Page 287 of The Hallmarked Man
‘What?’
‘Yeah. Quite the coincidence, after you saying you were surprised he hadn’t been in touch. He gave me the nickname he claims Decima used for him, admitted to stealing the nef, but when I pressed him for something only he and Decima would know, he hung up.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin.
‘He had a bass voice. I’ve emailed Decima to ask whether that fits Rupert, though knowing her, she’ll say someone must’ve been puttingit on. I think I’ve found Todd’s mother, too. She’s in Harlesden, so I’m going to check her out as soon as I’ve got time, see whether Todd’s been in touch. And one other thing,’ said Strike, hoping there wasn’t about to be a row. ‘Kim’s resigned. I’ve just got the email.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin again. For the first time in days, her spirits lifted. ‘Why—? Did something happen, or—?’
‘Yeah, something happened,’ said Strike, who’d decided he needed to be honest about this, even if it led to trouble. ‘She turned up for surveillance and she was in a state. Her ex has gassed himself in his car.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘And thenhisex turned up at Kim’s, to give Kim a hiding. She arrived in the bar and she was crying, she’d been roughed up and… well, she was leaning on me and putting her hand on my leg and—’ He remembered the naked photograph, but decided against mentioning it. ‘I’d had a few. I told her to sod off and she took offence. Well,’ Strike admitted, ‘I was fairly offensive. Anyway, it’s a two-line resignation: “I wish to terminate my contract with immediate effect. Kindly forward the balance of payment.”’
‘Right,’ said Robin, feeling slightly dazed. This was a lot to process in a single phone call. ‘Well… to be completely honest… I’m glad to see the back of her.’
‘Thank Christ,’ said Strike, relaxing slightly. He’d been worried about Robin’s reaction; specifically, that she might be uptight about him having more of what might be generally termed ‘woman trouble’. ‘In better news, Wardle’s handed in his resignation at work, so we won’t be short staffed for long.’
‘Great,’ said Robin. ‘Well, I’ve just had a breakthrough with Wynn Jones. I’ll be FaceTiming him in half an hour.’
‘He still flirting?’
‘If you can call it “flirting”, sending me aubergine emojis,’ said Robin.
‘Sending you what?’ said Strike, on whom this comment was lost. He’d never used an emoji in his life.
‘I’ll explain some other time,’ said Robin. She’d never yet discussed erect penises or the symbols used for them online with Strike, and wasn’t going to start now. ‘I’ll let you know how I get on. Speak later.’
Robin made herself a coffee and, at the appointed time, called Wynn Jones on her laptop. After just a few rings, he answered with the words ‘all right?’
Jones was a heavy-set youth with a double chin and almost no neck. His very short dark hair had already receded to reveal a large expanse of shiny red forehead. One of his eyes was larger than the other, which gave him an unfortunate look of craftiness. With his weathered appearance and his tartan shirt, he’d have blended in easily with any of the land workers Robin had known in Masham, some of them school mates who were uninterested in academic life because they had farms on which to work and, in some cases, to inherit.
Jones was sitting in what looked like a very cramped and none-too-tidy sitting room. The leatherette sofa bore evidence of having been shredded in places by a cat’s claws. Buckled beer cans and takeaway cartons were piled on a low table to Jones’ left and the edge of a dartboard was visible over his head, the surrounding wall pockmarked with holes. Jones was clutching a can of Carlsberg, and though it was barely six o’clock in the evening, he had the slightly sloppy, glazed look of a man who’d already had several beers.
‘Hi,’ said Robin. ‘Thanks very much for agreeing to talk to me, Wynn.’
‘’S’all right,’ said Jones. He glanced off camera and raised his eyebrows at someone or something out of sight; a knowing, amused look.
‘She ’ot, then?’ said a voice off-camera.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said the smirking Jones.
‘So, as I explained, Wynn,’ said Robin, pretending she hadn’t heard this, ‘I wanted to talk to you about Tyler, because his grandmother thinks—’
‘’E was a body,’ said Jones, and Robin heard gruff chortles from the man off camera. ‘Senile, i’n she? Smart London detective like you shoulda worked that out by now, if you’ve talked to her.’
Chippy distaste for the capital and its denizens was also familiar to Yorkshire-born Robin, so she ignored this comment.
‘Dilys doesn’t believe the man who’s called her since July is Tyler. She thinks—’
‘It’s me, yeah,’ said Jones, looking unabashed. ‘Daft old cow. I’ve told her it’s not. Lugs told me to tell ’er, so I did.’
‘Lugs?’
‘That’s what we call him. “Lugs”. You and Jonny Rokeby’s boy should be paying me, by rights. Telling you stuff you should already know.’
The man off camera laughed.
