Page 79 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)
Poe finished his briefing. The room stayed silent. After a minute, he said, ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘It’s a lot to process, dear boy,’ Locke said.
Flynn snorted. ‘It’s reckless, is what it is.’ She turned to Locke, clearly sensing he might be an ally. ‘Alastor, do you think we should try this . . . lunacy?’
‘Any position I form will be coming ab irato , my dear.’
‘That’s Latin for motivated by anger rather than reason, DCI Flynn,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Alastor Locke doesn’t think he can be objective because Ezekiel Puck killed his daughter-in-law.’
Locke smiled and nodded.
‘Yes, thank you, Tilly!’ Flynn snapped.
‘You’re very welcome.’
Flynn glared at her before saying, ‘And don’t call me “my dear”, Alastor. I’m not your fucking pet.’
‘My apologies, Stephanie.’
Flynn turned to Doyle. ‘Surely you’re not going to go along with this shitshow, Estelle?’
‘I don’t know what to think yet,’ Doyle admitted. ‘Like Mr Locke said, it’s a lot to process.’
‘Damned fool is making himself the target, Lady Doyle!’ Uncle Bertie yelled from the back of the room. He had fallen asleep in a plush armchair and Poe had kind of forgotten he was there. They all had. ‘It’s a tiger hunt and Washington is volunteering to be the tethered goat.’
‘Remind me why he’s here, Poe,’ Locke said.
‘Insight,’ Poe lied.
Bertie held up his glass. ‘Lady Doyle has damned good whisky,’ he said. He then went back to sleep.
‘Bertie’s kept bigger secrets than this,’ Doyle said. She looked at her uncle. ‘Plus, he’s bloody sozzled. He won’t remember a thing.’
‘Estelle?’ Flynn said. ‘Can you please try to talk some sense into your idiotic fiancé?’
‘I agree this is reckless, Steph. I wonder why you’re so surprised, though. It’s entirely within Poe’s wheelhouse.’
Poe glanced at her. ‘You just had to get a nautical reference in there, didn’t you?’
Doyle winked.
‘Why does it always have to be him, though?’ Flynn said, unwilling to give up without a fight.
‘Tilly, what are the odds of me being shot by Ezekiel Puck?’
‘I don’t know, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘You can be very annoying.’
‘A normal person then. What are the chances of a normal person being shot?’
‘Sixty-nine million people live in the UK, and as Ezekiel Puck doesn’t discriminate when it comes to who he kills, the odds are straightforward – barring extenuating circumstances, the odds are sixty-nine million to one.’
‘And what might extenuating circumstances be? Would what I’m proposing increase those odds?’
Bradshaw bit her lip and nodded. ‘If Bethany Bowman is correct, it would, Poe.’
‘That’s why it has to be me, boss,’ he said to Flynn. He turned to Doyle. ‘That said, just say the word and I won’t do it.’
‘And what will you be like to live with when the next person is killed? No, you must do this, Poe. To deny you would be to deny who you are.’
‘It’ll mean postponing the wedding,’ Poe said.
‘Uncle Bertie!’ Doyle shouted.
Bertie woke with a start. ‘What is it, Lady Doyle?’
‘You willing to sample our wine cellar for a couple more weeks?’
He raised his glass. ‘ Per ardua ad astra .’
‘Through adversity to the stars,’ Bradshaw said without looking up from her laptop.
‘Doesn’t anyone speak English any more?’ Flynn muttered.
‘Uncle Bertie is fine with postponing the wedding, Poe,’ Doyle said.
‘He isn’t our only guest.’
‘They’ll be fine too. We’re not in our twenties. We’re inviting friends, not people we go to the pub with.’
‘But . . .’
‘Yes, you can still invite your friends from the pub.’
Poe took that as tacit permission. ‘Right, let’s get down to the logistics,’ he said. ‘I want to do this in six days and there are a lot of things to arrange.’
Locke took an ornate notebook from his inside pocket. ‘Thank you, Washington,’ he said.
‘I’m not doing this for you, Alastor,’ Poe said.
‘I know. But thank you anyway.’ He licked the end of his pencil. ‘Now, shall we get down to brass tacks. Sergeant Poe says we’re on a schedule.’