The Hallmarked Man полностью

‘But Strike, I can’t stop night work. If Plug and his friends are plotting revenge on that man in Carnival—’

‘Nothing’s happened so far and that could’ve been hot air and bullshit. Look,’ said Strike, and it cost him some pride to admit he’d remembered her exact words, ‘you told me you “didn’t want to lose me”. I don’t want to lose you.’

Though Strike couldn’t hear it this time, because she had her hand pressed over her mouth, Robin was crying again. The hot tears trickled down over her fingers, and she didn’t trust herself to speak.

‘I didn’t tell you,’ said Strike. ‘I was at Rokeby’s when you called on Friday.’

‘Where?’ said Robin, in a slightly strangled voice.

‘Rokeby’s,’ repeated Strike.

‘What’s that, a restaurant?’ said Robin, struggling to sound normal.

‘No, it’s the house of Jonny Rokeby,’ said Strike. ‘The man who contributed half my DNA. My father, if you must.’

‘What?’ said Robin, the information having precisely the distracting effect Strike had hoped it would. ‘You – what? Why? How?’

When Strike had finished explaining, Robin said, stunned,

‘You said you’ll go for a drink with him?’

‘Didn’t have much choice, did I? Not after he dug me out of that hole. But if you check the paper today, you’ll see a retraction and an apology about Candy. They’ve buried it on page sixteen, but still.’

‘Wow,’ said Robin, who’d wiped her face dry with her sleeve and was feeling – even after the imposition of new working conditions – far better than she had at the start of the conversation. It was strangely consoling to be reminded that Strike, too, had made errors of judgement that had threatened not only his peace of mind, but his ability to do the job.

‘What did you think of him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, meeting him properly for the first time?’

‘Liked him slightly more than I thought I would,’ Strike admitted. ‘He was more honest than I expected, about his life. I wouldn’t go out of my way to meet him again if he’d just struck up conversation in a bar. But he was all right.’

‘That’s good,’ said Robin. ‘And I’m really glad about the Candy apology,’ she added, making a mental note to direct her mother’s attention to it.

‘Anyway,’ said Strike, ‘I want you to take a cab to and from the Goring on Friday, all right? And there’s something you can do from home that I haven’t got time for. I’ve been looking through Truth About Freemasons and Abused and Accused for any usernames, questions or personal details that appear on both sites, paying particular attention to anyone who posted before or around June last year, but I haven’t found anything. I’d appreciate it if you did a thorough, systematic search.’

‘We don’t know that Wright ever posted on either site,’ said Robin, who suspected she was being given something unlikely to yield results, but which would keep her safe and occupied in her flat. ‘He might just have been browsing. And how likely is it he used the same username in both places?’

‘If he’s smart, he won’t have done,’ admitted Strike, ‘but it’s worth a try.’

‘All right,’ sighed Robin, ‘I’ll have a look.’

‘I’d also be grateful if you put some more pressure on Tish Benton, because we’re completely stalled on Fleetwood.’

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on her Instagram,’ said Robin. ‘She’s having a great time flying between Clairmont hotels.’

‘Clairmont, did you just say?’ asked Strike.

‘Yes. You know, it’s that massive luxury chain. It was in a hashtag under one of the pictures I showed you, on her Instagram.’

‘Ah,’ said Strike. ‘I should’ve registered that.’

‘Why?’

‘Charlotte’s great-grandfather owned the original hotel. Her mother was born Tara Clairmont. I think she’s still on the company’s board of directors.’

‘Oh,’ said Robin.

‘Which seems an odd coincidence,’ said Strike, but as Robin didn’t respond, he said he’d better get going and rang off, wondering why she hadn’t told him she was engaged, and concluding that she was probably waiting to tell him in person.

The mention of Charlotte had given Robin a strange twisting feeling in her heart that she couldn’t explain, but she didn’t particularly want to investigate. She seemed to be a mass of hypersensitive nerves and really did need to pull herself together, to stop being so thin-skinned and jittery, especially when Strike had succeeded in making her feel better. Nevertheless, she cried more after he’d hung up. Having stumbled to the kitchen to fetch paper towels on which to dry her eyes and blow her nose, she told herself that the real problem was that she was tired, then returned to the sofa and the website about Reata Lindvall, which hadn’t been updated in several years.

The heading at the top of the page read: ERIC MAES HAS SERVED TEN YEARS FOR A CRIME HE DID NOT COMMIT.