Page 37

The Old Bath House had been exactly what it sounded like: a bathhouse. A detached building at the front of the hotel, it was now used for guests who wanted additional privacy.

Darren looked agitated.

‘What’s up?’ the receptionist asked.

‘There’s some trouble in the bar.’

Poe didn’t work for the local constabulary any more but he was still a cop at heart.

‘Show me,’ he said. His tone didn’t invite discussion. He followed the barman through to the main bar area. It was old-fashioned, a bit worn, resembled a working men’s club and attracted a strange mix of clientele. When Poe was having a drink in the hotel he tended to use the smaller bar to the left of reception. He only used the main bar when he needed the free wi-fi.

‘I’ve asked them to leave her alone, sir,’ Darren said, ‘but they told me to “fuck off”.’

Poe looked where he was pointing. His breathing quickened. The animal inside him stirred. And Bradshaw was just starting to come out of her shell . . .

She was seated near the window, trying to play a game on her laptop; Poe recognised the headphones she’d slip on when she conversed with other players. Three men surrounded her. They were wearing nametags. He hated conference goers; as soon as they were away from home they seemed to think the rules of society no longer applied, and these clowns had clearly been drinking all day. As Poe watched, one of them lifted the headphones off Bradshaw’s head and whispered something into her ear.

‘Stop it!’ she said, snatching them. Her eyes were wide as she stared at her laptop. The man who’d removed her headphones did so again. Bradshaw again took them back. All three men laughed.

Another man pushed a bottle of lager to her mouth and tried to encourage her to take a drink. She shook her head and it spilt down her T-shirt. The men laughed again.

‘Shall I call the police, Mr Poe?’

‘I’ve got this, Darren.’

He walked over. One of the men noticed him. He whispered something to the others and they turned. All three looked like they’d been caught wearing their mother’s knickers. Bradshaw looked small and fragile yet . . . there was steel. She wasn’t crying and she wasn’t screaming for help. She was facing up to them.

‘What’s up, boys?’ Poe asked. His voice was calm but there was no mistaking his intent. When Bradshaw saw him, he knew the look of relief on her face would stay with him forever.

The man who’d been trying to take Bradshaw’s headphones said, ‘Just having a bit of fun with Mrs Mouse here.’ He had a southern accent and was slurring.

Poe ignored him. ‘You OK, Tilly?’

She nodded. Her face was paler than usual but she was bearing up. She had guts, he’d give her that. He’d known cops who’d have bottled it by now.

‘Tilly? How come this streak of piss knows your name but you won’t tell old Karl?’ the drunk asked. ‘It’s almost as if you don’t like me. I don’t like it when people don’t like me.’

Jesus . . .

‘Why don’t you go and wait by the bar, Tilly? I’ll be with you in a second,’ Poe said.

Bradshaw tried to stand but the man who called himself Karl put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. ‘You’re going nowhere, darling.’

The animal inside Poe got to its feet. It cracked

its knuckles and rolled its shoulders . . . He knew he could stop the situation from escalating by producing his NCA ID card. He also knew he wasn’t going to do that; some lessons have to be delivered physically. ‘Everything’s fine, Tilly,’ he said. ‘These men are about to leave.’

‘Are we now?’ Karl said. He stood to emphasise his height and bulk. He grinned when he saw Poe sizing him up.

‘Why don’t you fucking jog on, mate?’ he said. ‘I’m not leaving until I’ve found out whether this frigid bitch spits or swallows.’ He lifted an empty bottle by the neck. The threat was clear.

Poe turned to face him but he was speaking to all three. ‘Put down your drinks. Leave now. Don’t ever come back.’ His voice was a growl.

The man who was comparatively sober – Poe could see a nametag with the words ‘Team Leader’ – said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ Poe knew he’d recognised trouble even if his drunken colleagues hadn’t.

‘Sit down!’ Karl hissed. ‘We’re going nowhere. I’m teaching this northern monkey a lesson.’

Poe smiled politely.