Chapter 40
Poe couldn’t remember ever feeling so full. David the waiter cleared their plates and brought over a couple of digestifs. Black Russian cocktails.
‘I have a car and driver waiting outside for you, Poe,’ Alastor said. ‘He’ll take you wherever you want to go.’
‘I want to go to Highwood. I want to see my wife.’
‘Then that’s where he’ll take you.’ Locke looked at his watch. ‘David will see you out. Unfortunately, I still have business that requires my attention. Please pass on my regards to Miss Bradshaw and Lady Doyle-Poe.’
After Poe had left the dining room, a forgettable man took his place. The kind of person you could look at all night and in the morning you wouldn’t be able to remember what colour his hair was. He said, ‘Mr Poe certainly enjoys his food, sir.’
‘He’s a man of healthy appetites, Jenkins.’
‘Did you get across what you needed to get across?’
‘I think so.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him, sir?’
‘That the man Buckby had arranged for Poe to meet was found with a bullet in his head not two hours ago?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Because if I had, Poe would have wondered how I knew. He’d have thought he was being manipulated. That he was working for me, not his client.’
‘But you are manipulating him, sir.’
‘He doesn’t know that, though. And it’s gloves-off time.’
‘And Washington Poe is who this needs?’
‘When he understands what’s at stake, he’s exactly the kind of person this needs. They really don’t know who they’ve sucked into their gravity well. I almost feel sorry for them.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course not. What they do is abhorrent.’
‘He no longer wields a badge, though, sir.’
‘Which means he’s no longer bound by rules,’ Locke said. ‘That will be a sight to behold.’ He chuckled. ‘Washington Poe versus a sadistic organised crime gang with virtually unlimited resources. Where’s your money, Jenkins?’
‘I’m not taking that bet, sir.’
‘Then your mother raised a very wise man.’
In the back of the Range Rover, Poe picked up the car phone and rang directory enquiries.
He asked for Cowie House in Carlisle. The phone rang ten times.
Monica Costelloe would be long gone, but Poe reckoned Bradshaw would still be there.
He thought she would realise his phone had been confiscated and he didn’t have her number.
That calling Cowie House was the only way he had of getting in touch.
If she heard the phone in reception, she’d either run down and answer it, or, more likely, she’d know how to transfer the call to herself.
He was right. She did.
‘Matilda Bradshaw, gumshoe for hire,’ she said. ‘This is not Cowie House reception. I repeat, this is not Cowie House reception. If you want one of the other businesses, I suggest you call back in the morning. Unless you want the ghost hunter, in which case I suggest you re-evaluate your life.’
‘Tilly, it’s me,’ Poe said.
‘Gosh, Poe, wherever have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all night.’
After Poe had updated her, she said, ‘This is all very … strange.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, Tilly,’ he said. ‘That sneaky bastard Alastor Locke is manipulating us again.’