Page 224 of The Hallmarked Man
‘He doesn’t know about the note?’ Robin said.
‘No, he doesn’t know about the fuckin’ note, of course he fuckin’ doesn’t!’ said Fiona wildly.
‘You’ll probably just be confirming things we already know,’ said Robin.
‘Other people have talked?’ said Fiona, stopping in her tracks.
‘Yes,’ said Robin. It was semi-true. Shanker had talked.
‘And what’ve they said?’
‘That the man in the vault was killed because he had information on somebody rich and important.’
‘Ohfuck,’ moaned Fiona, starting to pace again.
‘I promise you, we can keep you out of this, if you tell us what you know.’
‘You can’t keep me out of it, I’m up to my fuckingneckin it now, Craig’s gonna fuckingkill me!’
A suspicion now crossed Robin’s mind, a suspicion she knew better than to voice at this early stage of the interview.
‘Do you know Dick de Lion?’ she asked.
‘His name’s Danny,’ said Fiona, her plump lips quivering. ‘Yeah, I know him. I’ve worked with him.’ She burst out, ‘I warned him not to get involved, Iwarnedhim!’
‘Involved in what?’ asked Robin.
Fiona snatched her cigarettes off the island top, crossed to the French windows, opened them and lit up. She took a deep drag andexhaled towards the garden, which was paved, with plants in pots, and a bright pink table and chairs.
‘What’s Danny’s surname?’ asked Robin.
‘Same. De Lion’s his real one.’
‘What was it you didn’t think he should get involved in, Fiona?’
Fiona took another drag on the cigarette and again exhaled towards the garden, waving her free hand to try and keep the smoke out. Robin decided to back off a little.
‘Where’s Danny from? London?’
‘No,’ said Fiona, ‘he comes from this, like, weird place – there aren’t any cars. I thought he was joking but it was for real. There was no cars there, just, like, horse-drawn carts and tractors. I think it’s an island. I thought he was bullshitting, but he wasn’t. He showed me pictures.’
‘What was the place called, can you remember?’
Fiona shook her head.
‘How old is Danny, d’you know?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Has he been in the adult industry long?’
‘Long as me, probably,’ said Fiona. ‘Two, three years.’
She threw a desperate glance at Robin.
‘I don’t know what the guy’s name is, the rich guy. Craig’s never told me. Just that he’s on the telly sometimes.’
Fiona was shivering slightly in the cold, but her craving for nicotine overrode her desire for warmth, because she took yet another deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke garden-wards.
