Page 281 of The Hallmarked Man

‘D’you still think Todd wrote Wright’s CV?’ Robin asked.

‘I do, yeah,’ said Strike. ‘Ergo, Wright thought Todd was an associate, maybe even a friend… but that throws up more questions, doesn’t it? If Todd was a double agent, convincing Wright he was on his side, but actually luring Wright to the vault for Oz to kill, we arrive back at the perennial question, why did the murder have to be in the vault? And why the hell would Wright have agreed to walk into the vault at one o’clock in the morning, with the man he was running from? This isn’t a Shakespearean comedy, where a man styles his hair differently and instantly becomes indistinguishable from his own sister. A curly wig’s hardly an impenetrable disguise.’

‘Wright might never have met Oz before, or known what he looked like.’

‘Then it’s just as strange that he agreed to walk into the vault with him at one in the morning. Mandy said Wright told her and Daz “or he might send someone”. Wright knew he might not recognise the man who came for him.’

‘I know Reata Lindvall probablywasn’t“Rita Linda”,’ Robin said, remembering Strike’s glazed expression on the plane, ‘butsayshe is, for the sake of argument – maybe Todd told Wright what had happened to her, after learning the truth in his Belgian jail?’

‘That crossed my mind after I heard Todd was in prison in Belgium,’ said Strike, ‘but if Wright thought Todd was his mate, why would Wright share the information with the press? That’d blow Todd’s incognito, remind the world he’s a convicted rapist, point the police and press right back towards him, and set Todd up for concealing evidence.’

Almost a minute passed as each pursued their own thoughts. Then:

‘That email sent to Osgood from Ramsay Silver…’ said Robin, freeing herself from the throw to tug her phone out of her pocket. Having found the message, she read it aloud.

‘“Dear Mr Osgood (Oz),I can help you with something that I know has been a problem for you if you would be happy to meet me.”’

She looked up at Strike.

‘Ithasto be Wright who sent that email. Todd wouldn’t have emailed Oz from work, not if they were accomplices.’

‘Soundly reasoned, as far as it goes,’ said Strike, ‘but did Wright mean to email Oz the fake music producer, or Osgood, the genuine one?’

‘What if Wright knew Osgood had an imposter, and was going to tell him who it was? The inclusion of “Oz” might’ve been a hint?’

‘That’d fit,’ said Strike, ‘but it’s not the only explanation. What if Wright was offering to help with a problem that was going to be resolved down in the vault at one in the morning?’

‘What kind of problem could Osgood have had, that meant going down to the silver vault at one in the morning?’

‘Well, for instance, “I’m currently lacking a hundred grand’s worth of masonic silver,”’ said Strike, and Robin laughed.

‘It’s tempting to try and fit Semple into all this,’ Strike continued, ‘because his mental state might explain some of the anomalies – putting too much trust in Todd, smoking dope with the neighbours. Possibly hedidhave a fixation about the Murdoch silver…’

‘But you could fit Powell into it, too,’ said Robin. ‘He wanted a fresh start and we know he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, which could explain him trusting Todd too much, and not recognising the danger posed to him by Oz.’

‘True, but like I said in Ironbridge, a masonic silver shop seems a particularly weird place for a mechanic to choose to work. Plus, nobody seems to have given too much of a shit about Powell except his grandmother, and her interest seems to be largely that he wasn’t doing her shopping any more. I think that car crash was a genuine accident. Do we honestly think the nice middle-class Whiteheads, bereaved or not, hired assassins to search the length and breadth of the UK for Tyler Powell?’

‘No,’ admitted Robin, ‘but Tyler might have thought that’s what was going to happen… we’re forgetting Rupert Fleetwood.’

‘I haven’t forgotten him,’ said Strike, ‘but I’ll tell you one thing: it makes no sense for Todd to have written a CV for Fleetwood, who’d have known perfectly well how to write one – and given his expensive private education, I’d be stunned if he couldn’t learn enough about silver to pass that interview without needing Todd at all. On the other hand, I find it very credible that Powell would’vebeen happy for someone else to take charge of that part of the job, and the same might apply to Semple. We don’t know what his reading, writing or concentration were like, post-injury, and he’d probably never written a CV in his life. Men in the Special Forces don’t need them.’

‘I’msureRupert’s still alive,’ said Robin, ‘but wouldn’t you have expected some sign of him by now? He must know we’re looking for him. Sacha Legard must have checked where he is, after you spoke to him. And I’mcertainAlbie Simpson-White knows what happened to him. And yet Rupert hasn’t done anything to stop us trying to find him, or to put Decima out of her misery. He must know that would be kinder, in the long run – and what about his son? Doesn’t he care about him at all?’

‘No idea,’ said Strike.

‘He’s another one who seems to have acted really inconsistently,’ said Robin. ‘Albie really did make him sound like a good person, you know. HesworeRupert loved Decima, and yet he’s gone without a word… I’vegotto try and corner Cosima Longcaster,’ said Robin, with determination. ‘I’m going to try and do that this week… Listen, would you mind if I turn in? I’m so tired – you must be, too, you were awake all night.’

‘Yeah,’ said Strike. ‘I could use an early night.’

‘I’ll just wash up,’ said Robin, freeing herself from the throw she’d wrapped around herself.

‘I’ll do it, you cooked. It’s a pan and two plates,’ said Strike, rising with difficulty out of his chair, with the help of his stick. ‘Go to bed. I’ll take care of it.’

When Robin had gone upstairs, Strike limped back to the kitchen, feeling thoroughly miserable. It wasn’t much comfort to think he’d done the right and decent thing in not forcing his own emotional crisis on Robin when she was clearly in the middle of a serious one of her own, but his last glimmer of hope had now fizzled into darkness, leaving him full of self-recrimination. He had nobody but himself to blame for the fact that he’d been forced, in what was likely to be the most auspicious setting for romance he and Robin would ever visit together, to listen to her outline her plans to preserve her eggs for Murphy.

A framed affirmation stood on the sill over the sink where he washed up the dinner things. It read:Always end the day with a positivethought. No matter how hard things were, tomorrow is a fresh opportunity to make it better.

Strike cast this a dark look as he dried his hands, then hobbled off across the hall towards his bedroom.