Page 374 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Oh no,’ said Robin.
‘You’ve always felt sorrier for him than he deserves,’ said Strike. ‘I know about the dead son and the ill wife, but the man’s an idiot.’
‘All right, calm down,’ said Robin, in mild surprise at Strike’s grouchy tone. ‘People make mistakes.’
‘Yeah, and I’ve made plenty, but I’m not sentimental about people who make easily avoidable, repeated fuck-ups and that bloody shop was a fuck-up from the start.’
He heard beeping.
‘Got another call?’
‘Yes, sorry – I’ll have to take this, it’s Ryan. I’ll—’
‘Fine, speak to you tomorrow,’ said Strike curtly, and he rang off.
‘Hi,’ Robin said to her boyfriend.
‘Everything OK with you?’ asked Murphy.
‘Great,’ she answered, because what else could she say?
I think, tomorrow, we might be breaking a case the police got badly wrong, but I haven’t been able to tell you how we got there, because that would involve me telling you a whole load of things I’ve been deliberately concealing from you. Also, my work partner’s about to break into a private house again and I haven’t done anything to stop it.
‘What’s going on with you?’ she asked. ‘How’s the pipe bomb guy?’
‘Confirmed as a kid with interpersonal problems,’ said Murphy. ‘Nothing to do with the Westminster attack.’
‘Good,’ said Robin, though she wasn’t sure why. Bombs were bombs. Perhaps it was a relief to think the youth had turned murderous alone, not as part of an organisation. Her sense of foreboding had been increasing throughout her conversation with Strike; Oz had an unknown number of associates.
‘Anyway,’ said Murphy, ‘I’ve been thinking about my birthday.’
It took Robin a few seconds to recalibrate her brain to everyday life. Of course, Murphy’s birthday was fast approaching: she’d need to buy him a present, in addition to those she still hadn’t purchased for her new nephews.
‘I’ve booked the restaurant at the Ritz,’ said Murphy. ‘I was thinking, we don’t push the boat out often enough. I’m giving you plenty of notice so you can get the night off, all right? Because they’ve got my credit card number.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin blankly. ‘OK. I mean – right, I’ll make sure I’ve got it off.’
Fearing she’d been insufficiently enthusiastic, she added,
‘That’ll be lovely, the Ritz.’
But after Murphy had hung up, Robin sat frozen, staring at the Raoul Dufy print hanging above her mantelpiece. It showed a seascape viewed through two open windows, and it added a trace of yearning to her sudden feeling of panic.
Her boyfriend’s preference when eating out had always been gastropubs. Never, in the whole of their relationship, had he suggested going anywhere as fancy as the Ritz. It wasn’t that he was parsimonious: on the contrary, he was a generous tipper, the first to offer to buy a round, but he’d never shown the slightest inclination for French food, or the kind of restaurant for which you needed to dress up.
Ten miles away, Strike was regretting the tone he’d taken with Robin about Kenneth Ramsay. His strictures on those who did stupidthings and were far too easily forgiven by Robin had very little to do with the silver shop owner and everything to do with the lapsed alcoholic whose proposal, he was certain, was approaching fast.
Work usually enabled Strike to forget his personal troubles; he was adept at sectioning off parts of his brain and focusing exclusively on whatever needed to be done, a talent honed in the military. Unfortunately, the tactic wasn’t working particularly well these days, because the person on whom he was trying not to dwell was inextricably linked with the job.
Nevertheless, careful planning and preparation were essential if he was going to get away with what he’d be attempting the following day, so, doing his best to push thoughts of Robin and Murphy aside, Strike resumed making a list of the things that needed to be done or procured before he dealt with what would hopefully be the last part of the silver vault job. Having read through everything he’d written so far, Strike addedHandcuffs (multiple?), pondered for a while longer, then wrote the word ‘priest’. This done, he turned out his desk lamp, picked up his notebook and left for his attic.
118
No man omits precaution, quite neglects
Secrecy, safety, schemes not how retreat,
Having schemed he might advance.
