Page 26 of The Hallmarked Man
If two lives join, there is oft a scar,
They are one and one, with a shadowy third…
Robert Browning
By the Fire-Side
Once the subcontractors had finished their cake and departed for their various jobs, Strike and Robin moved into the inner office, where the window was misted with fine rain. As Robin closed the door on Pat, Strike said,
‘Midge hasn’t exactly been a ray of sunshine lately.’
‘Kim talked over her,’ Robin pointed out.
‘I don’t just mean that. She’s been in a foul mood all this week.’
‘She and Tasha aren’t doing so well,’ said Robin, who’d heard the full story of Midge’s relationship troubles the last time she and Midge handed over surveillance on Mrs A. ‘Tasha’s away filming and Midge thinks she might be up to something with her leading man.’
Strike made an indeterminate noise. His subcontractors’ difficult love lives were of minimal interest to him; his own was giving him quite enough grief.
‘Ryan’s managed to get some information for us, on the body in the vault,’ Robin continued. ‘He knows someone who was on the case.’
‘Ah,’ said Strike. ‘Great.’
He didn’t like having to be obliged to Murphy for it, but information was still information.
‘I know it’s your birthday, so you’ve probably got plans,’ Robin went on, ‘but if you were free to come over to my place tonight, you could hear what he’s got directly from him. He doesn’t want to text it. Apparently it’s very sensitive.’
‘Yeah, I could do that,’ said Strike, whose plans for the evening had comprised lying on his bed drinking beer while watching Arsenal play Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League, which wasn’t what he’d told Lucy, who thought he was being taken out to dinner by his friends Nick and Ilsa.
Robin picked up a photo lying on the desk.
‘Is this what you wanted to show me?’
‘No, but you should see it anyway,’ said Strike. ‘That’s Rupert Fleetwood.’
While Robin was examining Rupert Fleetwood’s round face and broad shoulders, and his waiter’s uniform of burgundy bow tie and waistcoat, Strike said,
‘I called Shanker last night, to see if he’s heard of a big-time coke dealer who might go by the name of “Dredge”.’
Shanker, as Robin knew, was the name of a career criminal Strike had known since the age of seventeen. She had a fondness for him Strike felt was at least partially ill-advised.
‘And?’ asked Robin.
‘He knew who I was talking about. Fleetwood’s idiot housemate definitely tangled with the wrong bloke. I’ve asked Shanker to have a sniff around for me, find out whether this Dredge might’ve bumped off any ex-public schoolboys lately. Usual rates,’ Strike added.
Friends though they were, Shanker wasn’t a man who performed services for free.
‘Well, that’s good,’ said Robin. ‘I read your email about Rupert’s aunt, by the way. She doesn’t sound exactly cosy.’
‘Old-school dragon,’ said Strike. ‘Zero affection or concern. Mind you, we don’t know the backstory. Maybe he robbed her blind before leaving Switzerland for England.’
‘But she said he’s in New York?’
‘Yeah, but refused to tell me whether she’s heard from him since the twenty-fifth of May. Must admit, I can’t help wondering how hard the police would look for a man whose next of kin insist he’s not missing. Decima isn’t married to him and they weren’t living together, so she hasn’t got much standing in terms of triggering a search.’
‘I had a look through all the news coverage of the murder, while I was off,’ said Robin. ‘People talking about the masonic legend of Hiram Abiff. Had you ever heard of him?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Strike. ‘Most skilful artificer of Solomon’s temple,murdered for refusing to divulge the Master Mason’s secrets.I will keep a worthy brother Master Mason’s secrets inviolable, when communicated to and received by me as such, murder and treason excepted,’ he intoned.
