Page 62 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)

‘This twat is running rings around us!’ Mathers yelled once Poe had told her what was in McCloud’s text message. ‘And how could she not know?!’

Which was both a fair and un fair question.

McCloud had told Poe that a Forest of Atholl gamekeeper had found a trail camera.

And it didn’t belong to Police Scotland.

He’d been putting up nesting boxes, hoping to attract more great spotted woodpeckers – apparently, woodpeckers were disproportionately important to woodland ecosystems – when he’d noticed the trail camera strapped to an adjacent tree.

Suspecting it belonged to a poacher, he’d removed it and handed it in to the estate manager.

The estate manager, the only staff member in the know, had immediately taken it to Chief Superintendent McCloud.

He’d led her to the tree in question. McCloud had climbed up to the strap marks on the bark and immediately saw what the trail camera had been attempting to capture.

The mystery trail camera was aimed at Ezekiel Puck’s zeroing range.

He’d been running surveillance on them. Or more likely, given how careful he was, he’d set up the camera after he’d set up his range. Made sure he wasn’t walking into a trap each time he returned. Clever. But not so clever they couldn’t have predicted it, Poe thought.

But now the surveillers had become the surveillees , one thing was certain – Ezekiel Puck wasn’t coming back. The zeroing range was a bust.

‘You know where we are?’ Mathers said to no one in particular. ‘Square fucking one, that’s where.’

Poe was tempted to let her vent. It wasn’t McCloud’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And when Mathers calmed down, she’d see that. The problem was, in this state of mind, Poe thought she was on the precipice of a mistake. That she might think she had only one option left.

So instead of letting her talk herself into a blunder, he said, ‘We didn’t have all our eggs in the range basket, ma’am. We’ve made progress. You’ve made progress. We know who he is. Where he lived and who he was married to. And I’m fairly certain we know his endgame.’

Mathers glowered, not yet ready to concede that Puck’s camera was anything other than an unmitigated disaster.

She held his eye as she put her phone to her ear.

When it was answered, she said, ‘When’s that fucking E-FIT going to be ready?

’ The answer clearly wasn’t to her liking.

‘Not good enough. I want it ready to go out in twelve hours. If it isn’t ready in twelve hours, you can go back to spray-painting dicks on railway bridges. ’

‘Releasing the E-FIT is a mistake, ma’am,’ Poe said.

‘And why the fuck would I care what Alastor Locke’s lackey thinks?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me, Poe. I know you went through some horrific shit last year, but the Poe I knew on the Botanist case would never kowtow to the security services.’

‘You’re a very silly woman, Commander Mathers,’ Bradshaw said, bristling the way she did any time someone had a go at him.

‘Poe is no one’s lackey.’ She bit her lip.

‘Well, maybe he’s Estelle Doyle’s lackey.

He certainly seems to do whatever she asks of him.

I think if she said he was no longer allowed to eat black pudding, he’d stop. ’

‘Or pretend to, at least,’ Poe said.

Despite herself, Mathers stifled a grin. ‘You were saying how I was a very silly woman, Tilly?’

‘Poe hates Alastor Locke,’ Bradshaw said. ‘He says he’s an eff-word underhanded idiot and that MI5 are as much use as a bread dildo.’

Flynn snorted.

‘You heard that, huh?’ Poe said.

‘You weren’t whispering, Poe. You were shouting so loud I had to put my fingers in my ears. Also, it doesn’t make sense as an insult – phallus-shaped bread was used to relieve sexual tension as far back as the Greco-Roman period, and that was two thousand years ago.’

Poe knew there was a joke in there somewhere about yeast infections, but he was surrounded by three strong women, and Flynn held a second-degree black belt in Krav Maga.

She could, and had, put him on his arse.

Plus, whatever he said would find its way back to Doyle.

She and Bradshaw were in almost constant touch.

So instead of making an inappropriate – go straight to the HR naughty step – comment, he said, ‘I think releasing the E-FIT is a mistake because Puck might not yet know we’ve found his Yorkshire hideaway.

He might not yet know we’ve spoken to his ex-wife.

The second you broadcast his image we lose that advantage. ’

Mathers sucked in a breath then blew it out. ‘I’m sorry, Poe,’ she said. ‘That Locke jibe was uncalled for. The truth is, if it wasn’t for you guys, we would be nowhere.’

‘I sense a “but” coming.’

‘But I need to take “confidence in the police” into consideration. The public need to see progress being made. If we lose their confidence, they’ll start ignoring advice. Then it moves from a public confidence issue to a public safety issue.’

‘It’s not as straightforward as that, ma’am,’ Poe said.

‘And while I appreciate the decisions you’re making now will no doubt be scrutinised at the inevitable public inquiry, I think, tactically, the best thing to do is let the security services sit on Puck’s home in Yorkshire while we sit on his ex-wife in Gretna. ’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said. ‘But we’re getting the E-FIT and we’re getting it soon. At the very least I want to know what this fool looks like.’

‘We know he’s tall,’ Poe said.

‘So are you,’ Mathers said. ‘So is Lurch.’

‘Lurch?’

‘Sergeant Illingworth. He’s one of my armed cops. My point is that lots of people are tall. Hell, even Archie Arreghini’s bruiser tops out at six-three.’

Poe looked at Bradshaw. Wondered if she were about to offer Mathers some mango. ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he.’

A suspicion bubble rose to the top of his mind-swamp and popped. It didn’t smell nice.