Page 360 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Ah,’ said Martin, and he grinned properly this time. ‘He’s arealfucking tosser.’
‘He is,’ Robin agreed. ‘Not as big a tosser as the bloke you’re worried about, though. Listen… I think you should call Carmen and apologise.’
‘I’m not fucking—’
‘Ireallydon’t think she’s done anything wrong, Martin.’
Robin knew her brother too well to press him; he was incurably contrarian and would do the right thing in his own time, or not at all. She got up from the sofa.
‘I’ll make us something to eat.’
She’d just opened her fridge to scan the paltry contents when, struck by a sudden thought, she returned to the sitting room.
‘Mart, did you just say that Excalibur man put the logo on hisweights?’
‘Yeah, he puts it on fucking everything,’ said Martin.
‘You can put custom designs on weights?’
‘If you’re the kind of prick who likes that sort of thing. Why?’
‘No reason,’ said Robin. She returned to the kitchen.
113
And so it was fated that, one day, after patiently picking round a great piece of rock till it was loosened from its ages-old bed, he felt it tremble under his hand, and leaning his weight against it, it disappeared into space beyond.
John Oxenham
A Maid of the Silver Sea
Robin left Martin asleep on the sofa bed in the sitting room the following morning and headed for the office. There was something she wanted to say to Strike face to face, so she forced herself to drive into town, checking her rear-view mirror constantly, and feeling shaky and exposed during the short walk to Denmark Street.
Arriving shortly after nine, she found Pat already at her desk, and Wardle talking to Strike in the inner office.
‘Didn’t we have three fish in there?’ Robin asked Pat as she hung up her coat, because the large black fish and the smaller gold one appeared to have lost a companion.
‘Travolta died,’ grunted Pat. ‘He says he found him floating when he got in this morning.’
‘Travolta?’
‘Yeah, we had Cormoran, Robin and Travolta. Yours is the only one that hasn’t given any trouble. Makes sense,’ added Pat darkly.
Strike emerged from the inner office, unshaven and looking exhausted.
‘Morning,’ he said to Robin. ‘You missed a real shit show last night. I was just telling Wardle…’
She followed him into the inner office, where Wardle stood, arms folded, leaning against the wall.
‘We intercepted Plug, two mates and his son as they were heading for the front door of fifteen Carnival Street,’ said Strike. ‘They jumped to the conclusion we were allied with the dog killer and pulled out knives. Long story short, Shah got stabbed in the leg.’
Robin gasped; the speech she’d been about to make to Strike fled her mind.
‘Is he OK?’
‘Ish. He was let out of hospital this morning but the wound’s deep. Barclay restrained Plug, and I took down his biggest mate, but the third guy scarpered. We managed to persuade Plug’s son to stay put, though, poor little bastard. You weren’t lying about half his face being chewed off, were you?’
‘No,’ said Robin. ‘I think he’s going to be scarred for life – in more ways than one. Where is he now?’
