The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

‘What’s your take?’

Poe composed himself before answering. ‘The discrepancy in the money worries me, sir. Best part of three hundred grand just disappeared.’

There was a pause before van Zyl spoke again. ‘Do you think Price is the killer, Poe?’

Poe took a moment. ‘It’s possible, sir.’

‘Only possible?’

‘There might be physical evidence, sir, but I haven’t found a motive. It might have been over money but, if it were, why wait until now? I think we all need to wait until he’s been interviewed, sir.’

‘Hmm . . . That’s certainly an option, Poe. Have you spoken to DI Flynn about our trip to the minister’s office?’

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘Well, don’t. That list you got from the bank has set the cat among the proverbial pigeons, I can tell you. There are people of influence down here who are getting anxious about what else you might uncover. They want this finished quickly and quietly, Poe.’

Poe couldn’t work out if he was being threatened or encouraged.

Van Zyl continued. ‘Quentin Carmichael threw more than one party and some of the men who attended them now hold positions in government. They don’t want to be dragged into anything. Some very senior civil servants have reviewed the case file and have decided that now Montague Price is in custody, everyone should focus on ensuring he is convicted. They’re putting

pressure on the CPS to do exactly that, and anyone who tries to stand in their way will be crushed. The official line will be that Quentin Carmichael was an early victim of Price.’

‘That’s what they say, is it, sir?’

‘It is, Poe. Despite the concerns we share, Montague Price is the man they want. A convenient full stop.’

The director didn’t add anything for a few moments. Eventually he said, ‘But that’s not the way we do things is it, Poe?’

‘No, sir, it is not.’

‘And now that the case is finished and SCAS are no longer involved, I’m sure you’ll be keen to resume your leave.’

‘Yes, sir, and thank you.’

‘Why are you thanking me, Poe? We haven’t spoken for ages, remember . . .’

Bradshaw was up, headphones on, eyes glued to her tablet. She waved when she saw him. There was no sign of Reid. Poe got his room number from a porter and gave him a knock.

‘Piss off.’

Poe knocked again.

The door opened and Reid peered through the crack with bloodshot eyes. Poe hoped he felt better than he looked.

‘Come on,’ Poe said, ‘I’ll buy you something to eat.’

‘I’m not getting up.’ His breath stank of stale whisky.

‘Montague Price is in custody. Handed himself in this morning.’

Reid’s red eyes snapped open. ‘Give me ten minutes.’

‘Take fifteen,’ Poe replied, ‘and brush your teeth.’

Twenty minutes later, a freshly showered Reid met them in the restaurant. Bradshaw was still on her tablet. Poe didn’t know if she was fighting crime or goblins; her concentration level seemed to be the same for both. Poe poured hot drinks for everyone and threw Reid a box of paracetamol.

Reid dry-crunched a couple of tablets while he waited for his coffee to cool. For several moments he stared into space. He was quiet. Far too quiet for a detective just after their only suspect had been apprehended. He turned to Poe and said, ‘Does any of this feel right to you?’