Page 55 of The Hallmarked Man
‘’S not what I asked.’
‘Midge—’
‘All right, fine,’ said Midge grumpily.
She hung up. Robin continued driving.
WouldStrike sleep with Kim?Hadhe? Surely not. No, he couldn’thave done… he wouldn’t (as Midge had put it) shit on his own doorstep. If there was one thing that Strike put first, above everything, it was the agency.
So he’d run into an ex at the Dorchester. Well, it couldn’t have been Charlotte (a nasty mental image intruded of that beautiful face seen through bloody water)… maybe Ciara, the model? Elin, the radio presenter? Lorelei, owner of a vintage clothing store? Madeleine, the jewellery designer? Bijou, the lawyer? Robin drove on towards Newham, her thoughts dwelling on the succession of gorgeous women who’d been briefly entangled with Cormoran Strike, and she was angry at herself for ruminating on Midge’s words, and angry, too, at her detective partner, though she’d have found it hard to justify that emotion if interrogated. Strike wasn’t proven to have done anything wrong… he wouldn’t have slept with Kim…God, she hoped he hadn’t…
She arrived in St George’s Avenue at eleven o’clock and parked. As she was getting out of the Land Rover, Strike’s BMW passed her.
‘Morning,’ he said, when they met on the pavement between their respective cars. ‘Just been talking to Shah. He’s going to have a go at that compound this afternoon. Try and get in the front, posing as a vet who’s been called out and mistaken the address.’
‘Great,’ said Robin, trying to dispel thoughts of Kim and the gala. ‘So, we’re looking for a place with multiple bells, right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, wondering whether he was imagining a slight aloofness in Robin’s manner.
‘All right, why don’t you go that way, I’ll go this, and we can call each other if we find a likely house.’
So the partners split up, Strike walking up the street and Robin down.
18
They had none of them cared much for this man. He was not a man to make close friends. But death had given him a new dignity among them…
John Oxenham
A Maid of the Silver Sea
St George’s Avenue wasn’t a particularly long street. Strike passed short terraces and a couple of squat, square blocks of flats, but a few minutes after he and Robin had parted, Strike’s eye fell upon a house he considered promising: tall, narrow, shabby, its bins overflowing and with four bells on a dirty panel beside the main door.
He phoned Robin.
‘Think I’ve found it.’
‘Already?’ said Robin, who was standing outside a primary school at the other end of the street.
‘It’s not far from where we parked.’
So Robin headed back up the street and found Strike standing at the top of a flight of filthy steps. He pressed each of the four doorbells in turn, but no responding voice issued from the intercom. Strike glanced at the only window on the ground floor. The thin curtains, which had come partially off their rail, had been drawn together against the light with a plastic hair claw.
A rangy-looking man with a long beard was walking past on the other side of the road. He stared at Strike and Robin as he passed, but carried on. Then Robin spotted a pale, overweight woman wearing leggings and a sweatshirt heading down the street, carrying a bulging plastic shopping bag in one hand and holding the hand of a small boy eating a chocolate bar with the other. The mother’s hair was dark andgreasy, and she had tattoos on her hands and neck. Robin had a strong presentiment that mother and child lived in the building they were trying to enter, and sure enough, she stopped at the foot of the steps, staring up at the two detectives.
‘Morning,’ said Strike. ‘Don’t know whether you can help us?’
‘Wha’ d’you want?’ the woman said suspiciously, climbing slowly up towards them. Strike could smell the stale cannabis on her clothes.
‘Is this where William Wright used to live?’ asked Strike.
‘Yeah,’ she said suspiciously. ‘Why?’
Strike pulled a card out of his pocket and showed it to her.
‘My name’s Cormoran Strike and this is my partner, Robin Ellacott. We’re private detectives.’
The woman took Strike’s card and stared at it. An expression of dawning comprehension spread over her face, and when she looked up again, she seemed slightly awed.
