The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike, #8)

by Robert Galbraith

She was lying watching a murmuration of starlings twirl across the leaden sky outside her window when her mobile rang.

There were many subjects on which he knew Shanker to be almost impressively ignorant – the geography of anywhere beyond Greater London, how taxation worked, who made laws – but his knowledge of organised crime in London was peerless.

‘How sure are you? Out of ten?’ ‘Dunno… five? But it could of bin ’im – Wright was a bit—’ Instead of finishing the sentence, Todd raised his right hand and let it hang, limply, from his wrist. ‘What?’ said Strike. ‘Camp?’ ‘Poncey. Yeah.’