The Hallmarked Man полностью

‘Can’t, I’m driving,’ said Robin, trying to sound matter of fact. Both of them here, alone, after dark: she was remembering the night they’d spent together on Sark, and also that night when they’d eaten a takeaway curry here together, before she and Murphy had even met, when Strike had told her she was his best friend. She oughtn’t to be thinking about those things. She shouldn’t be noticing Strike’s shirt.

‘Dev just texted me,’ she called out. ‘He wants a week off over Easter if we can manage without him.’

Strike returned to the office with his whisky and glass and sat down opposite her.

‘A whole week’s going to be a stretch unless we’ve got rid of this bloody silver vault case,’ he said. ‘Is there something up with him, by the way?’

‘Who, Dev? No, I don’t think so. Why?’

‘He’s been fairly brusque with me lately, and I notice he’s coming to you with queries about leave, not me.’

‘He hasn’t said anything,’ said Robin. ‘Um… I might have worked out what that note Niall Semple left for his wife means.’

‘What?’ said Strike, thoroughly taken aback.

‘I’ve been reading that book you downloaded. Morals and Dogma of the Ancient—’

‘—and Accepted Whatever of Bollocks, yeah,’ said Strike. ‘How did that help?’

Robin looked at her computer screen and read aloud:

‘“Question: What is the most occult number?

‘“Answer: 5, because it is enclosed in the centre of the series.

‘“Question: What is the most salutary number?

‘“Answer: 6, because it contains the source of our spiritual and corporeal happiness.

‘“Question: What is the most fortunate number…” You get the idea,’ she said. ‘If I’m right, Niall was leaving Jade an eight-figure code: two, five, zero, six, two, zero, one, six. I suppose it’s too much to hope that opens the Ramsay silver vault?’

‘Doubt it,’ said Strike, as Robin passed a Post-it note to him across the desk and he looked down at the string of numbers. ‘There are no nines. The most worn key on that pad was nine… could be a date, though. Twenty-fifth of June 2016.’

‘Oh God, I didn’t spot that! What happened on the twenty-fifth of June 2016?’

Strike Googled it.

‘Five new species of orchid were discovered in the Philippines.’

‘I was thinking more of what was happening in Semple’s life,’ said Robin, amused.

‘That date’s three weeks after the last confirmed sighting of him alive, so your guess is as good as mine.’

Strike opened his notebook to the page with Spanner’s instructions on how to install the anonymising browser. He wasn’t thinking about Sark, or of the night they’d eaten curry at the office, or of sharing a bed with Robin after she’d escaped Chapman Farm; he was thinking about how this kind of situation had been exactly what he’d hoped would naturally arise in the course of the silver vault case, and how bloody pointless it had been to take on the damn investigation, in the end.

‘I’ve got another bit of news,’ said Robin. ‘Hugo Whitehead’s father called me earlier.’

‘Remind me?’

‘His son Hugo crashed Tyler Powell’s car.’

‘Oh yeah. What did he say?’

‘I told him we’re trying to trace Tyler Powell and he says he’s happy to speak to me, as long as his wife doesn’t find out, because it upsets her too much to discuss the car crash, so I’m going to their house on Monday evening, when she’ll be at a friend’s.’

The office landline rang.

‘Could be Rena Liddell again,’ said Strike, and he grabbed the receiver.

He could hear traffic.

‘Aye… it’s me again…’

Strike gave Robin a thumbs-up.

‘Hi,’ he said, and trying not to panic her, as he had done last time, he asked, ‘how are you?’

‘Ah need tae meet ye. Ah’m scared.’

She started to cry.

‘What are you scared of?’ asked Strike.

‘Ah know they’re watchin’ me.’

‘I want to meet,’ said Strike carefully, ‘but you’re going to have to tell me which Golden Fleece you’re talking about.’

‘Have ye got people listenin’?’ she said, suddenly suspicious.

‘No,’ said Strike.

‘Have ye got a gun?’

‘No,’ said Strike. ‘Why?’

‘Ah want one.’

‘That’s a bad idea,’ said Strike firmly.

‘Aye, mebbe… I was gonnae… but it’s no’ righ’, not even if they’re Muslims, is it? It’s no’ righ’… jus’ come tae the Golden Fleece, all righ’? It’s where he was, Ah can’t say more ’n that, can Ah?’

He heard beeping and knew she was in a call box. Possibly she had no more coins, because the line went dead. Strike hastily started pressing 1471 to retrieve the number she’d been calling from when the phone rang again.

‘Shit – yes?’ he said, answering.

‘It’s me,’ said Midge, who appeared to be in a bar or restaurant. ‘Big news on Plug.’

‘Hang on,’ said Strike, switching to speakerphone, ‘I’m with Robin. Go on about Plug.’

‘He and a few mates are in the Stapleton Tavern in Haringey and they’re planning a stabbing.’

‘What?’ said Robin.