Page 298 of The Hallmarked Man
‘You understand you’re under arrest?’ said Northmore, who had large grey pouches under his bloodshot blue eyes.
‘Yep, grasped that,’ said Strike.
‘You’ve forfeited the right to remain silent.’
‘I’ve signed a legally binding contract with my client, who wants confidentiality.’
‘Those rules don’t apply when it’s law enforcement asking the questions, Mr Strike.’
‘Nothing I did this evening has anything to do with my client. I entered Mrs Jameson’s flat,’ Strike continued – he might as well get this bit out of the way – ‘because when I looked through her window I not only saw two people lying on the floor, but signs of movement. I thought at least one of them might’ve been alive, and possibly in urgent need of medical attention.’
‘You can’t have seen any movement,’ said Northmore, and another powerful gust of gingivitis washed over Strike. ‘Unless you’re claiming you spotted maggots through the window,’ he added, with a slight sneer.
‘There was a cat in the room,’ said Strike. ‘The lads who came upstairs with me saw it scarper when I went in. The net curtains were filthy. I couldn’t tell it was an animal moving. I thought it was one of the bodies.’
‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance, if you thought there were two injured people lying on the floor?’
‘Didn’t want to waste the emergency services’ time if they were lying there alive for some reason of their own.’
‘You’ve just said they weren’t answering the door.’
‘Which is why I thought someone needed to get inside urgently and see what was going on.’
They were both, Strike knew, performing for the tape. These exchanges were preliminaries to the important business before them. Northmore was reminding Strike how much trouble he was already in; Strike was laying out the defence he intended to mount, if they really wanted to charge him. The game hadn’t truly begun.
Iverson now spoke, revealing herself, unexpectedly, to be Welsh.
‘Has your client had a baby recently? Or been pregnant, over the last year?’
Strike sincerely hoped his expression hadn’t betrayed him, but the question had come as a shock.
‘Why’re you—?’
‘Wright told one of his upstairs neighbours he had a pregnant girlfriend,’ said Iverson, watching for Strike’s reaction. ‘He said he was saving up for an engagement ring.’
‘The neighbour in question being one of the Mohamed family?’ said Strike.
‘Yes,’ said Iverson.
‘I can’t disclose details about my client,’ said Strike, though the information that Wright had claimed to have a pregnant girlfriend had rattled him.
‘Where did you get the tip-off that Knowles wasn’t the man found in the silver vault?’ asked Iverson.
Noting that they were now acknowledging that they’d been well aware before tonight that Strike was investigating the body in the vault, he replied,
‘A contact.’
‘Same guy who’s previously given you tips on organised crime?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘People might think an informant like that would do more good working with the police, than for a private detective,’ said Northmore. The man’s breath really stank; Strike was trying not to breathe through his nose. ‘Or d’you pay him well enough to make sure you’re the only one who gets tips?’
‘Not a question of money,’ said Strike, and Northmore let out a small, derisive snort, which irritated the detective, though he tried not to show it. ‘This particular contact would collaborate with the Met when hell freezes over.’
‘But we’re to take it on his say so that Knowles went to “Barnaby’s”?’
‘No need to take it on his say so, if I can point you to exactly what and where Barnaby’s is,’ said Strike, deciding it was time to hint at his valuable informational carrot.
