Page 290 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Who’s Sylvain Deslandes?’ said Robin.
‘Wolves left-back.’
‘A footballer?’
‘Yeah,’ said Jones, smirking again at the London woman’s lack of elementary knowledge.
‘Can you remember Tyler talking to you about Sylvain Deslandes, or do you just think it’s possible that happened?’
‘We could’ve talked about ’im, yeah,’ said Jones. ‘Lugs rated ’im.’
‘D’you know a girl called Zeta?’ asked Robin. ‘She was living in Ironbridge around the time Tyler left.’
‘No, I don’t know no Zeta,’ said Jones. ‘I don’t live in Ironbridge, I live in Apeton.’
‘Zeta told me Tyler overheard her talking about him, and he threatened her.’
‘Don’t blame ’im,’ said Jones forcefully. ‘If they was saying shit like that about me, I’d’ve bloody decked ’em – girl or not,’ he added, and took another swig of lager.
‘Did Tyler ever borrow any of the cars at the garage where he worked?’
‘No, ’course ’e didn’t. Why?’
‘Zeta says a car nearly hit her on Wellsey Road, and she thought—’
‘WesleyRoad,’ Jones corrected her, with a local’s pedantic pleasure in correcting the ignorant out-of-towner.
‘So you do know Ironbridge?’ said Robin.
‘I was at school there, wa’n I? And I go there for a drink sometimes.’
‘But you’ve never run across Zeta?’
‘No, and if she’s saying Lugs fuckin’ tried to run ’er over, she’s a fuckin’ attention-seeking liar.’
‘What about Rita?’ said Robin. ‘Did you ever hear Tyler mention anyone of that name?’
‘Zeta, Rita – ’oo’s next, Peter?’
‘Ryvita,’ said the out-of-sight youth with the crooked teeth, and both young men guffawed.
‘So he never talked about a woman called Rita, or Reata?’ Robin persisted.
‘Bloody ’ell, I jus’ told you, it was fucking Chloe Griffiths ’e liked,’ said Jones impatiently, ‘so Zeta and Rita and all those tossers going on about the crash, they was talking bollocks, and if they was claiming ’e done stuff to them, too, they’re full of shit, all right? Chasing clout off the back of all what ’appened.’
‘Wynn, I’d be really glad if you’d give me the name of the pub where Tyler’s working. I’d just like to reassure Dilys that he’s alive, and that’ll be the end of it.’
‘Maybe I’ll give you the name if you give me something,’ said Jones, and the out-of-sight young man snorted with laughter.
‘Did Tyler have any other friends I might talk to, about where he’s gone?’ said Robin, ignoring the second hint that Jones wanted quid pro quos.
‘No,’ said Jones, and then, ‘well, yeah, he had friends, but nobody knows more’n I know.’
‘Can you please give me the name of the pub where he’s working, Wynn?’
Jones took a large swig from his Carlsberg can, emptying it, then crushed it one-handed and bent down to fetch another; Robin caught a glimpse of a dirty carpet and an overflowing ashtray.
‘Whachew gonna give me?’ said Jones, his fat face even redder for having bent over. He laid his mobile on his lap and Robin now saw a nicotine-stained ceiling and the underside of the can Jones was opening before his face filled the screen again.
