Page 107 of The Hallmarked Man
How could a stranger know she’d been Witness G?
‘Excuse me!’ said a cross voice, and a tall, patrician-looking man reached past Robin to seize a boxed Christmas cake.
Robin moved out of the way, the small rubber gorilla still clutched in her left hand, and blundered out of the food hall, looking for a way outside, fruitlessly scanning the face of every man she passed. She wanted to drop the gorilla, throw it away somewhere, but her assailant’s hand had been bare, so it might have his DNA on it, like the rubber mask of her serial rapist, which had been found hidden beneath the floorboards in the ‘study’ his wife had never been permitted to enter. Robin stuffed it into her handbag.
Heading in what she thought must be the direction of Brompton Road, passing cosmetic counters and struggling through more dense crowds, she imagined telling Murphy what had just happened. He’d be outraged. He’d demand to know what measures she was taking to protect herself. And, just as suddenly as she’d imagined telling her boyfriend, she knew she wouldn’t do it.
She had to tell Strike, though. Had she ever told her partner that her almost-killer had worn a gorilla mask? She didn’t think she had.
The cold had deepened outside and night was rapidly falling. Robin moved to stand beside one of the brightly lit windows, out of the way of the shopping hordes, her breath rising frostily before her. Strike answered his mobile within a couple of rings.
‘Hi,’ said Robin, trying to sound casual. ‘How was Todd?’
‘Interesting,’ said Strike. ‘Any luck on Albie Simpson-White?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, ‘he’s meeting me after work.’
‘Great.’
‘Yes… I’m actually calling because something strange just happened,’ said Robin, doing her best to sound mildly interested, as opposed to profoundly shaken.
When she’d related the incident, Strike said incredulously,
‘He put a toygorillain your hand?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘And the thing is… the man who – you know – when I was nineteen – the reason I left uni – he wore a latex gorilla mask, during the… attack.’
Robin suddenly realised that she was very close to tears, and mentally crossed her fingers that Strike wasn’t about to react angrily, to chastise her for not having taken more care, or not been quick enough to spot the man who’d done it.
‘OK,’ said Strike, and to her relief, while he sounded serious, he didn’t sound angry. ‘Where are you speaking to Simpson-White?’
‘I thought somewhere round here, in a pub or something.’
‘D’you want me to come and pick you up afterwards?’
‘What?’ said Robin, with a half-laugh. ‘No, of course not. The middle of town’s packed. I’ll just—’
‘What are you doing afterwards?’
‘Meeting Ryan,’ said Robin.
‘Take a taxi,’ said Strike.
‘There’s no—’
‘Take a bloody taxi.’
‘All right, all right, I’ll take a taxi,’ said Robin. She checked the time, and started walking towards the staff entrance where she was supposed to be meeting Albie. ‘Maybe,’ she said, striving for a calm, objective tone, ‘it was – I don’t know, a coincidence or—’
‘It wasn’t a coincidence.’
‘No,’ said Robin, as double-deckers rushed past her, the faces of passers-by illuminated by the golden glow of Harrods’ windows. ‘I don’t think it was either.’
Tears stung her eyes, and for a few seconds, she wanted to run. But run where? Home to Masham, as she’d done after the rape? Back to Murphy, who she knew she wasn’t going to tell?
‘Just be vigilant,’ said Strike, and she could tell he was exerting maximum self-restraint not to say it more forcefully, ‘all right?’
‘I will,’ said Robin. ‘I promise.’
