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Chapter 32

Poeleft Flynn to pay the bill – she had an NCA credit card, he had never been trusted with one – and made his way out of the restaurant. Henning Stahl was one hundred yards ahead, shuffling along, oblivious to what was happening behind him. Poe eased into a jog and caught up with him near his basement flat.

Stahl heard him and swung round. He held a full plastic bag protectively against his chest.

‘Get away!’ he snarled. ‘You’re not having it!’

‘Calm down, Mr Stahl,’ Poe said, trying not to wince at the man’s sour breath. ‘I’m a police officer.’ He slowly removed his ID and held it up.

Stahl leaned forwards and squinted. He smelled like a week-old beer towel. His shoulders were stooped and his ginger hair was lank and thinning. Poe could see his scalp. Week-old stubble covered his chin and throat like a rash. He was pale, even paler than Bradshaw and she avoided the sun like a Scottish vampire. And Stahl’s skin looked shiny, like he had a fever. Poe glanced in his carrier bag and was unsurprised by its contents – eight cans of premium-strength lager and a cheap bottle of vodka.

‘I’m with the National Crime Agency,’ Poe continued. ‘I’d like to ask you some questions.’

‘I have nothing more to say. Everything I knew, I told. Everything I did, I paid for. I just want to be left alone now. I made a mistake, but I wasn’t the worst.’

‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Mr Stahl.’

‘He thinks we’re here because of the phone hacking, Poe,’ Flynn said, coming up behind him.

‘Who’s this?’ Stahl said.

‘This is my boss, DI Flynn,’ Poe said. ‘And we’re not here because of the phone hacking, we’re here for something else.’

‘Oh?’

‘Have you heard about the man who calls himself the Botanist?’

He held up the carrier bag full of booze. ‘I’m an alcoholic, not an idiot,’ he said. ‘He’s the one who’s been killing all those vile people. What’s that got to do with me?’

‘Because, Mr Stahl,’ Poe said, ‘for some reason he’s chosen you as his conduit.’

Stahl’s eyes narrowed. A cunning look flashed across his face. ‘Has he now?’ he said.

‘And understandably, we’re wondering why.’

‘You’d better come in then.’

‘Do we have to?’ Flynn said.

Poe had optimistically hoped that Stahl’s flat might be like a grease-spattered kettle – filthy on the outside but sparkling on the inside. He was wrong. If anything, the interior was worse than the exterior.

The discoloured carpet was littered with crushed beer cans, vodka bottles and containers from what looked like every takeaway in Plaistow. A teetering stack of empty pizza boxes reached for the tobacco-stained ceiling like a cardboard stalagmite. Scattered rodent droppings made it look as though someone had dropped a packet of raisins.

And the smell … It was somehow both cloyingly sweet and acrid. Although Poe could smell vomit, urine and faeces, the overriding smell was stale alcohol. It seemed Stahl had hit rock bottom, then taken the elevator down a few more floors.

Poe’s eyes began to sting. Flynn put a tissue over her mouth and nose, didn’t even try to hide her disgust.

‘It’s the maid’s week off,’ Stahl said.

He slumped into a sagging armchair and reached for a plastic tumbler, one of the tacky promotional ones that came with meals at burger chains. The logoFrozenwas printed above a snowman and two princesses. He upended it, shook out a cigarette butt andblew away the ash. He unscrewed the new bottle of vodka and filled the tumbler to the brim. He took a long drink, shut his eyes for a moment, then reached for the vodka bottle again.

Poe grabbed it first. ‘After we’ve spoken,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ Stahl muttered, reaching for his cans of lager.

Flynn stepped on the bag’s handles. ‘He said, “After we’ve spoken.”’

‘Bastards,’ he muttered, scratching himself vigorously. He opened a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. ‘OK if I smoke, or is the nanny state going to stop me doing that as well?’