Page 106 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)
Two minutes later
Poe screeched to a halt. There was a Honda Jazz blocking the road. Bradshaw’s car. She had a new one. Replacing the driver’s side window with bullet-resistant glass hadn’t been reversible.
He got out of his BMW. Bradshaw got out of her Honda. She was wearing a dress. A sensible one. No superheroes print. They walked towards each other like it was High Noon .
Bradshaw pulled out her phone. Pressed a button and said, ‘Operation Scaredy Cat is a go.’ She ended the call, said, ‘Where are you going, Poe?’
‘Home.’
‘Why?’
‘You know why, Tilly. You heard what Ezekiel Puck said. No one is safe around me. Not you, not the boss, and definitely not Estelle. How can I get married? How can I put the people I love at risk like that?’
‘Who are you, Batman?’ Bradshaw snorted. ‘Anyway, Ezekiel Puck isn’t going to be a problem. Not any more.’
Poe blinked in surprise. ‘He isn’t? How?’
‘He was assaulted in his cell last night. Two inmates on a life sentence stabbed him in the eyes and ears with a sharpened toothbrush. They then cut off his tongue for good measure.’
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. The signature punishment of the men with whom Archie Arreghini did business.
He thought about it. Decided it changed nothing.
‘There’ll always be an Ezekiel Puck, Tilly,’ he said. ‘Someone willing to do the unthinkable. To exploit our weaknesses.’
‘They’re not weaknesses, Poe. They’re strengths.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Bradshaw said. ‘But as soon as Estelle found out what Ezekiel Puck had said to you, she knew it would get in your head. That you’d stew on it, decide an irrational decision was in everyone’s best interests. We decided to take precautions.’
‘Which is why you’re blocking the road?’
‘It is, Poe.’
‘But what if I hadn’t reversed? What if I’d kept on going into Corbridge?’
‘DCI Flynn would have stopped you.’
‘There’s a sideroad, I could have—’
‘Poe, I’m just going to stop you there,’ she said. ‘ All the roads are covered. Alastor Locke has surveillance drones in the air. We’ve been watching you since last night.’ She paused. ‘By the way, what was it Edgar found to roll in?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do.’
‘A dead fox.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You were right. I didn’t want to know.’
‘I’m that predictable?’ Poe said.
‘You are, Poe. Estelle says it’s because you’re a good man.’ She reached into her pocket and handed him an envelope. ‘But, just in case you’re still having doubts, I have a letter for you.’
It was a cream envelope, thick paper, sealed with red wax, Doyle’s family crest stamped in the middle. Poe read it. He smiled. Couldn’t help it. It was short and sweet and very direct. ‘Have you read this?’ he asked Bradshaw.
‘I have, Poe.’
‘It says, “If you think you’re leaving me at the altar, Poe, I’ll track you down and kick you so hard in the balls they’ll shoot out of your fucking nose.”’ He folded up the letter. Put it back in the envelope. It was a keeper. ‘“Fucking” is in capital letters,’ he said.
Bradshaw nodded.
‘So is “nose”.’
She nodded again.
‘She’s underlined them too.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re my best friend, Tilly,’ he said. ‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Do you love Estelle Doyle, Poe?’
‘You know I do.’
‘And do you want to be married to her?’
‘I do.’
‘Then shouldn’t you be saying those words to someone else?’ Poe frowned. ‘When did you get so bloody wise?’
‘I watch a lot of Star Trek , Poe.’
Poe thought that might have been the Bradshawiest answer to any question he’d ever asked her. He chuckled. Then he stopped.
She saw his expression change. ‘Shall we go up?’ she said.
But still Poe hesitated. He still had doubts.
Bradshaw sighed. ‘Look, I was waiting until my speech to tell you this, Poe, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.’
‘Time for what?’
‘What have we been talking about for the last six months, Poe?’
‘My PTSD?’
‘No, our plan.’
Their plan. Of course. Their plan to leave their jobs and go into business together.
It had been something to think about, to dream about, when he’d been at sea and Bradshaw had been in the bowels of MI5 or GCHQ or wherever the hell Alastor Locke had hidden her.
It was a total fantasy, though. A non-starter.
‘I can’t ask you to give up your career for me, Tilly,’ he said. ‘I just can’t.’
‘You’re not asking me to give up my career, Poe. I’ve already left. I’m asking you to give up yours for me.’
‘You’ve already left?’
Bradshaw nodded. ‘I handed in my notice to Alastor Locke last night. I hate working for him, Poe. Hate it. I told him I would finish my current assignment but, after that, I’m unemployed.
Unless . . .’ She reached into her dress pocket and removed a slim piece of cardboard.
It was the size of a credit card. She handed it across.
It was a business card. Navy blue, gold letters. Poe stared at it until his eyes became wet.
Washington Poe & Tilly Bradshaw Gumshoes For Hire
‘You actually used “Gumshoes”,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘I was only half serious when I suggested that.’
‘You’re only ever half serious, Poe,’ she said. ‘I think it’s because you have a sunny disposition, although DCI Flynn says it’s because you suffer from mild retardation.’ She chewed her bottom lip, worried. ‘Don’t you like it?’
He looked at the business card again.
‘It’s perfect, Tilly,’ he said. ‘Absolutely perfect.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I guess I’m leaving the National Crime Agency then,’ he said. He tucked the card into his top pocket. Patted it like he was in an Ealing comedy. ‘Funny, I thought I’d be sadder.’
‘It’s the right time, Poe,’ Bradshaw said.
‘It is, Tilly.’ He checked his Timex. ‘Speaking of time,’ he said. ‘Don’t you have a groom to escort to the altar?’
‘I do, Poe.’
‘Come on then. Let’s not keep the lady waiting.’ He paused. ‘Oh, and Tilly?’
‘Yes, Poe?’
‘There’s no reason Estelle needs to find out about any of this, is there?’
‘No reason at all, Poe.’
‘You’ve already told her, haven’t you?’
‘I have, Poe.’