Page 46 of The Hallmarked Man
‘I thought we agreed we’d do it to put Decima’s mind at rest?’ said Strike.
‘But if we reallydon’tthink it was Fleetwood, if there’s not theslightest chance…’
‘There’s always a slight chance,’ said Strike, backtracking shamelessly. ‘We haven’t promised Decima we’ll prove it was Fleetwood in the vault. We’ll be giving her closure if we prove it was someone else.’
‘Until she starts imagining Rupert was the victim of another unsolved murder.’
‘If her delusion survives us proving Fleetwood wasn’t William Wright, I’m happy to be the bastard who tells her she’s in the grip of a morbid fixation.’
‘You don’t think it might be kinder to do that right now?’
‘Look, therearesimilarities between Wright and Fleetwood. Height, build, blood type, left-handed, Fleetwood disappears, Wright appears, the silver thing… actually, on the subject of Fleetwood,would you mind taking over trying to persuade Rupert’s friend Albie Simpson-White to talk to one of us? He’s still refusing to come to the phone whenever I call Dino’s. Woman’s voice: less frightening.’
‘OK,’ said Robin, writing herself a reminder.
‘I’ve also emailed Fleetwood’s drug-dealing ex-housemate, Zacharias Lorimer, but no response so far. I’ll give him a few more days, because I’m not wasting money calling Kenya if he’s just going to tell me to piss off. Haven’t tried Sacha Legard and Valentine Longcaster yet. Probably have to send Sacha a message through his agent.’
‘What’s he like?’ asked Robin, who’d been unable to suppress a small frisson at the mention of Charlotte’s Oscar-nominated half-brother.
‘Like someone who’d benefit hugely from being punched in the face.’
‘Strike!’
‘You haven’t met him.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘His whole life’s been laid out for him on a golden platter; everything he wanted, from birth. His parents worshipped the ground he walked on and he takes it for granted everyone else feels the same.’
‘And that clearlyreallypisses you off.’
‘No. Well,’ Strike conceded, ‘a bit. Doesn’t mean I want him dead.’
‘God above, I should hope not!’ said Robin, half-amused, half-shocked. ‘D’you usually want people you dislike dead?’
‘Some of them,’ said Strike, thinking of Jeff Whittaker, his mother’s second husband. ‘If I heard Mitch Patterson had dropped dead in the dock, I’d probably celebrate with a pint. Rather see him in the clink, though.’
Until a few months previously, ex-policeman Mitch Patterson had headed up the rival detective agency for which Kim Cochran had been working. There’d never been any love lost between Patterson and Strike, and in the course of attempting to bring down Strike and Robin’s business, Patterson had found himself arrested for the illegal bugging of a top barrister’s office.
‘The trial starts next week,’ said Robin.
‘I know, I’m looking forward to that more than Christmas. You know, thinking about it,’ Strike said, feigning a sudden thought, ‘if anyone’s going to talk to Sacha Legard, it might have to be you.’
‘Why? You’re the one who knows him.’
‘Yeah, that’s the problem. I assume he knows what Charlotte’s suicide note said, which means he won’t be very well disposed to me at the moment. Although, come to think of it, that probably extends to you, too.’
Robin felt a hot explosion in the pit of her stomach; she didn’t know whether panic or pleasure predominated, but she was afraid she was going red.
Strike noted the blush and waited to see whether Robin ignored what had just been said, or responded to it for the first time. Looking down at her soup, she said,
‘Sacha can’t blame you for what she wrote in that note. She was… the papers said she’d taken a load of drink and drugs…’
‘She knew exactly what she was saying. She’d said it all to me before, sober.’
This was news to Robin. Before she could muster a response, Strike’s mobile rang, and Robin seized the opportunity to get away from the table by muttering,
‘Need the loo.’
