Page 113 of The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike #8)

‘I understand how you felt,’ she said. ‘I know why you didn’t want us barging in. The case was really sensitive. I get it.’

Murphy took a sip of his beer, then said,

‘I heard Strike tipped them off that Knowles’ body went to “Barnaby’s”.’

‘Yes,’ said Robin.

‘Have you found out what Barnaby’s is? Or who it is?’

‘No,’ said Robin, reminded yet again that she still hadn’t bought her new nephews presents.

‘Who’s this contact Strike’s got, who knows all this inside stuff?’

‘I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. I don’t know his real name.’

‘He’s clearly well informed,’ said Murphy.

‘Yes,’ said Robin.

‘A crim, obviously.’

‘Yes,’ said Robin again. She drank more wine, still holding Murphy’s hand.

‘Well, I’ve got some info for you, if you want it,’ said Murphy. ‘About that Peugeot. The getaway car.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. It’s going to be made public – their first step in admitting Truman fucked up. But you can have it early.’

Robin released Murphy’s hand to dig in her bag for her notebook. Murphy laughed.

‘What?’ said Robin.

‘Whenever you get a sniff of intel, you get the same look on your face…’

‘What look?’

‘I saw it the day I first drove you home, when I told you we’d arrested Phillip Ormond. Like a dog seeing a rabbit. Concentrated. Intense.’

‘Oh,’ said Robin.

‘I like it,’ said Murphy.

A waitress arrived to take their food order. When she’d left, Murphy lowered his voice and said,

‘The Peugeot was hired from a car rental in Reading, late on the Thursday.’

‘Who hired it?’ said Robin.

‘A young blonde.’

‘A blonde ?’ said Robin, thinking of Sofia Medina.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Because…’ They were moving in together. She needed to be honest with him, where honesty was practicable. ‘There’s a girl called Sofia Medina, a Spanish student, who we think might have had something to do with the man in the vault’s killing.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, but she had long black – oh,’ said Robin, struck by a sudden thought.

‘“Oh”, what?’

‘Sofia had wigs. She wore them for her OnlyFans videos, a witness told m – no, wait. Were the blonde and brunette the same size?’

‘What?’ said Murphy, understandably confused.

‘Same height, I mean,’ said Robin, thinking of tall, skinny Sapphire Neagle, who’d been nicknamed ‘Olive Oyl’.

‘No idea,’ said Murphy.

‘OK, forget that,’ said Robin. ‘Go on about the blonde.’

‘She presented a fake driving licence at the hire place.’

‘D’you know the name on it?’

‘No,’ said Murphy. ‘Anyway, the team have had to trawl through hundreds and hundreds of hours of footage to try and piece together what the vehicle did, and it wasn’t easy, because the plates were changed and it went in and out of areas where there’s no CCTV.

‘She left the car rental and turned off the M4 towards Whistley Green – it’s a village – and was lost from view overnight. Late Friday morning, she reappeared on the M4 with fake plates and drove to Dalston.’

‘Dalston,’ repeated Robin, who was scribbling. ‘She’s still alone in the car at this point?’

‘Yeah,’ said Murphy. ‘She disappeared off camera in Dalston, but they’re pretty sure she entered this semi-derelict line of garages that are due for demolition. Then there’s a period of hours during which the car’s not seen, but the blonde’s caught on camera, on foot.’

‘Going where?’

‘She enters Dalston Junction station. They still haven’t pinned down where or when she got out. But a girl with long dark hair comes out of Dalston Junction around six o’clock in the evening, wearing different clothes—’

‘Ah,’ said Robin, still scribbling.

‘—and drives the car to Newham.’

Though she gave no outward sign, Robin felt an inward shiver. If the murder investigation team had disbelieved Mandy at first, they must have changed their minds now. Aloud, she asked,

‘Did it go to St George’s Avenue in Newham?’

‘I don’t know, maybe. Then it’s spotted in Holborn, late at night.

Blonde back at the wheel. Shortly after three a.m., it picks up a man from the end of Wild Court.

The couple drive off through camera-free areas again but they’re caught briefly back on film in Newham,’ (yes, thought Robin, the police would definitely have changed their minds about Mandy’s story now) ‘round five in the morning, then head off towards Orpington in the direction of Petts Wood, where they’re lost from sight again, but put the original plates back on.

The car reappears on the M4, and the blonde returns the car to the Reading hire place in good nick.

She’s just visible on the edge of the car park camera, getting into a van afterwards, but the plates aren’t visible.

Van leaves – and if they know what happened next, my contact hasn’t told me. ’

‘What make was the van?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Has anyone searched Petts Wood for the silver?’

‘Probably, I’m not sure.’

‘Is your contact the same woman who—?’

‘The one I spoke to before, yeah.’

‘She didn’t try and seduce you in return for the info, did she?’

Robin said it because she knew it would give pleasure. He grinned.

‘You’ve got no competition there, trust me. What happened in the pub that night – she was there. That was it. She was just – there.’

Reminded of Strike and Nina Lascelles, Robin drank more wine, then said,

‘Thanks, Ryan. I really appreciate this.’

‘No bother,’ said Murphy. ‘So, we should have the survey back tomorrow.’

‘Survey?’ said Robin blankly, and then, ‘Oh, on the house, yes, of course.’

‘It’d better not have bloody dry rot.’

‘It looked in really good repair,’ said Robin. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

They talked about the house until their food arrived, at which point Murphy sipped his pint, then lowered his voice again.

‘So, listen… I don’t need an answer or anything tonight, all right? There’s no pressure. I’m just trying to learn from my mistakes.’

‘What mis—?’

‘I should’ve had a conversation with Lizzie, before we got married. About kids.’

Robin suffered a plummeting sensation in her stomach.

‘I mean, seeing as we’re moving in together and everything,’ said Murphy. ‘I just want to know what you’re thinking. After what happened.’

An unpleasant thought flashed through Robin’s head: that he’d just given her the intel on the Peugeot to soften her up for this conversation; that he thought receipt of information would make her more willing to talk about frozen eggs.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, I… don’t know. That’s the truth. I just don’t know.’

Murphy looked expectant, so Robin said,

‘I used to think I wanted children. Or maybe I just expected to have them, I don’t know.

Then I got this job, which I love more than any – well, I don’t love it more than you,’ she said hastily, because that was what you had to say, wasn’t it, sitting opposite the man you were going to live with?

‘But I can’t imagine doing this job and trying to raise a family, with the hours and the stress and – not the risk, I’m not looking for risk,’ said Robin, her homemade pepper spray in her bag, the masonic dagger hidden in her sock drawer, ‘but yes, I’d probably be more risk-averse if I had children, too…

maybe there’ll come a time when I do really want kids, but I – I can’t guarantee that.

I can’t promise it’ll happen. I just don’t know. So if it’s a deal-breaker…’

‘It’s not,’ said Murphy. ‘I just wish I’d had this conversation with Lizzie before we got hitched, because I didn’t know she definitely didn’t want them, and I did.’

Wondering whether he’d looked up the odds of a live birth with IVF, Robin said,

‘I know I need to make a decision about egg freezing. I know time’s not on my side.’

The feeling of constriction she’d experienced back in that sea captain’s house in Deptford, which she’d thought she’d left behind for ever, had returned.