’t the Summer of Love” (here, here, and here) Words and Music by Albert Bouchard, Murray Krugman and Donald Waller © 1975, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “Madness to the Method” (here, here, and here) Words and Music by D. Trismen and Donald Roeser © 1985, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “The Marshall Plan” (here) Words and Music by Albert Bouchard, Joseph Bouchard, Eric Bloom, Allen Lainer and Donald Roeser © 1980, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “Mistress of the Salmon Salt (Quicklime Girl)” (here and here) Words and Music by Albert Bouchard and Samuel Pearlman © 1973, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “Astronomy” (here) Words and Music by Albert Bouchard, Joseph Bouchard and Samuel Pearlman © 1974, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “The Revenge of Vera Gemini” (here) Words by Patti Smith. Music by Albert Bouchard and Patti Smith © 1976, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “Flaming Telepaths” (here) Words and Music by Albert Bouchard, Eric Bloom, Samuel Pearlman and Donald Roeser © 1974, Reproduced by permission of Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Ltd, Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, London W1F 9LD. “Good to Feel Hungry” (here) (Eric Bloom, Da