Page 20 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)

Poe waved Bradshaw and Flynn over. Flynn shook her head. She was deep in conversation with Mathers. Poe wasn’t sure he liked that. It looked as if they were plotting. Bradshaw bounded over; her expression set to what she thought was sympathy. It looked like she was trying to lay an egg.

‘Hello, Poe,’ she said. ‘Hello, Mr Arreghini.’ She patted his shoulder, nodded sagely, and said, ‘Life goes on.’

‘Er . . . thank you,’ Archie said, bemused.

Poe put his head in his hands, rubbed his face. Bradshaw had yet to encounter a social situation she couldn’t make awkward. ‘This is Tilly, sir. I think she’s an AI robot from the future.’

‘Is “life goes on” not the right thing to say to the recently bereaved, Poe?’ Bradshaw asked. ‘I checked on a funeral website.’

‘Maybe not to the very recently bereaved, Tilly,’ Poe said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss is more customary.’

Bradshaw opened her omnipresent laptop. ‘I shall make a note of that in my “How to be more tactful” file.’ She opened a document and typed something so fast her fingers blurred. ‘I doubt Mr Arreghini will be the last vilomah we talk to.’

‘Vilomah?’ Archie asked before Poe could stop him.

‘It’s the term used for parents who have lost a child, Mr Arreghini. It comes from Sanskrit, one of the oldest languages in the world. A literal translation would be “Against the natural order”. Sanskrit also gave the world “widow”, which means empty.’

‘Vilomah,’ Archie said slowly, like he was tasting the word.

He nodded. ‘I like it. Because you’re right, Miss Bradshaw.

A parent losing a child is against the natural order.

’ He topped up his whisky with the last drops of the Macallan M.

He picked up his glass, swirled its contents.

‘It’s ironic,’ he said, pointing at the blood splattered against the inside of the circus marquee.

‘They call whisky the water of life. The next time I take a dram will be at my daughter’s wake. ’

He swigged it back. Slammed it on to the table.

Poe took his cue. He pointed towards Matthew the personal protection officer. ‘You’re a man with enemies,’ he said. ‘Tell me about them.’