Page 151 of The Hallmarked Man
Having made them both coffee, Strike headed into the inner office, holding the sandwich he’d bought en route. He’d had barely two mouthfuls when his mobile buzzed and he saw a text from Robin.
Update on Gretchen Schiff. I might be getting over-excited, but I think there’s something there. I haven’t mentioned murder, just said we’re investigating a theft, a man with a false name and a woman who looked like Sofia. I expected her to
Strike’s mobile rang: it was Lucy. Strike refused the call and continued reading Robin’s text.
say Sofia would never have had anything to do with robbery, but she went quiet. She’s just got back to me asking for more details. I’ve said I’m not comfortable giving those by phone, but would rather say it in person. I’ve sent her proof that I genuinely am who I say I am.
His mobile rang for a second time: Midge. This time, he answered.
‘Hi, what’s up?’
‘Fookin’ Kim!’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s just had afookin’go at me for sloppy note taking! I’m ex-fookin’police myself, I don’t need her telling me how to keepfookin’files! I’m telling you now, in case she comes running to you: I just told her to do one.’
‘Great,’ said Strike, far less sincerely than he’d said it five minutes previously, before remembering he was supposed to be ‘cutting Midge some slack’.
‘Look, I’m sorry, but it’s herfookin’manner,’ said Midge furiously. ‘She’s not the fookin’ boss of—’
‘I’ll have a word with her,’ said Strike. ‘I can’t talk now, I’ve got to make a call.’
He rang off and returned to Robin’s text.
My impression is she’s worried and wants to know what I know. I’m waiting to hear whether she’s prepared to meet.
Strike put down his sandwich, about to respond, when his mobile rang for a third time: Kim. He picked up.
‘Hi,’ said Kim. ‘I’m sorry about this, but Midge and I have just had a bit of a run-in.’
‘I’ve heard,’ said Strike.
‘Look, I’m just a stickler for keeping files up to date. The thing is, we’re not getting anywhere with Plug, and digging into his mates looks like our best lead. Midge is a bit slapdash—’
‘I’ve never found her slapdash,’ said Strike, which was true, though he’d sometimes had reason to think her insubordinate, ‘and there are ways of communicating with colleagues that don’t give the impression you think you’re their superior.’
He glanced at the time on his computer screen. He had three minutes until his call with Zacharias Lorimer.
‘If she didn’t like my tone, I’m sorry,’ said Kim. ‘I suppose I just get hyper-focused on the job and want everyone firing on all cylinders.’
‘It’s down to Robin and me to decide whether all the subcontractors’ cylinders are firing.’
‘OK, point taken,’ said Kim, ‘I’ll apologise. To be completely honest with you, I was getting pissed off with her, because she’d been goingonandonabout that shitty story in the paper, you know, that thing with you and Candy—’
‘An apology should sort things,’ said Strike firmly, though he didn’t like what he’d just heard.
‘I’ll ring Midge now. Actually, if you’ve got a mo, I wanted to explain about that text I sent, Christmas Eve. I’ve beensoembarrassed. You’re right above this guy Stu in my contacts, he’s been pestering me for a date since he found out I’ve split up with Ray—’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go.’
He hung up, thoroughly disgruntled, wondering whether Midge had indeed been harping on that bloody news story. She had form on loudly expressed comments about his personal life; he well remembered her raging about ‘her with the fake tits’, after his extremely ill-advised liaison with Bijou Watkins had featured inPrivate Eye. Then, realising it was half past one exactly, he hastily brought up FaceTime and tapped in the number on the Post-it note Pat had placed beside his computer.
Zacharias Lorimer answered within a few rings, and Strike found himself facing a young man with thick, wavy blond hair, whose skin had the pink-brown, ham-like hue typical of Anglo-Saxonsexposed to bright sunlight. He was sitting in what appeared to be an upmarket lodge of some kind, with wooden walls. Dazzling sunlight was falling through a window to his right. The corner of a large painting of a lioness and a well-stocked drinks tray were visible in the background, suggesting that Zacharias wasn’t slumming it in Kenya, though his khaki shirt gestured vaguely at some park ranger role.
‘Hi,’ he said, before Strike could speak. ‘You’re Cormoran, yah?’
‘That’s me,’ said Strike. ‘Thanks for getting back—’
