‘We’ll be there as soon as possible. We’ll strategise tonight and hit the ground running tomorrow.’
‘As soon as the E-FIT is complete, wehaveto go public, Poe,’ Mathers said. ‘Full press briefing. Interviews on the six and ten o’clock news. To do anything less is irresponsible.’
Poe wanted to agree. Just to piss off Alastor Locke. He’d promised him he wouldn’t air his dirty laundry in public, but it wasn’t arealpromise. Not like when he’d promised Bradshaw he’d only getonemeat and potato pie from the Chopping Block in Penrith. He certainly didn’t feel bound by a promise to Locke. If the roles were reversed, Locke certainly wouldn’t feel bound by a promise he had made to Poe. Promising to keep the information to himself was something Poe had said to move the conversation along. And he reckoned Locke knew that. Knew that Poe would do whatever was best for the case, not whatever was best for someone trying to avoid the scrutiny of a public inquiry.
But on this occasion, Poe didn’t think going public was a good idea. He tried one last time.
‘I can’t stress enough how worried Locke is about Ezekiel Puck, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ve known him for a while now, and this is the first time he’s looked worried. I got the impression that Locke was being visited by all the Christmas ghosts at once. A rogue mischief maker sounds like the live-action remake of his worst nightmare. At the minute, Puck doesn’t know we know who he is. Which means he thinks he can carry on doing what he’s doing. We have two decent chances of stopping him – he’ll either visit his zeroing range or he’ll get caught in the net we throw around Gretna. That changes the second you go public. Puck goes from predictable to unpredictable. And don’t assume he’ll panic. The way Locke described him, this guy can improvise. He can think his way around problems. He’ll have contingencies for being identified and we have no idea what those might be. I honestly think the best play is to try and take him unawares. The only way we can do that is if we sit on his name.’
‘Even if more people die?’
‘Yes,’ Poe said without hesitation. ‘And I don’t say that lightly.’
Mathers looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She glanced at Flynn. ‘Steph?’
‘I agree with Poe,’ Flynn said. ‘But we don’t need to decide now. Tilly will have finished her profile on Joanne Addy, Ezekiel Puck’s ex, in an hour. Why don’t we wait until we’ve read what she has?’
It was a good compromise and Poe was reminded that Flynn was a senior manager in her own right now. He thought she would transfer back to the Met at some point. That she would soon tire of being a big fish in the NCA’s small pond. And when she did, she had the personal and professional attributes,the skills and temperament, to go all the way if she wanted. There was no reason she couldn’t become deputy commissioner. Maybe even the commissioner. The most senior cop in the country.
Doyle stuck her head into the parlour. Mathers and Flynn had mocked him for living in a house with a parlour until Poe had reminded Flynn that the cheapest flat in her apartment block was three million pounds. Flynn’s partner, Zoe, had a job analysing oil prices. It paid well.
‘Brunton’s made bacon sandwiches if any of you are wanting a bit of supper?’ she said.
They followed her into the main kitchen – Highwood had two – and took a seat around a table King Arthur would have said was too big. Bradshaw was already there, sipping lemon tea and nibbling a rice cracker. She closed her laptop.
‘I’m ready to brief you now,’ she said.
They each grabbed a bacon sandwich. Poe opened his and added the bacon from another. Brunton never got the meat-tobread ratio right. He threw Edgar the empty bread. The spaniel gave him a dirty look. Poe didn’t know why. Edgar should have been used to bacon-less bacon sandwiches by now.
Poe took a bite of his sandwich, enjoyed the crispy bacon and the even crispier rind. He poured himself a cup of strong tea.
Ready for anything.
Chapter 59
Joanne Addy opened her front door then stepped back. It was what people did these days. They opened their doors and stepped back into the shadows. Why unnecessarily frame yourself? Why make yourself an easy target?
She was a short woman who compensated for her lack of height with three-inch heels and a beehive hairdo Marge Simpson would have been proud of. Poe had expected her to say, despite living under the gun, she was on her way out. But she didn’t. This must be how she dressed at home. Always ready for pop-ins.
She invited them inside. They were mob-handed so there weren’t enough seats. Mathers, Flynn, and an armed cop whose name Poe hadn’t caught and was too embarrassed to ask again, took the sofa. Bradshaw took the remaining armchair and Poe perched on the arm.
Joanne Addy didn’t ask why a bunch of cops and NCA officers had filled her living room, which Poe thought curious.
‘Is this about Conrad?’
Poe and Mathers shared a glance.
‘Who’s Conrad?’ Mathers said.
‘The wee shite who keyed my car last week,’ Addy said. ‘Just because I wouldn’t give his jakey maw a job.’
Poe mentally translated. Maw meant mother; jakey usually meant homeless alcoholic but was used as a one-size-fits-all insult these days.
‘We’re not here because someone scratched your car, Mrs Addy,’ Mathers said. She paused a moment, waited for thesilence to get uncomfortable. ‘We’re here about your ex-husband.’
‘Raymond? What’s he done?’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’