The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike, #8)

by Robert Galbraith

Now starting to feel as though some personal devil had decided to devote its day to kicking him repeatedly in the balls,

As he limped past the familiar guitar shops and record stores, even more tired, sore and depressed than when he’d left them that morning, the opening chords of ‘House of the Rising Sun’ issued from an open door.

‘Proper man’ was a Polworth-ism with many connotations. To be a proper man meant to be a strong man, an outdoors man, but also a man of principle. It meant lack of bombast, a repudiation of shallowness and a core of quiet self-belief. It meant being slow to anger, but firm in conviction.

I don’t know, though… dogs are such a tie…

‘Who’s the cleaner?’ asked Strike. Murphy flipped over a page. ‘Bloke called Todd.’ ‘Male cleaner?’ said Strike. ‘Men can clean, I’ve heard,’ said Robin. ‘Thought that was an urban myth,’ said Strike.

‘I think she’s Christmas shopping.’ ‘Christ, don’t remind me,’ groaned Strike. ‘I fucking hate it. I’d pay a grand for someone to do it for me.’

It was clear that she considered herself in the presence of celebrity, and Strike reflected that here he was seeing the flipside of the inconveniences of becoming newsworthy: the lure, to potential witnesses, of reflected glory.

The fact that high-level bureaucrats are trying to warn me off’ – he saw Lawrence’s eyelid flicker, and was pleased to see the man hadn’t liked being described as a bureaucrat – ‘makes me think Semple might have been injured on an operation you don’t want the public to know about.

It now occurred to him that this would be only the second time in his life he’d made the first move on a woman. Every other time (and he could imagine the reactions of other men, should he ever be fool enough to say this out loud) the woman had been the instigator, or had signalled so very clearly that a sexual approach would be welcome that it came to the same thing.

Robin felt the mobile in her pocket vibrate, and suspected Pat had just sent her Jonny Rokeby’s message. Now feeling as though she was concealing a small but powerful explosive device on her person, she watched Strike bring up the clip of black and white film,

‘You know, women can be useful in certain situations.’ ‘Thanks,’ said Robin. Strike almost smiled for the first time since waking. ‘I mean, the presence of a woman usually makes everything seem more innocuous.

‘You’re thirty-two, right?’ ‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘While you’re still under thirty-five, you’ve got around a fifty-five per cent chance of a live birth via IVF,’ he said, ‘but the odds are lower with a first implantation. Wait until forty, and your odds drop to ten per cent.’

It is the great misfortune of the coward that he sees danger everywhere, and of the snob that he perpetually underestimates those he considers his inferiors. Thus Cormoran Strike knew that Sacha Legard, who was both snob and coward,

returned to the crowded ground floor, which was full of adults wearing Christmas sweaters and party dresses, and several small children Strike did his best not to step on or knock over as he made his way to the kitchen

‘This isn’t about Ryan!’ Robin said, her anger fuelled by the knowledge that she was at least partly lying.

Strike, who had the horrible feeling she was right, watched an oncoming double decker speeding towards him and, for a fraction of a second, imagined stepping out in front of it, and erasing himself and every problem along with him, of being lost in black nothingness, in a state of blissful non-being, but the bus passed, and Strike limped on, and he couldn’t even muster anger

Then I got this job, which I love more than any – well, I don’t love it more than you,’ she said hastily, because that was what you had to say, wasn’t it, sitting opposite the man you were going to live with?

‘If everyone thought properly about having kids before they did it, there’d be a lot fewer fucked-up people in the world.’

The buildings were of concrete and in their diluted brutalism looked like cheap homages to the National Theatre.

‘How much information has DCI Ryan Murphy been feeding you?’ asked Northmore. Out of the corner of his eye, Strike saw a stiffening of Iverson’s expression. He was surprised they’d named Murphy, on tape. Could the man be under some kind of cloud? Might he even be under investigation? ‘Zero,’ said Strike. ‘Nothing’s been let slip during bedroom talk?’ said Northmore. ‘Haven’t shagged him yet,’ said Strike. ‘Playing hard to get.’

Robin knew very well that stupid males could be just as dangerous as intelligent ones.

I like a woman wiv a sense of humour. Fuck knows why I married fuckin’ Carla, she’s abou’ as funny as gettin’ your foreskin caught in your zip.

Rokeby’s bloodshot eyes had filled with tears. ‘You don’t ’ave to take nuffing, I’m not tryna buy ya, I know you didn’ like me offerin’ money, before. I jus’ wanna know you. Jus’ a beer or somefing, not nowhere public. Anuvver beer, when there ain’t some fuckin’ journo after you. One beer.’ Strike looked at him for a few conflicted seconds, then said, ‘Yeah, all right. We’ll have a beer.’

Strike considered that certain kinds of criminals were treated far too leniently by the criminal justice system, a viewpoint shaped in adolescence by the sight of his stepfather repeatedly committing violence, then being released on bail conditions he ignored.

‘Dino always bullied Peter, treated him as though he was still his fag at Eton, even when I was married to him.

‘Well,’ said Tara, eyes narrowed over her coffee cup, ‘aren’t you clever?’ ‘The evidence points that way, yeah,’ said Strike.

Jade wept, her cigarette burned slowly downwards, and Strike wished he could take it from her and finish it.