Chapter 37
Detective Inspector Greene was apoplectic when Mutton Chops told him he had to release Poe.
Poe didn’t blame him. He’d arrested him and was in the process of interviewing him when the NCA had waltzed in and taken over.
And now, instead of handing him back, the NCA were insisting that Greene let him go.
Greene had tried the old ‘you have no authority here’ routine. Mutton Chops had agreed he didn’t, but the NCA director did. The NCA director had the never-yet-tested authority to overrule the Metropolitan Police Commissioner. No cop wanted to be the cause of the commissioner getting that call.
‘Well he’s not getting his phone back,’ Greene said. ‘It’s evidence.’
Poe shrugged. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘It’ll make a nice paperweight. You certainly won’t be able to use it.’
Poe was processed out of Walworth police station.
It took time. There were i’s to dot, t’s to cross.
Forms to sign. In Poe’s experience, people who were arrested then released without charge were offered a lift home.
That wasn’t practical in his case, but he thought they might at least offer to drive him to Euston.
When he asked if that was a possibility, he was told to perform a sex act on himself.
Rude.
It was half past eight. He’d missed the last train to Carlisle, but there was a later one out of King’s Cross he could catch. It would take him to Newcastle rather than Carlisle, so someone would need to pick him up. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than spending another night in London.
In the end it was moot. When he was escorted from the police station, a Range Rover with blacked-out windows was idling outside. The back door opened and a familiar face looked out.
‘What pickle have you got yourself into this time, Poe?’ Alastor Locke said.