Page 383 of The Hallmarked Man
Wardle reappeared with a truculent-looking though still faintly dazed Jones, with his huge red forehead, double chin and mismatched eyes. Wardle forced Jones down onto the floor and cuffed him to the two already sitting there. A large lump was burgeoning on Jones’ forehead, where he’d headbutted the edge of the hole in the floor before falling into the basement.
‘Pretty sure he’s still concussed,’ said Wardle.
‘Skull thick as his, he’ll be fine,’ said Strike.
‘You need—’
‘Can you get me something for this fucking ear?’ asked Strike, keen to get rid of the ex-policeman. Wardle grudgingly left the room again.
Strike dragged the chair in which Dilys had sat months previously into the middle of the room, and dropped into it, which was a relief; his head spun slightly less, sitting. Distant clanging and Barclay’s voice reached the room.
‘Right,’ Strike said to Griffiths. ‘Where’s your daughter, Chloe?’
‘You haven’t got the right to ask us questions,’ said Griffiths in a nasal voice. ‘You’ve broken the law, you broke in, you’ve assaulted us—’
‘That’s not how I remember it,’ said Strike. ‘I knocked on your door, you opened it, some of your friends scarpered, you tried to stab me in the face, which led me to suspect you had a guilty conscience, a theory confirmed when I lifted the trapdoor in your hall. That’s how my friends will remember it, too. You don’t want to take Wardle too seriously. He’s only just left the police. Still got old-fashioned ideas about procedure and not using extreme violence on suspects.Where’s Chloe?’
After a brief pause, Griffiths said,
‘Interrailing with her boyfriend.’
‘Is she fuck, that Instagram account of hers is as fake as your Oz one. You’ve just pasted her and some random guy in front of landmarks.’
Agony though Strike was in, he took satisfaction in the whitening of Griffiths’ face.
‘I’ve done nothing. I’ve done nothing,’ whimpered the bearded man on the floor.
‘Shut up,’ Strike told him. ‘You—’ He pointed at the youth with the bad teeth. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Darren Pratt,’ the youth whispered.
‘And him?’ said Strike.
‘Wynn Jones.’
‘And him?’ he asked, pointing at the bearded man.
‘Mickey Edwar—’
‘Don’ttellhim!’ squealed Edwards.
‘If you’re Mickey, you were definitely about to do something, you cunt,’ said Strike, ‘and I’d bet both my bollocks you’ve done it before.’
‘Please…please…I’m married, I’ve got kids…’
‘Then they’d probably do best to move well away from Ironbridge and change their surnames,’ said Strike. ‘They’re not going to have a lot of fun in the playground once I’m done with you. Any ofyouknow where Chloe is?’ he asked the three men on the floor.
‘Interrailin’,’ said Jones in a low voice. ‘Griff just fuckin’ told you.’
‘You don’t have to answer his fucking questions!’ said Griffiths.
‘They do if they want to keep their teeth,’ said Strike, and addressing Pratt again, he said,
‘Tyler gave Chloe a bracelet for her birthday, right?’
Pratt glanced at Griffiths and kept silent.
‘Scared the shit out of you, that bracelet, didn’t it?’ Strike said to Griffiths. ‘And we both know why Chloe went berserk in the pub when people wouldn’t stop banging on about it, don’t we? Purple. Violets. We’ll be coming back to that.’
