The Hallmarked Man полностью

‘Other people have talked?’ said Fiona, stopping in her tracks.

‘Yes,’ said Robin. It was semi-true. Shanker had talked.

‘And what’ve they said?’

‘That the man in the vault was killed because he had information on somebody rich and important.’

‘Oh fuck,’ moaned Fiona, starting to pace again.

‘I promise you, we can keep you out of this, if you tell us what you know.’

‘You can’t keep me out of it, I’m up to my fucking neck in it now, Craig’s gonna fucking kill me!’

A suspicion now crossed Robin’s mind, a suspicion she knew better than to voice at this early stage of the interview.

‘Do you know Dick de Lion?’ she asked.

‘His name’s Danny,’ said Fiona, her plump lips quivering. ‘Yeah, I know him. I’ve worked with him.’ She burst out, ‘I warned him not to get involved, I warned him!’

‘Involved in what?’ asked Robin.

Fiona snatched her cigarettes off the island top, crossed to the French windows, opened them and lit up. She took a deep drag and exhaled towards the garden, which was paved, with plants in pots, and a bright pink table and chairs.

‘What’s Danny’s surname?’ asked Robin.

‘Same. De Lion’s his real one.’

‘What was it you didn’t think he should get involved in, Fiona?’

Fiona took another drag on the cigarette and again exhaled towards the garden, waving her free hand to try and keep the smoke out. Robin decided to back off a little.

‘Where’s Danny from? London?’

‘No,’ said Fiona, ‘he comes from this, like, weird place – there aren’t any cars. I thought he was joking but it was for real. There was no cars there, just, like, horse-drawn carts and tractors. I think it’s an island. I thought he was bullshitting, but he wasn’t. He showed me pictures.’

‘What was the place called, can you remember?’

Fiona shook her head.

‘How old is Danny, d’you know?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Has he been in the adult industry long?’

‘Long as me, probably,’ said Fiona. ‘Two, three years.’

She threw a desperate glance at Robin.

‘I don’t know what the guy’s name is, the rich guy. Craig’s never told me. Just that he’s on the telly sometimes.’

Fiona was shivering slightly in the cold, but her craving for nicotine overrode her desire for warmth, because she took yet another deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke garden-wards.

‘How did Danny meet this man?’ said Robin, feeling her way. ‘Did Craig introduce them?’

Fiona nodded, not looking at Robin.

‘And Danny and the rich man entered a relationship?’

‘No,’ said Fiona, with a scornful laugh.

‘From what we already know,’ said Robin, taking a chance, ‘it sounds as though Danny was blackmail—’

‘No, he wasn’t,’ said Fiona quickly, turning back to Robin again, ‘he never black – it was a joke! Craig told me Danny and the rich guy had a row, and that the guy had, like, contacts and stuff… said he knew rough people, had the police in his pocket… and then Danny disappeared.’

‘When?’

‘I dunno… end of May last year?’

‘How does Craig know the rich man?’ asked Robin.

‘From when he was a kid,’ said Fiona. ‘I dunno exactly how.’

Robin’s phone buzzed. She took it out to see a text from Barclay.

Wheaton food shopping. I’ll alert when he gets back in the car.

Robin slid the still-recording phone back into her bag and said,

‘So Craig told you Danny was the body in the safe?’

‘Yeah,’ said Fiona, starting to cry. ‘He told me to… to stop bloody asking people where Danny was… unless I wanted to go the same way…’

‘Is Danny the only young man Craig’s introduced to the rich man?’

Fiona shook her head, still crying.

‘There are others?’

‘Yeah… girls as well… the rich guy’s bi. Craig told me he’s married to a woman, but he likes both.’

Fiona took another drag on her cigarette and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

‘How did you know we’re investigating that body, Fiona?’

‘’Cause I heard Craig on the phone to the rich guy… he always speaks different when he’s talking to him… an’ I heard him say “Cameron Strike” and that he hadn’t seen him around or anything… Craig sounded scared. So I Googled Strike and I saw he was a private detective.’

Fiona padded out into the garden in her bare feet, stubbed out her cigarette on a paving slab, flicked the stub into next door’s garden, closed the French windows and walked, still crying, to the kitchen island, where she sat down, supporting her forehead on her hand.

Robin’s phone buzzed again, and within seconds, Fiona’s pinged. Both reached for the mobiles, and Robin read,

Wheaton back in car with food shopping but stationary and texting.

‘It’s Craig,’ whispered Fiona, texting her partner back.

‘Is he coming home?’ asked Robin, trying to sound casual.

‘Not yet… wants to know what we need from the offie…’

Robin slipped her own phone back into her bag.

‘I thought,’ said Fiona, getting up again, and taking air freshener out of a drawer in the island, ‘I could tip this Strike off, with a note – ’cause Craig reads my emails and texts and everything…’