Page 177 of The Hallmarked Man
Beside Medina’s picture were the three photographs Kim had procured of William Wright’s corpse. Strike examined the detailing on the sash for a few seconds, then sat down at his desk, switched on his computer monitor and went to search Amazon for A. H. Murdoch’s ebooks, purchasing what appeared to be the man’s best known work,Secrets of the Craft.
Strike assumed that the number 32, which was picked out in red beads on the sash on the corpse, referred to one of the masonic degrees, and quickly discovered that he was right. Achieving degree thirty-two gave a Freemason the rank of Sublime Prince of the Royal Secret, was symbolised by wavy swords and a Teutonic cross bearing an eagle that also appeared on the sash, and was superseded in status only by the highest degree of all, Sovereign Grand Inspector-General.
Long since out of copyright, Murdoch’s book hadn’t been properly formatted, but scanned into digital form, so that the occasional word was illegible. Strike skim read the entry under Degree Thirty-Two.
The Sublime Prince of the Royal Secret becomes with the degree’s endowment none other than a Christian Knight, the spiritual and legitimate successor of the Knights Templar…
Strike scrolled on, until he spotted the word ‘silver’.
When she elevates and illuminates, a pure and chaste woman is as silver, or the moon. The [… ] Freemason is sure never to mistake base lead for the nobler metal, else he may find himself forever entombed in the dungeons of lust and licentiousness.
The last line brought back uncomfortable thoughts of Bijou Watkins, but before Strike could sink further into gloom, his mobile rang again.
‘Strike.’
‘Ah’ve got tae get out of here,’ said a weak Glaswegian voice.
‘Barclay?’ said Strike, frowning. ‘You all right?’
‘Ah’m fucked. Ye’ll have tae get someone else fer Plug.’
‘Have you been bloody spotted again?’
‘Naw, Ah’ve ate a fuckin’ prawn…’
‘You’vewhat?’
‘Ate… a fuckin’ prawn… the fuckin’ sandwich mustae bin mislabelled…fuck…’
Strike heard retching.
‘What are you, allergic?’
‘Aye, Ah’m fuckin’ allergic,’ came Barclay’s weak response. ‘I need tae get tae a fuckin’ bog…’
‘All right, I’ll take over Plug,’ said Strike. ‘Where is he?’
Barclay retched again then gasped,
‘Camberwell. At his mum’s.’
‘Right, you get away,’ said Strike, getting to his feet. ‘Sure you don’t need—?’
‘Naw, the wife’s comin’… I cannae drive like—’
The call terminated as Barclay began to vomit again.
54
A man may be a good sort of man in general, and yet a very bad man in particular: good in the Lodge and bad in the world; good in public, and bad in his family; good at home, and bad on a journey…
Albert Pike
Morals and Dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry
Robin was still tailingJim Todd, who’d got off the first train at Liverpool Street and changed on to the Circle Line, which, for reasons so far undiscovered, appeared to be by far his favourite.
Todd remained on the new train for nearly an hour, intermittently playing the game on his phone and glancing around at the surrounding passengers. Once or twice he shifted seat, although Robin couldn’t see why he’d done so. He didn’t appear to have spotted her, but as a precaution she made small changes to her appearance every now and then while Todd was looking away: putting on the pair of clear-lensed glasses she kept for exactly this kind of situation, taking off her beanie hat and turning it the other way out, so that the red fleece showed rather than the black. She also changed position, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing: anything to stop him realising there was another person in this carriage who seemed to enjoy going round in circles just as much as he did.
