Page 288 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Dilys is always thinkin’ people are tryna trick her,’ said Wynn.‘Thought the postman had nicked her pension book last year, daft old bat. Lugs is sick of ’er, anyway. Making him do her shopping and all sorts.’
‘Haveyouheard from Tyler since he left?’
‘Yeah, but then he got pissed off with me,’ said Jones, grinning more broadly than ever.
‘Why was that?’
‘Called him a fuckin’ coward, din’ I?’
‘Why did you call him a coward?’
‘Should’ve just fuckin’ thumped all of ’em what were saying shit about him and that crash,’ said Jones, and he took another sip of lager. ‘’S what I’d’a done, if they were talking shit aboutme. Made himself look proper fuckin’ guilty, running away.’
‘So you’re sure Tyler’s innocent, are you?’
‘Why’re you askin’ me that, if you’re on Dilys’s side?’
‘I’m just trying to find out where Tyler’s gone and whether anyone’s hurt him,’ said Robin.
‘Nobody’s bloody’urthim, he’s fine! An’ he wouldn’t never of done nothing to his Mazda. Go all the way to Birmingham to fuck with it? Bloody load of balls.’
‘People said the car was tampered with in Birmingham, did they?’
‘“People” didn’t say it. Fuckin’ Faber White’ead did.’
‘This is Hugo’s father?’
‘Yeah. He was putting it about someone on the car park camera, fiddlin’ with it.’
‘Really?’ said Robin. ‘D’you know what that person looked—?’
‘There wasn’t nobody there,’ sneered Jones. ‘White’ead didn’t want to believe his dipshit fucking son was speeding. Sabotage my arse.’
The person off camera laughed again.
‘Tyler was at home the night of the crash, right?’ said Robin.
‘Yeah, ’e ’ad a cold or something.’
‘Were his parents there?’
‘No, they’d buggered off to Florida by then.’
‘D’you know where he’s gone, Wynn?’
‘Yeah,’ said Jones, his smirk widening. ‘But you gotta make it worth my while if I’m gonna tell you that.’
There was yet another bark of laughter in the background.
‘Tyler’s not there now, is he?’ said Robin, struck by a sudden suspicion. ‘Listening to you talk to me?’
Robin heard a door opening and slamming and a lot of chortling.
‘No, ’course not,’ said Jones, grinning more broadly than ever.
‘Could you introduce me to the friend you’ve got there, listening in?’ Robin asked.
The camera made a dizzying spin as Jones turned his phone to face a young man with crooked brown teeth, who was sitting on a sagging tweed armchair. Robin assumed the door behind the latter was the one that had just been slammed, either for comic effect by the snaggle-toothed youth, or by a third party who’d just left. He waved at Robin, leering, and the camera phone swung back towards Jones.
