The CSI guy unfastened his protective overalls and wordlessly handed it over.
‘You have twenty seconds to leave my crime scene,’ Mathers said. ‘If you’re still here in twenty-oneseconds, Sergeant Poe will arrest you.’ The guy stood, dusted himself down. ‘Oh, and in case me taking your ID was ambiguous, you no longer have a job. I just wanted to make that clear.’
‘You haven’t heard the end of this,’ he snarled.
‘No?’ Poe stepped forward. Went up to him. Pushed his face into his. The CSI guy took a step back. ‘Look into my eyes and say that again.’
The CSI lowered his head.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Poe said. ‘Now piss off.’
The CSI guy slunk off, muttering all the way.
Flynn and Bradshaw wandered over. ‘What was that about?’ Flynn asked.
‘Nothing important,’ Poe replied. He nodded towards Archie Arreghini. ‘Will he talk to us?’
‘It’s the only reason he’s still here. He wants to talk to you, Poe.’
‘Me?’
‘And only you.’
‘Why?’
Flynn shrugged. ‘Within two hours of his daughter’s murder, he had full profiles of everyone on the investigation team. He sees something in you he likes. Probably your happy disposition.’
Mathers frowned. ‘Be careful, Poe,’ she said. ‘Archie Arreghini isn’t who he seems. He might be aristocracy, but you guys have a file on him. Interpol has a file on him.Wehave a file on him, and he doesn’t even live in London.’
‘What’s he done?’
Mathers shook her head. ‘Just be careful. Don’t promise him anything.’
Chapter 19
Archie Arreghini was old school; he stood to shake hands. His grip was iron-like but Poe didn’t think he was making a point. It was just how he was. He invited Poe to take a seat then poured them both a drink from an almost empty bottle. His eyes were red and unfocused, but Poe didn’t think he was drunk.
He picked up his glass and raised it. Waited for Poe to do the same. Poe did. They bumped glasses. Poe put his on the table. Archie put his to his lips. He drained it then clinked it against the bottle.
‘Do you know what this is, Sergeant Poe?’ he said.
‘I don’t, sir.’
‘It’s the Macallan M, one of the most expensive whiskies in the world. I bought the last two bottles at an auction in Hong Kong a few years ago. One for Jools and me to share on her wedding day, the second on the birth of her first child.’ Poe didn’t know what to say to that. He stayed silent. ‘Please, take a drink.’
Archie was a grieving father and Poe could see no reason not to do as he had been asked. He wasn’t a big whisky drinker, but he knew the difference between a bottle of gut rotter and the real deal. The Macallan M was the real deal. It was extraordinary. Rich and complex, delicate and warming, it had a lingering, peaty, smoky finish. If he’d been at home, he’d have finished the dram and poured another.
‘Good?’ Archie asked.
‘Very.’ Poe put down his glass. ‘You asked to see me, Mr Arreghini.’
Archie raised his hand. His personal protection officer approached the table. ‘This is Matthew,’ Archie said. ‘He’s from your neck of the woods. Cumbria. Do you know him?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’m surprised,’ Archie said. ‘Because he knows you. Well,ofyou.’
Poe shrugged. Recent events had raised his Cumbrian profile to the point that people stopped and stared.
