Page 57 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)

‘I’m calling in, doc,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’

‘Not today, Washington,’ Gray said. ‘Probably not this week.’

‘It has to be now.’

‘Are you having an episode? I know these sessions are as much for your benefit as hers.’

‘I’m fine. I just need to pick her brains.’

‘That’s out of the question, I’m afraid,’ Gray said. ‘And if I could accommodate you, you know I would.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘I told you earlier there was an incident.’

‘You did.’

‘I may have downplayed it.’

‘I still need to see her.’

‘She’s sleeping, Washington. She’s had, in layman’s terms, a whack on the head with a liquid cosh. She’ll be out for the rest of the day at least.’

‘Is she OK?’ Poe cared deeply about Clara Lang. She’d saved his life. Admittedly, she was also the cause of his PTSD, but that was just semantics.

‘ She’s fine.’

Poe understood what Doctor Gray was trying to tell him without breaking patient confidentiality.

There was a dark side to Clara Lang. And it didn’t end well for the people who saw it.

Someone had been hurt. Clara had been sedated.

She would be kept that way until it was safe for staff and patients alike.

Poe said goodbye and put his foot down. He’d spend the night at Highwood then visit Ezekiel Puck’s ex-wife in the morning.

‘I got one of the blighters with my stick, Washington!’ Uncle Bertie yelled the second Poe got out of the Audi.

Locke hadn’t told him where to leave it and Poe hadn’t asked.

If it wasn’t collected in the next day or two, he’d dump it in the nearest Iceland car park.

Leave the keys inside and let nature take its course.

Bertie had a crystal whisky glass in one hand and his stick in the other. It didn’t look like he intended to let go of either any time soon.

Doyle linked arms with Poe. Led him into the marquee.

‘Seems you’ve made a new friend,’ she said. ‘You’re all Uncle Bertie can talk about.’

‘Did you get his suit?’

‘We did, thank you. Did he really hit someone with his stick?’

Poe nodded. ‘You wouldn’t believe who if I told you.’

‘He said it was one of Alastor Locke’s men.’

‘How the . . . ?’ He didn’t bother finishing. Bertie and Locke were peas from the same pod. Of course they would know each other. They probably hunted foxes together.

Poe told her how his day had gone from pub-based lunacy with Uncle Bertie to getting abducted by the security services.

He told her about Ezekiel Puck and how Locke had asked him not to tell anyone about his role in a weird, and no doubt about to be banned, unit called the mischief makers.

He finished by telling her that Clara Lang had been sedated after yet another violent episode.

Doyle asked several questions, all of them about Clara.

She had as much invested in her treatment as he did.

‘What’s your plan now?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to ask Tilly to tear Ezekiel Puck’s ex-wife’s life apart. She’s at the centre of this whether she’s aware of it or not.’ Poe’s mobile rang. It was Flynn. He sighed. He’d been dreading this call. ‘But first I’m going to let the boss shout at me for a bit.’

He accepted the call. Gingerly put the speaker to his ear.

‘Poe, you fucking arsehole!’ Flynn shouted. ‘What the hell were you thinking, disobeying a direct order like that? Commander Mathers is apoplectic.’

Doyle grimaced. ‘Beer?’ she whispered.

Poe nodded. This could go on for a while.