Page 48 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)

‘Wake up, Bertie,’ Poe said. ‘We’re going to Northallerton nick but first I’m popping into Ripon.’

‘I know a nice—’

‘This isn’t a bloody pub crawl,’ Poe said. ‘I’m checking out a lead.’

Bertie belched. He was always doing that, Poe noticed. Didn’t seem to care who heard him.

‘What lead?’ Bertie asked.

‘Just a lead.’

‘Not this sniper chap?’

‘Why’d you say that?’

‘Lady Doyle’s thief taker won’t just be any old thief taker,’ Bertie said. ‘He’ll be an exceptional thief taker. And this chap’s turning into quite the nuisance.’

‘Indeed,’ Poe agreed. ‘Quite the nuisance.’

‘And we’re going to clap him in irons, eh?’

Poe rolled his eyes. ‘ We’re not doing anything, Bertie. I’m going to have a little look. See if it’s worth the boss and her boss coming down. For all we know this “chap” could be registered blind.’

Bertie tapped the side of his nose. He winked and said, ‘You don’t call in the cavalry until you see the whites of the damned Indians’ eyes, eh?’

‘Possibly something less offensive,’ Poe said, ‘but broadly speaking, yes.’

*

Poe knew Ripon well. He had to drive through it on his way to see Clara Lang.

It was a nice market town, just off the A1.

The Land Rover wasn’t equipped with a satnav, so Poe stopped at a newsagent and bought a Philip’s Street Atlas: North Yorkshire .

The last thing he wanted to do was telegraph his arrival by asking for directions.

He bought a bag of Werther’s Originals for Bertie to suck on while he waited.

‘No whisky?’ he moaned when Poe passed the boiled sweets over.

‘Shut up,’ Poe replied.

Ezekiel Puck’s house was a two-minute drive from the newsagent.

Poe drove 500 yards then parked the Land Rover two streets over.

He would walk the rest of the way. He clambered out of the driver’s seat and walked around to Bertie’s side.

He opened the door and said, ‘I’ll be ten minutes.

Don’t get out, don’t talk to anyone, and definitely don’t have anyone horsewhipped. Just eat your toffees and wait.’

‘Do you want one of the Purdeys? They’re loaded for deer.’

‘No, I don’t want a gun,’ Poe sighed.

‘My stick then?’

‘I don’t want a bloody stick either.’

Bertie offered him the bag of Werther’s. ‘A toffee?’

‘Ten minutes,’ he reminded him. ‘If you’re not here when I get back, I’m telling Estelle.’

Bertie gulped. ‘Steady on, old chap.’