Spiggens slid it across the table. Locke picked it up and spent a few seconds scanning the front page. It was a detailed account of Naomi Etherington’s murder in Gretna Green. He tilted his head. ‘I know a man who lives near Gretna Green. He doesn’t always play well with others, but he may be able to help.’
‘What? Who is he?’ Spiggens said. ‘Get him on the next train, man!’
‘The approach will have to come from someone else, I’m afraid. The last time we had contact there was considerable . . . unpleasantness.’
‘How unpleasant?’
Locke cleared his throat. ‘He said if he ever saw me again, he’d, and this is verbatim, “Take those stupid glasses off your head and stick them up your bony arse.”’
‘My word,’ Spiggens said. ‘Thatisunpleasant.’
‘And truthfully, it was not undeserved,’ Locke said. ‘Wedidtreat him rather badly.’
‘Perhaps he was exaggerating.’
Locke smiled at the thought. ‘This is not a man given to hyperbole, Timothy.’
‘What will he want?’
‘Knowing him, a crate of beer and some good-quality butcher’s sausages.’
‘Alastor,’ Spiggens warned. ‘The PM wants positive news – what will he want?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Locke said. ‘He’s whimsical.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Detective Sergeant Washington Poe.’
Cabinet Office Briefing Room C went from quiet murmurs to stunned silence so quickly it was like there’d been a power cut.
‘Good grief,’ Spiggens said eventually. ‘Is he still a police officer? I thought he’d married the Marquess of Northumberland’s daughter.’
‘Not yet.’
‘But they are engaged?’
‘I really have no idea, Timothy,’ Locke said. ‘I certainly haven’t received a wedding invitation.’
‘Washington Poe,’ Spiggens said, wondering if the PM would consider this good or bad news. ‘I’m not sure, Alastor. We got into alotof bother the last time he worked with us. All that stuff on the golf course.’
‘True,’ Locke replied. ‘But he was right.’
‘Yes, Iknowhe was right. He also caused a major diplomatic incident. My counterpart in the US didn’t return my calls for almost a year.’
Locke hid a smile. Unsuccessfully.
‘It’s not funny, Alastor!’ Spiggens snapped. ‘We called you in to get your take on this horrible situation and the only thing you’ve come up with is an unmanageable misanthrope from the far north of England.’
Locke said nothing.
‘I’m not sure he’s the type of person we want, Alastor.’
‘Maybe not, but he is the person weneed. He has a knack for this kind of thing.’
Spiggens sighed. ‘IfI take this to the PM, can you control him?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ Locke said. He thought about it for a moment. ‘But I know someone who can.’
