Page 194 of The Hallmarked Man

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Strike chose to pretend he hadn’t heard that.

‘What are they more worried about, that I’ve got the pictures, or that they fucked up, claiming the body was Knowles?’

‘Both. And they probably think you’re about to upstage them. Again.’

‘It’s not them I’d be upstaging if I identify that body, it’d be Malcolm Truman,’ said Strike. ‘Are they going to own the mistake, or keep pretending it was Knowles?’

‘Dunno. Just thought you should know, they’ll be looking for any reason to clobber you, if you get under their feet.’

‘Warning noted,’ said Strike. ‘Any line on what happened to Knowles’ body yet?’

‘No idea. I’m signed off work.’

‘You ill?’ asked Strike.

‘Not really,’ said Wardle. Then, evidently feeling this required explanation, he said, ‘Doctor says it’s depression.’

‘Ah,’ said Strike, ‘right.’

Wardle had lost his brother to a hit-and-run a few years previously. Strike knew he’d been trying to act as a surrogate father to his four nephews and nieces ever since. Meanwhile, Wardle’s wife had left him, taking their own three-month-old baby with her.

‘Thinking of getting out, actually,’ said Wardle.

‘Of the Met?’ said Strike, keen to clarify what Wardle meant. Men sometimes took a different way out. He’d known a couple.

‘Yeah,’ said Wardle. ‘I’m just… fucking tired.’

‘Job at the agency, any time you fancy taking it,’ said Strike. ‘Change of pace. Friendly team – if you don’t count me, obviously.’

‘Huh,’ said Wardle, in a forced laugh.

‘Fancy a pint when I get back to London?’

‘Yeah, all right. Where are you?’

‘Scotland,’ said Strike. ‘I’ll call you when I get back to town.’

‘Right,’ said Wardle, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic.

Call finished, Strike looked out of the window, feeling even more depressed. The rain was falling more thickly outside. He pulled out his vape, caught the censorious eye of the waitress, put it back in his pocket and ordered a second coffee.

62

Ubi honor non est, where no honour is,

Ibi contemptus est; and where contempt,

Ibi injuria frequens; and where that,

The frequent injury,ibi et indignatio;

And where the indignation,ibi quies

Nulla; and where there is no quietude,

Why,ibi, there, the mind is often cast

Down from the heights where it proposed to dwell…

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