The Hallmarked Man полностью

‘Well, we should have a look for this website Wright visited, for people who’ve been wrongly accused, but it’s a bloody odd thing for Knowles to have done. Career criminals like him don’t usually need internet strangers to tell them how to cover their arses.’

‘No,’ agreed Robin, ‘but it might fit Rupert Fleetwood. Maybe he was looking for advice on how to convince the police he hadn’t really stolen that nef?’

‘He marched upstairs in the club in broad daylight to nick it, then admitted to his girlfriend he had it and refused to give it back, which isn’t the behaviour of a man keen on covering his tracks. If you ask me, nicking that nef was about more than money. Fleetwood was sending a giant “fuck you” to Dino Longcaster. Longcaster’s his godfather. Fleetwood probably assumed he could slack off at work because of the family connection, then had a hissy fit when he realised he couldn’t. The whole thing smacks of arrogance and entitlement.’

‘Nice that you’re keeping an open mind about him,’ said Robin drily.

‘I don’t like grifters and leeches,’ said Strike. ‘But OK, for the sake of argument: say it was Fleetwood in the vault. He’s gone to ground at Ramsay Silver to evade his various problems and responsibilities, intending to flog his nef to Kenneth Ramsay, who’s just lied to us about being offered it. Why would he then use the work computer to find out how to worm his way out of a theft charge? He’d successfully disappeared from view and found a possible buyer for the goods. You’d think he’d be ordering champagne online, not asking for advice.’

Robin now looked even more troubled.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Strike.

‘I just… we aren’t doing something immoral, taking this case, are we?’

Shit.

‘I thought we agreed we’d do it to put Decima’s mind at rest?’ said Strike.

‘But if we really don’t think it was Fleetwood, if there’s not the slightest chance…’

‘There’s always a slight chance,’ said Strike, backtracking shamelessly. ‘We haven’t promised Decima we’ll prove it was Fleetwood in the vault. We’ll be giving her closure if we prove it was someone else.’

‘Until she starts imagining Rupert was the victim of another unsolved murder.’

‘If her delusion survives us proving Fleetwood wasn’t William Wright, I’m happy to be the bastard who tells her she’s in the grip of a morbid fixation.’

‘You don’t think it might be kinder to do that right now?’

‘Look, there are similarities between Wright and Fleetwood. Height, build, blood type, left-handed, Fleetwood disappears, Wright appears, the silver thing… actually, on the subject of Fleetwood, would you mind taking over trying to persuade Rupert’s friend Albie Simpson-White to talk to one of us? He’s still refusing to come to the phone whenever I call Dino’s. Woman’s voice: less frightening.’

‘OK,’ said Robin, writing herself a reminder.

‘I’ve also emailed Fleetwood’s drug-dealing ex-housemate, Zacharias Lorimer, but no response so far. I’ll give him a few more days, because I’m not wasting money calling Kenya if he’s just going to tell me to piss off. Haven’t tried Sacha Legard and Valentine Longcaster yet. Probably have to send Sacha a message through his agent.’

‘What’s he like?’ asked Robin, who’d been unable to suppress a small frisson at the mention of Charlotte’s Oscar-nominated half-brother.

‘Like someone who’d benefit hugely from being punched in the face.’

‘Strike!’

‘You haven’t met him.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘His whole life’s been laid out for him on a golden platter; everything he wanted, from birth. His parents worshipped the ground he walked on and he takes it for granted everyone else feels the same.’

‘And that clearly really pisses you off.’

‘No. Well,’ Strike conceded, ‘a bit. Doesn’t mean I want him dead.’

‘God above, I should hope not!’ said Robin, half-amused, half-shocked. ‘D’you usually want people you dislike dead?’

‘Some of them,’ said Strike, thinking of Jeff Whittaker, his mother’s second husband. ‘If I heard Mitch Patterson had dropped dead in the dock, I’d probably celebrate with a pint. Rather see him in the clink, though.’

Until a few months previously, ex-policeman Mitch Patterson had headed up the rival detective agency for which Kim Cochran had been working. There’d never been any love lost between Patterson and Strike, and in the course of attempting to bring down Strike and Robin’s business, Patterson had found himself arrested for the illegal bugging of a top barrister’s office.

‘The trial starts next week,’ said Robin.

‘I know, I’m looking forward to that more than Christmas. You know, thinking about it,’ Strike said, feigning a sudden thought, ‘if anyone’s going to talk to Sacha Legard, it might have to be you.’

‘Why? You’re the one who knows him.’

‘Yeah, that’s the problem. I assume he knows what Charlotte’s suicide note said, which means he won’t be very well disposed to me at the moment. Although, come to think of it, that probably extends to you, too.’