Page 255 of The Hallmarked Man
‘I see they’ve put out a request for information on that silver Peugeot.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, who’d seen blurry pictures of the car online that morning. In spite of the new appeal, there’d been no admission as yet that the police had rethought their identification of Jason Knowles.
‘If both the blonde and the brunette drivers were Medina,’ said Strike, ‘I’m not sure why she didn’t keep the wig on throughout.’
‘I’d imagine a wig would be very hot and itchy, with the amount of real hair she had,’ said Robin.
‘Or perhaps a blonde was supposed to be doing part of the job, and a brunette doing the rest, and nobody was ever supposed to put them together,’ said Strike.
The sun was setting and Plug had just put on the lights of his white van when Strike’s mobile, which was still in his hand, buzzed. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw him read something. He remained completely motionless for nearly thirty seconds. Glancing sideways, Robin saw his apparently stricken face.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I… nothing,’ said Strike.
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Robin. ‘Is it more Culpepper stuff?’
‘No, it’s…’
Dazed with relief, Strike could think of nothing to say but the truth.
‘Just found out I’m not a father.’
‘What?’ said Robin faintly.
‘I didn’t want to tell you—’
Strike felt almost drunk with the release of tension, and his mouth appeared to be acting independently of his brain. He’d only known this sensation a couple of times before in his entire life: arriving through flooded countryside at the old house in St Mawes, in time to reach his aunt’s deathbed; finding Charlotte alive, at last, in hospital, forty-eight hours after he’d found her torn-up dress.
‘—until I was sure.’
‘About what?’
‘Bijou Watkins had Honbold’s baby early,’ said Strike, ‘and he thought it might be mine. I did a DNA test, she’s just forwarded me the results, and it’s nothing to do with me. Jesus fucking Christ,’ said Strike, running a hand over his face before reading out Bijou’s text. ‘“I’ve only just seen this, sorry for the delay” – fuck’s sake – but she knew all along it wasn’t mine, so I assume she wasn’t shitting herself about the results.’
He glanced sideways at Robin, whose gaze was fixed on Plug’s tail-lights.
‘I know I should’ve told you,’ said Strike. ‘I just – after all the other Culpepper shit – I wanted to know for certain what I was dealing with.’
Almost against her will, the vice-like grip of anger and anguish that had been with Robin ever since Ilsa had told her about Bijou’s baby was loosening.
‘When did you take the test?’
‘Thursday. Met her at the Savoy. Cheek swab. Handed it all back to her and if I never see her again, it’ll be too fucking soon.’
He glanced at Robin’s profile.
‘You can say it.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a stupid, reckless fucker who’d have deserved it, if it had been mine.’
‘I wasn’t going—’
‘I’ll say it, then. I’m a stupid, reckless fucker and I’d’ve deserved—’
‘Accidents happen,’ said Robin, who wanted to know how much Strike would tell her.
