Page 173 of The Hallmarked Man
‘You agreed to take this case, knowing she’s almost certainly deluded about that body being Fleetwood.’
‘I know, but—’
‘The only thing that’s changed is that you’ve met her and feel sorry for her.’
‘Maybe that’s true,’ said Robin, ‘but—’
‘For her, it’s prove who that body was, or nothing. While Fleetwood’s uncontactable, she’s going to keep trying to prove it was him. If it’s not us, it’ll be someone else. The difference with us is, we don’t bill for bullshit. We’re actively trying to do what she wants, and if it turns out Wright was Semple, Powell or de Lion, job done – he wasn’t Fleetwood.’
‘And if we prove it’s none of them?’
‘Then she’s right: the police might take the possibility it was Fleetwood a bit more seriously, she’ll get her DNA test and bingo, she’s got certainty. You think I’m not trying to help her, but I am. If I can find a way of forcing Valentine to talk—’
‘Why’s it OK to force Valentine to talk to us, but not put surveillance on Albie? Why’s it OK to try and find that girl Tish who Rupert lived with?’
‘Because anything Fleetwood did and saidbeforehe disappeared could shed a light on whether he was intending to disguise himself as William Wright. We can justify that on her bills. What wecan’tjustify is trying to find the living Fleetwood, because the client’s expressly said she doesn’t want us to!’
‘But she’s going to have to face the possibility at some point!’
‘It isn’t our job to tell the client what she wants investigating,’ said Strike. ‘We aren’t fucking social workers.’
They sat in silence for nearly a minute, during which Robin drank some of her coffee, not looking at Strike.
‘I need to get going,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get changed, I’m on Plug this evening. If I don’t see you before, I’ll meet you at Euston on Monday evening.’
Strike watched her go, unhappy with the way the conversation had gone, then pulled his muted mobile out of his pocket. He had another missed call from Pat, in addition to the one he’d ignored on the way to Quo Vadis. He called her back.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘you’ve been trying to reach me.’
‘Yes,’ said Pat, ‘a woman called Bijou Watkins wants to talk to you.’
Strike knew Pat was aware who Bijou Watkins was, but he appreciated the pretence she’d forgotten the smattering of press connecting him with Bijou a few months previously.
‘OK,’ said Strike. ‘I’ve got her details. I’ll ring her now.’
‘Right-o,’ said Pat gruffly, and she hung up.
Strike contemplated Ronnie Scott’s jazz club, which lay almost opposite the café where he was sitting, thinking about what he was about to say. Then he took a lungful of nicotine vapour and called Bijou’s number.
51
… all I want’s the thing
Settled for ever one way. As it is,
You tell too many lies and hurt yourself:
You don’t like what you only like too much,
You do like what, if given you at your word,
You find abundantly detestable.
Robert Browning
Fra Lippo Lippi
‘Hello?’
