Page 28 of The Hallmarked Man

On this undoubtedly puerile but satisfying thought, he turned back to his computer to type out an update for Mr A.

12

We are all of us, though not all equally, mistaken.

Albert Pike

The Liturgy of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry

Only after Robin had left the Denmark Street office did a certain trepidation about the forthcoming evening creep over her.

She was well aware that her detective partner and her boyfriend, who’d been reasonably friendly before she and Murphy began their relationship, were now antagonistic to each other. Murphy had more than once revealed his suspicion of Robin and Strike’s friendship, and she’d finally succeeded in shutting that down by telling her boyfriend that Strike was in a relationship with a lawyer, even though it was untrue; Strike’s brief affair with Bijou Watkins had ended before she’d told Murphy about it. Robin hadn’t corrected the story since, as it continued to serve her purpose. She completely understood why Murphy was uptight about her closeness to Strike, because his ex-wife had left him for a male friend, but she didn’t need more unnecessary displays of jealousy, having had quite enough of those from her ex-husband.

The reasons for Strike’s antipathy towards Murphy were more mysterious to Robin, but she had a suspicion it was because he was afraid he was going to lose his business partner to marriage and children. If that was indeed his concern, Robin found it both insulting and infuriating, because she’d surely proven her commitment to the job and the agency ten times over by now. Of course, there was another possible explanation for Strike’s attitude, but she wasn’t going to think about that – except that she did think about it, more often than shewanted to admit.I told Amelia exactly what Charlotte wrote… she knew I was in love with you…

Stop it,Robin told herself firmly, while tidying her sitting room at six o’clock that evening. She resented feeling apprehensive, and hated her ill-disciplined brain for returning, yet again, to the conversation in which Strike had lobbed his bombshell, then walked nonchalantly away.He’s not in love with you, he was just beingan annoying sod.She wiped the coffee table a little more energetically than was required, as though to defy the slight throbbing of her operation site, and reminded herself that she was happy with Murphy.

Her jangled nerves weren’t helped when she turned on the news for distraction and saw a picture of Jonathan Wace, cult leader, staring back at her. She turned the TV off again.

She’d hoped Murphy would be there at half past six, andin situwhen Strike arrived, but he was twenty-five minutes late. Just as she was thinking that Murphy would have only himself to blame if Strike got there ahead of him, her boyfriend knocked on her front door carrying a water bottle, his gym bag over his shoulder, looking flushed.

‘Bloke downstairs let me in. Sorry I’m late. Did an hour at the gym, but when I came out some tosser had blocked me in in the car park. Had to wait for him to come out.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Robin, greeting him with a kiss and a hug, glad to know he’d been doing some exercise; hopefully it had brought down his stress levels, which, given the ongoing drubbing his team was getting in the press for failing to catch the shooter of the two young boys, remained high. ‘I’m so grateful for this, Ryan, I really am.’

‘Yeah, well, you didn’t want the weekend in Paris… He not here yet?’

‘No, but he will be any minute,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve ordered pizzas.’

She was trying to show Murphy she was making no special effort for her detective partner, and had dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt for that reason.

‘You’ve warned Strike, haven’t you, that this is sen—?’

The doorbell rang again. Robin buzzed Strike in, and a few minutes later he and Murphy were shaking hands and exchanging what almost qualified as smiles. Strike handed Robin a bottle of red wine, for which she thanked him, heading into the kitchen to get glasses. The doorbell then rang for a third time.

‘I’ll get it,’ Murphy called to Robin, and while he was buzzing inthe pizza delivery man, Strike took off his coat and hung it up, glancing around Robin’s sitting room, noting Murphy’s gym bag lying nonchalantly outside the bedroom door.

The flat was mostly unchanged since the last time Strike had been here, when he’d been sleeping over, though unfortunately only on the sofa bed. He wondered whether Murphy knew that. He noticed that the plant he’d given Robin as a housewarming gift was flourishing, but to his displeasure, one of the photographs on the mantelpiece was now of Robin and Murphy, arms around each other in front of what looked ominously like Robin’s family home in Yorkshire.

When Murphy had tipped the delivery man and passed the pizzas to Robin in the kitchen, he returned to Strike, who was still standing in the middle of the room, and said quietly,

‘What I’ve got is highly confidential. If anyone finds out I’ve passed it on, I’ll be up to my neck in shit. My contact shouldn’t have said as much as she did, so it’ll be her neck on the line, too, if anything gets blabbed.’

‘I don’t blab,’ Strike assured him.

‘Robin wanted this. That’s why I’ve done it.’

As it was hardly likely Strike thought Murphy had gone digging for information for love of him, Strike wasn’t entirely sure why he was being told this.

‘Anyway,’ said Murphy, and he gestured curtly towards the three-piece suite.

Strike sat down in an armchair and Murphy on the sofa. Robin, who could hear the uncomfortable silence, wished she’d thought to put on music, and sped up in her assembling of plates, napkins and glasses.

‘How’re things going with the lawyer?’ Murphy asked Strike.

‘What lawyer?’ said Strike.

Out of sight, Robin experienced a lift-drop in her stomach.