Page 256 of The Hallmarked Man
‘It wouldn’t have been an accident, not from her end. Ilsa told me she’s adept at waste-bin salvage.Christ,’ said Strike again, running his hand through his hair as he looked around. ‘Why isn’t there booze in here? We should keep a bottle handy.’
‘So you can celebrate every time you find out you’re not a father?’
‘There won’t be another time, I can promise you that,’ said Strike. ‘No more women who’re walking red flags. I had no excuse for not seeing trouble when it’s right in front of me, I had sixteen years’ fucking experience.’
‘So, then,’ said Robin, ‘why disregard the red flag?’
‘Because sometimes,’ said Strike, all caution gone, ‘if you can’t get what you want, you take what you can get.’
Confusion and trepidation flooded Robin. What did he mean? What, or who, did he want? Was there yet another woman she didn’t know about, for whom he yearned? Was he talking about the dead Charlotte, now forever beyond hope of reform or reunion? Or was he hinting…? But she couldn’t make herself ask. She was scared of taking a step that might put her in possession of information that would have ramifications way beyond deciding whether she and Murphy should put in a higher bid on a house.
Beside her, Strike was thinking,ask me. Ask me what I mean and I’ll bloody say it. Ask.
Neither spoke. They drove on in silence.
79
… to Haides’ realm descended he
To drag into the light the three-shaped hound
Of Hell…
Robert Browning
Herakles
Over an hour later, Plug’s white van indicated left and turned up the road that led to the compound on waste ground, north of Ipswich.
‘What’s the plan?’ said Robin, peering through the darkness ahead, Plug’s tail-lights the only things clearly visible.
‘If at all possible, gain admittance by trying to look as if we’ve got our own dangerous dog in the back,’ said Strike. ‘This is where a Land Rover comes in handy.’
‘OK,’ said Robin, ‘but – shit – I don’t think this is going to work, Strike, I think they’re taking names…’
A bearded man holding a flashlight was standing at the end of the dirt track that led to the compound. Plug wound down his window; he and the sentinel exchanged a few brief words, and the latter waved him on. Robin glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw another van creeping closer, this one blue.
‘Worth a try,’ said Strike. ‘Keep going.’
The burly man was looking past the Land Rover to the blue van. He grinned, waved, indicated casually that the Land Rover should proceed, and strolled past it, presumably to speak to a friend.
‘Good job,’ said Strike, as Robin accelerated up the track.
The sound of distant, low-pitched shouts grew louder as they approached a patch of rough ground on which many cars and vans were parked. Over to the left they could see a crowd of men insilhouette, all surrounding something unseen that was illuminated by the headlights of three parked vans.
Robin parked. Twenty yards away, Plug had got out of his van, barely discernible in the darkness. Outbuildings surrounded them, and wire pens behind which enormous barking dogs scrambled.
‘After I get out, turn the car round,’ said Strike.
‘What d’you mean, “get out” – we can film from here!’ said Robin. She didn’t like the look of the crowd, nor was she enjoying the growls, yelps and howls issuing not only from the arena, but from surrounding vehicles.
‘If I can get footage of faces, we’ve got a prosecution, but I want the car facing the road in case I need a quick getaway. Stay here and keep the doors locked.’
Before Robin could protest further, Strike had got out of the car. Robin watched him walking away towards the crowd, moving carefully over the rough ground. As far as Robin could see, she was the only woman present.
She turned the Land Rover around so that its nose was pointing back towards the road. Only then did she remember that Murphy had texted her while driving, so she took out her mobile.
This is a great fucking Valentine’s Day.
