‘Except for Tilly, obviously.’
‘I’ve never been to a wedding before. I imagine it will be glorious.’
Poe and Flynn took a moment. Glorious wasn’t the word that sprang to mind. Ordeal did. Stuffy did. Archaic did.
‘If you don’t come, Estelle’ll know you’ve snubbed her,’ Poe said.
Flynn sighed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But only because I want to hear Tilly’s best man speech.’
Chapter 17
The man in the ghillie suit stared at the wedding party through the Schmidt & Bender telescopic sight. It was as if he were right there. Like he could reach out and touch them. The bride-to-be wasn’t wearing white, but he had no trouble identifying her. She turned everyone else into background. Natural charisma. Unlike the woman he’d killed at Gretna Green, this wedding wasn’t taking place in a ten-ceremonies-a-day venue. This wedding was in a marquee. It was on private grounds. The bride’s family were aristocracy. They had money and titles. Serious money, serious titles. The groom was a title-less scrote, though, allowed into the family to widen the gene pool. Make sure the family tree had more than one branch. That her children would be born with normal-looking ears.
It didn’t matter to the man in the ghillie suit. Titles meant nothing to him. Money meant nothing to him. He was a change-agent. A blow to the status quo. And yes, he had an agenda, asecretagenda, but he thought of that as more of a byproduct. The important thing was the chaos.
He held his breath. Shooting from distance was all about a stable firing platform. That meant no breathing. No nothing. Just the sight, the barrel and the target. One-two-three. Easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel . . .
He increased the pressure on the trigger.
Then he smiled. Relaxed.
More guests were arriving. The marquee would soon be full. It would still be an easy shot. The man in the ghillie suit decided to wait.
The more the merrier.
Poe picked up a small white dish. The caterers had put together lots of small white dishes. He was supposed to try them all then pick his favourite five. Doyle would do the same. The caterer had already selected ten wedding staples. Italian dried ham, tarts with paper-thin pastry topped with micro-herbs, smoked salmon blinis, that kind of thing. Twenty dishes for the wedding breakfast. Poe had asked why they weren’t serving Cumberland sausage, cheesy mash and onion gravy. He said that Edgar didn’t like smoked salmon. He certainly didn’t like micro-herbs. No one did. Anything the chef had to apply with tweezers wasn’t food as far as Poe was concerned. Doyle reminded him that Edgar was a gluttonous spaniel who ate sheep shit. And the last time she’d offered him smoked salmon, he’d accidentally bitten her hand he’d grabbed it so fast.
‘And how did you answer when I asked how involved you wanted to be in the planning?’ she said. She was wearing black jeans, torn at the knees, Golden Goose sneakers, an off-theshoulder jumper and skull earrings. A slash of crimson lipstick. Poe thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Someone had once said that Doyle looked like a Goth Elizabeth Taylor and now Poe couldn’t unsee it. She certainly had an aura about her.
‘I said I was too busy,’ he mumbled.
‘That’s right,’ she said, smiling. ‘You said you were too busy. This is what it’s like not to be involved.’ She softened and added, ‘Don’t worry, Poe, your only jobs are to pick five dishes tonight and make sure you say “I do” on the day. Everything else is just wedding tinsel. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t mean anything.’
So Poe picked up and put down white dishes like he was playing ‘find the pea’ at Borough Market. The one in his hand was full of vegetables but not like the ones he had with his Sunday roast down at the Crown. These vegetables were covered in red goo and smelled funky.
‘What’s this?’ he asked Bradshaw.
Bradshawhadwanted to be involved in planning the wedding.
‘It’s called kimchi, Poe.’
‘And what the hell is kimchi?’
‘It’s fermented cabbage. It’s Korean.’
‘Are you stark raving mad? I’m not eating fermented cabbage on my wedding day.’ He paused a heartbeat. ‘I’m not eating fermented cabbageever.’
‘Just try it, Poe,’ Doyle sighed.
Poe picked up a spoon. Nibbled at a bit of the kimchi. His eyes widened. ‘Hey, this isreallynice.’ He licked the spoon then finished the rest. ‘Can I have some more?’
Bradshaw and Doyle fist bumped.
‘What?’ Poe said.
‘We’ve been thinking of ways to improve your diet and Tilly suggested spicy vegetarian dishes from India and Korea and Thailand,’ Doyle said. ‘Seems she’s on to something.’
Poe scowled. ‘Don’t try to change me, Estelle,’ he said.
