Page 117 of The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike #8)

… to Haides’ realm descended he

To drag into the light the three-shaped hound

Of Hell…

Robert Browning Herakles

Over an hour later, Plug’s white van indicated left and turned up the road that led to the compound on waste ground, north of Ipswich.

‘What’s the plan?’ said Robin, peering through the darkness ahead, Plug’s tail-lights the only things clearly visible.

‘If at all possible, gain admittance by trying to look as if we’ve got our own dangerous dog in the back,’ said Strike. ‘This is where a Land Rover comes in handy.’

‘OK,’ said Robin, ‘but – shit – I don’t think this is going to work, Strike, I think they’re taking names…’

A bearded man holding a flashlight was standing at the end of the dirt track that led to the compound. Plug wound down his window; he and the sentinel exchanged a few brief words, and the latter waved him on. Robin glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw another van creeping closer, this one blue.

‘Worth a try,’ said Strike. ‘Keep going.’

The burly man was looking past the Land Rover to the blue van. He grinned, waved, indicated casually that the Land Rover should proceed, and strolled past it, presumably to speak to a friend.

‘Good job,’ said Strike, as Robin accelerated up the track.

The sound of distant, low-pitched shouts grew louder as they approached a patch of rough ground on which many cars and vans were parked. Over to the left they could see a crowd of men in silhouette, all surrounding something unseen that was illuminated by the headlights of three parked vans.

Robin parked. Twenty yards away, Plug had got out of his van, barely discernible in the darkness. Outbuildings surrounded them, and wire pens behind which enormous barking dogs scrambled.

‘After I get out, turn the car round,’ said Strike.

‘What d’you mean, “get out” – we can film from here!’ said Robin. She didn’t like the look of the crowd, nor was she enjoying the growls, yelps and howls issuing not only from the arena, but from surrounding vehicles.

‘If I can get footage of faces, we’ve got a prosecution, but I want the car facing the road in case I need a quick getaway. Stay here and keep the doors locked.’

Before Robin could protest further, Strike had got out of the car. Robin watched him walking away towards the crowd, moving carefully over the rough ground. As far as Robin could see, she was the only woman present.

She turned the Land Rover around so that its nose was pointing back towards the road. Only then did she remember that Murphy had texted her while driving, so she took out her mobile.

This is a great fucking Valentine’s Day.

‘Whose fault’s that?’ said Robin angrily, throwing her mobile down and craning around to watch the mass of silhouetted men that Strike had now joined.

Given his height, Strike had no difficulty seeing what was going on in the centre of the baying crowd.

Two enormous dogs, one grey, one brindle, both bandy-legged with blunt noses, were locked together in the dirt, rolling and snarling and already bleeding.

Many of the men watching were filming. Strike took out his own mobile and switched to record.

The visibility was poor, because the headlights were angled to shine on the dogs, not the men, but he thought he recognised the shadowy face of Plug’s friend from the train.

The man who’d had the ledger in Ipswich was accepting cash from a couple of latecomers.

By shifting position, Strike isolated his target and zoomed in on Plug while the latter cheered and punched the air, goading the dogs on.

Strike could see two knots of men in the crowd, fighting to control the pair of dogs who were due to fight next, both of them muzzled and almost too powerful to hold.

In the middle of the ring, the grey, which had a torn face, was now gripping the brindle dog by the neck.

As Strike watched, life and blood started to drain from the brindle, its legs twitching ever more feebly as blood flooded from its jugular.

At last, a shaven-headed man entered the ring, making a boxing referee’s ‘it’s over’ slashing motion with his arms. Half the crowd, including Plug, roared their approval, while the other half booed.

The owner of the grey dog ran forwards with two other men; they prised the animal’s jaws off the corpse, succeeded, after some difficulty, in muzzling it, and pulled it out of the makeshift ring by a heavy chain lead.

Strike kept filming as the dead dog was dragged out of the arena by two more men. Plug was bantering with friends on either side of him. One of the owners of the dogs who’d be next to fight was kicking his animal in the ribs, laughing as it became steadily more enraged.

‘Who’re you?’ demanded a voice beside Strike.

‘Fuck’s it got to do with you?’ said Strike, deliberately aggressive, looking down at a broad, much-tattooed man with face piercings.

But he thought it might be time to leave. Slipping his mobile back into his pocket, he set off back across the dark and uneven ground, squinting to try and make out the Land Rover.

‘Oi! You! ’

Strike sped up as best he could, yet trying to exercise caution; he didn’t want to trip, not with dogs that dangerous behind him. There was more confused shouting, but he thought he heard,

‘ Get his fucking phone! ’

Robin spotted Strike in silhouette, moving as fast he dared over the rough ground.

She flung open the car door, but as she did so, she saw a gigantic bulldog-like creature, illuminated by the flashlights of an oncoming group of men, which had been unmuzzled and released, and was heading straight for Strike.

‘ Gawn, Lennon! ’ said one of the pursuant men, urging the dog on, and Robin knew the now staggering Strike wasn’t going to reach the car before it reached him.

She plunged her hand into her bag, but too late; the dog had leapt from behind, hitting Strike in the back of the knees; he buckled and the animal sank its teeth into his thigh.

‘FUCK!’

Robin scrambled out of the car. The shadowy figures of the sprinting men were growing larger, but she aimed the pepper spray at the mauling dog’s face and squeezed at short range. With a frantic yelp, the half-blinded dog released its grip.

‘GET IN, GET IN! ’ Robin shouted, but Strike had not only been bitten, he’d taken a lot of pepper spray to his face, with the result that he couldn’t see.

Groping blindly towards the place he thought the car was, he managed to drag himself up and inside.

The giant dog was howling and wiping its face frantically on the ground to try and relieve the burning, but the threat now came from the men who were mere yards from Robin.

Holding her breath and closing her eyes, Robin sprayed the air thickly in front of her, then jumped back inside the car after Strike, slamming the door as one of the closest men let out a yell of pain, clutching his eyes in the noxious vapour.

Fists rained down upon the car’s windows, but Robin had already started the engine. She slammed her foot flat to the floor, and the Land Rover hurtled off down the dirt track, leaving a choking, coughing knot of men in its wake.