Page 119 of The Hallmarked Man
‘I agree in principle,’ said Robin, ‘but we haven’t really got the manpower, have we?’
‘Well, we need to try and make it work, because I want him checked out. It’ll have occurred to you, I’m sure, that given the state of Pamela’s eyesight, the identification of Wright as Knowles rests largely on Jim Todd.’
‘It had occurred to me, yes,’ said Robin, who didn’t much appreciate the roughness of her partner’s tone. It wasn’t her fault that he’d slept with a journalist’s cousin.
‘Anyway,’ Strike said, ‘I read your notes on Albie Simpson-White. You think he knows more than he’s admitting.’
‘I do,’ said Robin. ‘That thing about Rupert having no choice but to leave Decima and “sometimes you’re better off not knowing things” – I want to know what that meant.’
‘That Fleetwood’s got another girlfriend pregnant?’ suggested Strike dismissively.
Robin was further annoyed by this reaction. She’d listened politely to Strike’s speculation about Jim Todd, after all.
‘But he said Rupert really loved Decima, and made him sound quite responsible and level-headed in general—’
‘If “responsible” and “level-headed” means knocking up your girlfriend, nicking a massive bit of silver from her father, then scarpering, Simpson-White needs a new fucking dictionary,’ said Strike, and Robin surmised, correctly, that in Strike’s current mood there was little point in trying to persuade him to take a kinder view of Rupert Fleetwood, so instead she said,
‘Well, if we had enough subcontractors, I’d suggest putting surveillance on Albie, too, because I think there’s an outside chance he’d lead us straight to Rupert. I know Decima doesn’t want us to find him alive, but—’
‘No,’ said Strike. ‘She doesn’t. I called her yesterday because I wanted to check with her about what we found out about Wright in St George’s Avenue, and she made it good and clear the only thing she wants to hear is that he’s dead.’
He brought the notes of his conversation with Decima to the top of the pile in front of him and redoubled his effort to concentrate.
‘I asked if Rupert ever did weights, and Decima said he looks after himself, likes the gym, and she could imagine him doing weights if he didn’t have access to a cross-trainer. As far as she’s aware, he’snever done jujitsu, but he did a bit of wrestling at school. She never saw him smoke dope but knows he has, in the past. I asked whether he knew how to handle a gun and she said, yes, a rifle, because his expensive Swiss boarding school had a shooting club, and then I asked whether he knew or had ever mentioned a woman called Rita or Rita Linda. Also no. Then I asked her whether he was ambidextrous.’
‘What?’ said Robin blankly. ‘Why?’
‘Because before phoning her, I went back through everything we’ve got so far, including the footage you got from Bullen & Co.’
‘But it’s useless,’ said Robin, who’d already looked at the three minutes of film. ‘Wright’s obscured nearly all the time he’s in there.’
‘Yeah, but on a second watch, I noticed something. Come here and I’ll show you.’
So Robin wheeled her chair round to Strike’s side of the partners’ desk. As she did so, Robin felt the mobile in her pocket vibrate, and suspected Pat had just sent her Jonny Rokeby’s message. Now feeling as though she was concealing a small but powerful explosive device on her person, she watched Strike bring up the clip of black and white film, which was far clearer and sharper than that from Ramsay Silver. The wide-angled camera looked down on the whole of Bullen & Co, which had a very large crate sitting close to the entrance and a couple of browsers. A man in a cravat, who Robin took to be Pamela’s husband, was scribbling at the desk.
‘Here he comes,’ said Strike.
Short and powerful-looking, wearing his full beard and glasses, Wright appeared temporarily unobscured, though unfortunately scratching the side of his face, before the largest of the browsing customers blocked him. He was holding a black and silver bag in one hand. Pamela’s husband picked up the bit of paper on which he’d been writing and advanced on Wright.
‘Now,’ said Strike, and he slowed the footage, ‘I know you can’t see him clearly, because of the bloke standing in front of him, but watch: Driscoll takes the bag and Wright bends over the crate to sign what I assume is a handwritten chit to show he took receipt of the centrepiece. Watch his elbow.’
‘Oh God, how did I miss that?’ gasped Robin. ‘He signs with his right hand!’
‘Exactly,’ said Strike, pausing the film. ‘So, there are threepossibilities: one, he’s ambidextrous, two, for some reason he didn’t want the signature he gave at Bullen & Co to look like his own, or, three, he was faking being left-handed at Ramsays, and he forgot the pretence when he had to sign something unexpectedly.’
As Robin wheeled her chair back to the other side of the desk, she heard a high, clear voice she recognised as Kim Cochran’s in the outer office. Then there was a knock on the dividing door, which opened before either partner could say ‘come in’.
‘Oh,’ said Kim, seeing Robin first, ‘if it’s a bad time—’
‘No,’ said Strike, because he didn’t want to give Robin the impression he wasn’t happy for her to hear anything Kim had to say. ‘What’s up?’
Kim entered the room in another skin-tight dress, knee-length and black, with high-heeled boots. Her make-up, Robin noticed, was immaculate. Kim gave a little laugh and gestured down at her outfit in poorly feigned bashfulness, as though she’d only just remembered she was wearing it.
‘Sorry about this, it’s my last afternoon off before Christmas, I’m having lunch with my sister. Anyway, I’ve managed to get details of the getaway car they think the silver vault killers used.’
‘Really?’ said Strike.
‘Yes,’ said Kim. ‘OK if I sit down?’
