Page 348 of The Hallmarked Man
‘One of the “jaunts” Miss Cochran’s just mentioned us taking was to the island of Sark, although you’ll be pleased to hear we didn’t bill Miss Mullins for that. Ever been to Sark?’
Branfoot didn’t answer. His sudden, uncharacteristic stillness was less of a prey animal than of a carnivore preparing to attack.
‘Interesting place,’ said Strike conversationally. ‘Lots to see. And guess who we met there? An acquaintance of yours.’
Strike helped himself to a bread roll. The silence continued unimpeded until the starters arrived.
There was a good deal of fuss in assembling the component parts of Branfoot’s caviar. Strike, who’d ordered Cornish mackerel, had taken a couple of mouthfuls in the time it took for the waiter to have placed the egg whites, the blinis, the raw onion and the caviar to his symmetrical satisfaction. When at last the waiter had departed, Strike said to Branfoot,
‘I’d’ve given a grand to hear your hitman explain why he had to kill de Leon in the vault of a masonic silver shop. What did he do, pass it off as a bit of 3D chess? Masonic overkill – useful you being a mason, you’ll be able to head them off? Don’t get me wrong, it fits together. I seriously considered the possibility you’d been pulling a double bluff, especially as you’ve been behaving like a man who believed his hit had come off. But long investigative experience has led me to the conclusion that if you can have a face-to-face chat with a bloke, he’s definitely not dead.’
Robin had to admire Branfoot’s sangfroid. Seemingly unruffled, he was piling caviar onto a blini. Kim, on the other hand, hadn’t touched her spiced duck liver terrine.
‘If you were thinking of sending a second hitman after de Leon,’ said Strike, ‘you should know, it’s too late. He’s already talked. So, since we’re totting up items we think might interest the papers, there’s the Winston Churchill Lodge, to which both you and Malcolm Truman belong, the flat on Black Prince Road, your longstanding association with porn producer Craig Wheaton, photos of you and various adult actors going in and out of the flat, and, from what I hear, a sizeable list of people who, once they realise they’ve been covertly filmed fucking porn stars—’
Kim, who’d picked up her fork, dropped it on her plate with a clatter. Strike grinned.
‘I didn’t think he’d have been able to resist getting you on film,’ hesaid to her. ‘What did he do, take you to a local bar, introduce you to some good-looking bloke, then retire with apologies? Well, now you know. He wasn’t going home to the wife, he was sneaking off to the flat to wait behind the mirror, flies down, cock in hand.’
Still, Branfoot didn’t speak. He was continuing to eat caviar.
‘Now, I might be wrong,’ said Strike, ‘but I think masonic policemen, a TV rent-a-gob, secret filming, a bunch of porn stars and a bungled hit will be of far more interest to the papers than a woman who didn’t want her family to know she had a baby, and hired us to find out whether her son’s father is still alive. But I’ve got a recording of you making implicit threats to expose her,’ he added, tapping the mobile in his breast pocket, ‘so we can add blackmail to the list.’
Robin waited for some kind of outburst from Branfoot, but he merely stared at Strike across the table, mechanically chewing his last blini. At last, he got slowly to his feet and, looking down at Strike, said,
‘You can pay faw your own fucking dinner.’
He threw down his napkin, and, without so much as a glance at Kim, he walked out.
Kim was white-faced and seemed pinned to her chair by shock. Strike raised a hand to hail a watching waiter.
‘Could you cancel Lord Branfoot’s main course, please?’ he said. ‘He’s been called away unexpectedly. And cancel hers, as well,’ he added, pointing at Kim.
‘Are you—?’ began the waiter.
‘She’s sure,’ said Strike.
The confused waiter retreated.
‘So,’ said Strike, turning to Kim. ‘Your turn. You told me you left the force because of “politics”.’
‘I did,’ said Kim.
‘What’s political about giving a co-worker a blow job in a car while you’re both supposed to be on duty?’
Kim’s face grew scarlet.
‘That didn’t happen. People said it did, but it didn’t.’
‘So why’s Ed Billings’ wife chucked him out?’
‘Itdidn’t happen– that was a total – it was a rumour started by Ray’s ex!’
‘You didn’t give a shit what was true when you went to Dominic Culpepper and told him I’d fathered a baby with Bijou Watkins.Don’t even think about fucking bullshitting me,’ he added, when Kim openedher mouth. ‘I know it was you. But once the press have got hold of the film Branfoot took in his fuck pad in Lambeth, and found an ex-policewoman on camera, it’ll take them two minutes to find out you left because you were caught blowing a married colleague—’
‘I didn’t do it, it’s a lie, Ididn’t—’
‘Oh, they’ll probably shove in a couple of “allegeds”, but from that point on, nobody’s going to care who else was in that flat. You’ll be the headline for weeks,’ said Strike.
