Page 67 of The Final Vow


Font Size:

‘He did. He arranged a dinner reservation with his target. He had the paperwork to prove – paperwork that would stand up to rigorous scrutiny, I may add – that Puck was able to put a significant amount of business his way. He met him in a restaurant he already knew the woman in question would be dining at with her husband. Made sure their tables were closeenough for them to see each other, but not so close they couldspeakto each other. And a week later, he gets the first email . . .’

Poe read to the end of the page. ‘He thought that on seeing him, his ex-lover wanted to rekindle their relationship?’

‘Puck managed her end of their digital relationship. She professed her never-ending love for him. Her dissatisfaction with her husband. That seeing him had reminded her of everything she had lost. In short, she told him everything he wanted to hear. Everything he’d beendreamingof. They agreed to meet.’

‘And this woman had no idea?’

‘She did when he gatecrashed a lunch with her mother in a Covent Garden patisserie. Later, she, or rather Puck, apologised for pretending she wasn’t expecting him. Put it down to her mother unexpectedly showing up. That she had to maintain the facade until she was ready to leave her husband for him.’

‘How long did this last?’

‘Two weeks after the restraining order was made against him. By then Puck didn’t need to do anything. The senior executive was turning up at her place of work, screaming declarations of love at her until the police removed him. He left his wife, his children, even his house in Hampstead. He moved into a hotel, convinced that one night there’d be a knock on the door.’

‘And eventually he was sacked?’

‘Removed by the board. They had no choice really; he was rarely at work, and when he did turn up he was drunk. He was replaced by someone with views on Iran that were much more in line with current government thinking.’

‘What happened to him?’ Poe said quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

‘I fear that gets us neatly to the crux of the problem,’ Locke replied. ‘A month after being removed by the board, ourdisgraced senior executive threw himself under the 15:26 out of Finchley Road & Frognal.’

‘He killed himself?’

‘We couldn’t prove it, but we think that despite the task being complete, Puck kept going. That he’d been having too much fun to stop.’

‘He drove the senior executive to suicide?’

‘We think so.’

‘Why?’

‘If you’re looking for anything more nuanced than because he could, I don’t have it.’

‘How many?’

‘How many what, dear boy?’

‘You know.’

Locke did. ‘In total, fourteen of his targets committed suicide. It was always a possibility, given who the mischief makers targeted and how they went about achieving their goals, but even so, by their standards, fourteen is an extraordinarily high number.’ He removed another document from his file. ‘The wife of an awkward ambassador of a country I won’t identify took her husband’s nickel-plated revolver and blew her brains out when her past as a high-end call girl was made public. He resigned his post and returned home. His replacement was much more amenable to what’s happening in the South Atlantic. One of these so-called “hacktivists” was found hanged after it emerged he’d been using his credit card to download indecent images of children.’

‘Jesus,’ Poe said. ‘And youallowedthis?’

‘I have a country to protect, Poe. I can’t be sentimental as to how I go about it. And while these deaths are individually tragic, the missions that Puck and the other mischief makers conducted were authorised at the highest level.’

Poe was about to protest, but Locke raised his hand.

‘But I will say this,’ he said. ‘The pattern of his . . . shall we say extracurricular activities didn’t show itself until later. Ezekiel Puckdidhave a flair for the work but the moment I saw he was relishing his role as the architect of someone’s life falling apart, I cut him loose. Early retirement. A firm handshake and a moderate pension. In my world, ruthless is good. Sadistic is not.’

Poe took a moment. ‘Then your world sucks, Alastor.’

‘And fine words butter no parsnips, Poe. The facts are that Ezekiel Puck is out there, conducting an operation, the goal of which is known only to him. When I put him out to pasture, I took away his livelihood, but I couldn’t take away what he’d learned. It wasn’t a bell I could un-ring. I couldn’t take away his proclivities for causing pain. It’s a mess and I’ll do my damnedest to help clear it up, but if we can leave the public inquiry untilafteryou’ve clapped him in irons, I think we’d all be very grateful.’

Clap him in irons. . . The second time someone had said that recently.

‘Alastor,’ Poe said. ‘Where’s Uncle Bertie?’

Chapter 55