Page 302 of The Hallmarked Man

Iverson looked again at the clock on the wall.

‘Interview concluded at seven minutes to two.’ Having turned off the tape she said, ‘All right, Mr Strike. You’re free to go.’

Strike was tired, hungry, his leg was throbbing and he’d been forced to leave his BMW in Harlesden. Nevertheless, he felt he’d come through the night on the profit side of the ledger.

94

But when the snows at Christmas

On Bredon top were strown,

My love rose up so early

And stole out unbeknown

And went to church alone.

A. E. Housman

XXI: Bredon Hill, A Shropshire Lad

At five a.m., Robin, who’d barely slept, decided there was no point staying in bed, and got up to make herself coffee.

There were three missed calls from Murphy on her phone, all of which she’d ignored, and several texts, which she’d read as they’d come in. One of them had a video clip attached; Murphy had filmed himself pouring away bottles of vodka down the kitchen sink. Robin wondered what the point of that had been. Did he imagine she thought his hidden stock comprised the entire world’s reserves?

His pleading, apologetic, explanatory texts were full of information of which she’d been unaware. He’d been placed under investigation at work and been spoken to by a superior about his drinking, after a colleague had ‘ratted him out’, knowing he was consuming vodka at work.

He claimed in his overnight texts that he hadn’t told her any of this because of the ectopic pregnancy: he hadn’t wanted to burden her, hadn’t wanted to dump all his problems on her after what she’d been through. He said he’d been consumed with guilt for months, that Robin was far too good for him, that he loved her more than he’d loved any woman, but if she wanted to leave him, he’d understand, because he’d breached her trust in ways he wasn’t going to try andjustify, but he still implored her to stay, to give him another chance, to let him prove himself to her.

The cumulative effect of these texts was not only to rob Robin of sleep, but to fill her with anger, guilt and fear.

Murphy’s story contradicted itself. He’d already been under investigation at work before her hospitalisation, and she was certain he was lying about the night the pregnancy had happened, that he had indeed been drunk when they had sex. While she couldn’t place all the blame on him – it had been her choice to rely on condoms for a while, her choice not to go for the morning-after pill – she did blame him for his explosion of rage when she’d asked if he’d been drinking, which had made her feel so guilt-stricken at falsely accusing him.

And yet… with her eyes on the dark sky, Robin couldn’t lie to herself. She was far from guiltless.

Not once had Murphy criticised her for voluntarily enduring those long months undercover at Chapman Farm, which had left her in such a fragile mental state that she hadn’t wanted to restart taking hormones. He’d been nothing but kind and supportive in the wake of her return to normal life, and it was then (she realised, looking back) that he’d stopped talking to her much about his own work. She’d slid easily into a pattern of not asking him for details, of assuming that a lack of discussion about his job was what he preferred. Would a woman who genuinely loved him not have pushed harder, even if it had caused a row? He’d been duplicitous, certainly, but hadn’t she been a little too willing to be fooled? And hadn’t she been telling her boyfriend lies, either outright or by omission, for months?

Robin drank her rapidly cooling coffee, and remembered the night she’d cried, face down on the partners’ desk, about the lost baby, but also about Cormoran Strike.You say you love me, but I feel like you withhold part of yourself from me…was she part of the reason Murphy had turned, again, to drink?There’s a distance between us sometimes and I don’t know if that’s just who you are, and this is how you love…she thought of the relief that had washed over her when they’d been gazumped…Can’t let even Christmas Eve go without sneaking off to text him…she hadn’t texted Strike, but she’d checked her phone in the hope that he’d texted her… she was so often guilty, not by the letter, but in the spirit…

Could she leave Murphy now, at what was clearly one of the lowest points of his life? After he’d stood by her, after Chapman Farm, andthe pregnancy? What would happen to him, if she left? What if he was fired? She thought about Kim’s ex, who’d killed himself after Kim had dumped him. She seemed to see, again, the beautiful face of Charlotte Campbell, viewed through bloody bathwater. In spite of everything, she believed Murphy to be a fundamentally good man. She’d told him, repeatedly, that she loved him.

Unable to bear thoughts that were leading her deeper into misery, Robin went to shower and get dressed. As she dried her hair, Murphy texted her again.

Please don’t leave me. Please.

Robin didn’t respond. It was ridiculously early, but she didn’t care: she’d head to the office and catch up with paperwork.

95

Now who beat his head in? Who would be most likely to beat his head in?

John Oxenham

A Maid of the Silver Sea

Shortly after leaving Tottenham Court Road station an hour later, Robin realised that Strike had sent her a text while she’d been on the Tube.

Call when you’re awake, I’ve had a busy night