The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

Van Zyl answered on the first ring and Poe told him what he wanted. The director didn’t waste time on amateur dramatics – he was a wily man and still a great cop. He asked Poe some searching questions and he answered them as honestly as he could.

When he was finished, van Zyl went silent. After a few moments, the director spoke. ‘Are you sure, Poe?’

‘No, sir.’

Van Zyl grunted. ‘But you’re as sure as you can be?’

How sure was he? Was it an educated guess or was it one last desperate grab by a man out of options? He mentally reviewed what he knew.

‘Poe. . .’ van Zyl growled.

‘Sir,’ he said finally. ‘I am as sure as I can be.’

‘And there’s no other way?’

‘I don’t believe so, sir.’

‘Fine,’ he sighed. ‘Give me what you have.’

‘It’s a twelve-page form, sir,’ Poe said. ‘I’ll fill it in, then email it to you.’

‘You’re at home, right?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘By the time you get to that hotel of yours to use their wi-fi, you’ll have wasted half an hour,’ van Zyl said. ‘I assume you want this to happen sooner rather than later?’

Despite being on the phone, Poe nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll fill it in then. You need my signature anyway, and if you want this expedited, I’m going to need that extra half hour to get the right people out of bed.’

‘What do you need from me, sir?’

‘I suggest you get some sleep, Poe. I’ll call you if I need additional information. Otherwise you can expect a copy of the fax to go to the hotel.’

It was only after he’d hung up that Poe realised that van Zyl hadn’t referred to Flynn once.

Poe was glad. He hadn’t had to lie.

And although it would be tricky, if everything went in his favour, he might get away without anyone else finding out.

Two hours later and Poe hadn’t heard anything more. He decided to go to the hotel and wait. He had a stomach full of nervous energy and the pages of the novel he was reading weren’t registering. Sleep was out of the question.

He wasn’t expecting the fax that early but he could check if Bradshaw was still up. If she were, she might be willing to find some dirt on Sharples. He hadn’t finished with that prick yet.

He put on his coat and said to Edgar, ‘You want to go and see Tilly?’

The spaniel’s tail started wagging. Apparently, he did.

* * *

Poe told the receptionist he was waiting for a fax. He asked her to ring Bradshaw’s room. She wasn’t answering. He checked the clock in the office. It was ten o’clock and he suspected she was asleep with the phone off the hook; just because he was an insomniac it didn’t mean everyone else was.

He was about to see if he could beg a coffee when Darren, one of the hotel’s barmen, ran up to the desk.

‘Where’s the duty manager?’ he asked.

‘Dealing with guests in the Bath House,’ the receptionist replied. ‘Why?’