Page 101 of The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike #8)

‘I’m trying to tell you “what”,’ said Robin, in a low voice.

‘He pulled out this – well, it was a masonic dagger. I know, because he threw it at me. I’ve got it at home.

It was a warning, not an attack,’ she said, because Strike was looking dangerous.

‘He said, “stop, and you won’t get hurt”.

He was trying to scare me,’ she said, omitting to mention that her menacer had achieved this objective, ‘there was never any question of him actually—’

‘ Why the fuck didn’t you call me after this happened? ’

‘What could you have done?’ said Robin coolly. ‘You were in Scotland.’

‘I told you, and you agreed, if you went anywhere alone, you were to tell me. We agreed, after Shanker, after that bloke in Harrods, and with all these fucking phone calls, the last one specifically targeting you—’

‘“Bitch” might have meant Kim or Midge, and I can’t ring you literally every time I’m somewhere alone,’ said Robin, her tone no longer measured. ‘It was a well-lit residential street, and he didn’t actually hurt—’

‘You realise there was a fucking “G” painted on the street door on New Year’s Eve?’

‘What? No, I didn’t! Why didn’t you tell—?’

‘And this bloke said “stop”?’

‘ Why didn’t you tell me a “G” was painted on the door? ’

‘Somebody’s clearly decided you’re the weak link—’

The moment the words had left his mouth he wished them unspoken.

Robin had blanched in anger. Kim’s jibes about her lack of police training and her own awareness that she should have spotted her tail the previous day were doing battle with her desire to point out Strike’s sheer audacity in suggesting she was the person letting the agency down, when his shenanigans with women were drawing down so much negative press—

‘I didn’t mean “weak link” in terms of – I mean,’ Strike blustered, ‘you’re a woman, aren’t you, and Branfoot knows he’s got something his goons can scare you with—’

‘We haven’t got a shred of evidence Branfoot’s got anything to do with those men,’ said Robin furiously.

‘Who else connected to this case has got a bunch of thugs to do his bidding? “Or he might send someone,” Wright said. You’re the one who spotted Branfoot’s pal from Ramsay Silver in the paper. Branfoot’s at the same fucking lodge as the senior investigating officer—’

‘I know that, I’m capable of retaining information you told me two minutes ago! But as I’m not the one who’s given Branfoot an excuse to slag us off in the tabloids—’

Stung on the raw, Strike now lost his cool himself.

‘Sure it’s bad press worrying you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Don’t want us investigating a masonic lodge full of Met officers?’

‘This has got nothing to do with Ryan!’ said Robin, angrily and untruthfully. ‘I know the lodge thing’s a bit fishy, but we haven’t got—’

‘“A bit fishy”? It stinks like a fucking prawn trawler! Why did Branfoot move lodges? Why did he decide to go where the police were?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Don’t give me that, we know he’s dodgy as fuck. Jimmy Savile was cosying up to his local police force for years, having them over every Friday for drinks.’

‘You seriously think Truman knew Branfoot was behind the murder and agreed to cover it up?’ said Robin scornfully.

‘It doesn’t have to be that crude! I’m not claiming Truman knows Branfoot put out the hit—’

‘Why would Branfoot have someone killed in a masonic silver shop?’

‘Because he was mates with a bunch of masonic policemen who literally meet next door, he knew they’d be predisposed to hushing anything up that looked masonic, and he’d be able to exert maximum influence over the investigation!

Branfoot either lucked out, and his mate Truman was put in charge, or Truman pulled his own masonic strings to make sure he got the job! ’

‘And why would Branfoot have ordered a sash be put on the body, and a masonic hallmark carved into it?’

‘What if it was meant to be overkill, to look like somebody trying to frame the masons, and Truman fell right into the trap, and rushed to deny any connection, egged on by Branfoot?’

‘So Truman risked his entire career to keep Branfoot happy?’

‘ Listen to what I’m saying – it doesn’t have to have been done for Branfoot specifically!

Truman might’ve risked his career because masonry is his big thing, the centre of his emotional and social life!

It means that, to some men! But if you’re going to look me in the eye and tell me there aren’t men who’re flattered by association with the aristocracy, and wouldn’t get an ego thrill from chumming around with Lord Oliver Branfoot off the telly—’

‘I’m not saying that, but—’

‘—then you’ll concede that Truman might’ve been easily influenced by Branfoot pushing the idea that someone was trying to frame the masons, in which case, the Knowles thing would’ve been manna from heaven to Truman.

He paid a professional price for getting it wrong, but he’s still trotting along to Freemasons’ Hall every month, which should tell you something about his priorities in life! ’

‘We’ve pieced together a story about Branfoot and we haven’t got a shred of proof it’s true,’ said Robin hotly. ‘The cipher note and Branfoot’s friend shopping in Ramsay Silver and Branfoot bashing private detectives and Dick de Lion – they could all be completely unconnected!’

‘This, from the person who’s been urging me to make enquiries about a Belgian woman whose name vaguely resembles Rita Linda,’ said Strike, and instantly regretted it, as Robin’s face flooded with colour.

‘I said from the start she might not be relevant, and for the record, she was Swedish, not Belgian—’

‘My point—’

‘I understand your point, thanks, weak leak though I am, and if we’re talking about missing the point: has it occurred to you that both times I’ve been threatened, I’ve been trying to talk to people about Rupert Fleetwood?’

‘Both times you were threatened, it was in places it was easy to get to you without getting caught,’ said Strike. ‘How would the men following you have known who you were off to speak to? You’ve just told me gorilla mask guy tailed you from your flat!’

‘OK,’ said Robin, returning to the offensive, ‘explain this: why would a porn star go and work in a masonic silver shop?’

‘Set up,’ said Strike.

‘Set up, how? By who?’

‘What if what was meant to have happened to Knowles genuinely happened to de Lion? What if he thought he was going to help nick a load of silver? Just because Branfoot’s a shit doesn’t mean de Lion was an angel.

We know nothing about him, he could be a crook himself.

What if Oz and Medina lured de Lion to Ramsay Silver, telling him he’d be able to make a hundred grand off the back of it?

Then the taking of the Murdoch silver makes sense – it was to make this look like a burglary and incidental murder, when in fact it was a murder and incidental robbery. ’

‘And where’s the silver now?’

‘I don’t bloody know, anywhere! Buried in the woods. Some anonymous lock up. Branfoot’s minted, he doesn’t need it.’

‘I can’t help noticing,’ said Robin, her tone now steely, ‘that your attitude to the Met and your attitude to the SAS are somewhat different.’

‘What?’ said Strike, thrown.

‘Freemason Niall Semple couldn’t possibly be involved in a theft of masonic silver, because he’s the best of the best, speaks fluent Arabic and navigates by the stars, whereas Freemason Malcolm Truman—’

‘Truman and Branfoot are in the same fucking lodge! Why’s Branfoot after us? Why the sudden interest in the private detective business?’

‘Maybe his wife’s having him tailed and he found out! Maybe the papers are sniffing around him, because of all the rumours about his sex life!’

‘You told me, at the beginning of this case, it didn’t matter if Murphy—’

‘ This isn’t about Ryan! ’ Robin said, her anger fuelled by the knowledge that she was at least partly lying. ‘What’s it going to do to our Met contacts, if we start trying to discredit policemen?’

‘The Met’ve already put Truman on gardening leave, they’d probably be delighted to have a reason to bloody sack him! If you think Wardle, Layborn and Ekwensi would stop talking to us because we helped the force get rid of a proper wrong ’un, you’ve got a lower opinion of them than I have!’

‘It’s your attitude I’m talking about – totally prepared to believe the worst of the police, whereas—’

‘There are plenty of cunts in the army, as I should know, because I was bloody in it—’

‘You said you were going to “go in hard” on Branfoot – you think he’ll keep his mouth shut, if you start insinuating—?’

‘Murphy know we’ve got pictures of the body, by any chance?’ asked Strike. ‘Hacked off about it, is he?’

Robin felt the blood rush to her face again.

‘That’s not—’

‘Oh, isn’t it?’

Incensed, Robin got to her feet.

‘I need to get back down the road. I’m tired and I need time to prepare for Fyola Fay.’

‘You’re not going to wait for your food?’

‘I’m not hungry,’ snapped Robin, drawing her car keys out of her pocket, the sight of which made Strike say,

‘I’m buying a new fucking Land Rover.’

‘What?’

‘Plain English, isn’t it? We need a new Land Rover. You can’t keep hiring cars, the business can’t—’

‘I’ll get something else, I just haven’t found anything I can aff—’

‘Which is why—’

‘I can’t take a loan of that size from you,’ said Robin.

‘Then don’t,’ said Strike. ‘The business will own the Land Rover, but you’ll be driving it, so find something appropriate and send me the details.’

‘Fine,’ said Robin, her voice icy.

She turned and walked away, but before Strike could begin to process what had just happened, Robin had turned again and was striding back to the table.

‘I forgot,’ she said, which was a far bigger lie than the claim she wasn’t hungry. ‘There’s another thing.’

‘What?’

‘Dev told me Bijou Watkins called the office. What did she want?’

For a split second, Strike looked just as stunned as she’d expected. Then he said,

‘She wanted some advice.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Robin, glaring down at him. ‘Advice on…?’

‘She thinks Honbold’s playing around on her,’ invented Strike.

‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah. I told her to contact someone else. Said I didn’t want the job.’

‘So I can tell Dev there won’t be any more bad press about you and women?’

‘I’ll tell him myself,’ said Strike.

‘Great,’ said Robin, ‘because we don’t want to lose Dev. See you at the office.’

She walked away and this time, didn’t turn or look back.

The barmaid now reappeared with two large plates of food.

‘Oh,’ she said, watching Robin marching away up the street. ‘Do you—?’

‘I’ll eat them both,’ growled Strike, shifting his notebook out of the way.