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Chapter 35
‘Poetells me there were rat droppings on your living-room carpet, Henning Stahl,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Is that because the deteriorating planning and organisational skills associated with alcoholic dementia meant you couldn’t figure out how to dispose of your dead cat?’
Stahl stared at her.
‘Is this strictly necessary, Tilly?’ Poe asked, hiding a smile.
‘Not a bit,’ Bradshaw replied.
‘Then why …?’
‘You said I needed to work on my small talk.’
Poe gave her a double thumbs-up. ‘You’re getting really good at it,’ he said.
‘I understand you were born in London, Henning Stahl,’ Bradshaw said.
‘Tottenham,’ he nodded.
‘But Henning is Germanic in origin.’
‘And Scandinavian.’
‘I discounted Scandinavia because Stahl is also Germanic.’
‘I was an army brat,’ Stahl said. ‘My dad was in the Royal Signals and he met my mother in a town in Germany called Paderborn. Brought her back to the UK. When they got divorced my mother returned home and took me with her. She reverted to her maiden name and changed mine too. I stayed in Germany until I started university.’
‘What was your surname previously?’ Poe said.
‘Mitchell.’
‘OK. Tilly’s going to take you through some of the stories and investigations you were involved with. See if we can work out why the Botanist chose you as his conduit.’
‘You think we’ve crossed paths?’
‘You weren’t chosen for your personal hygiene.’
‘And if it’snota story I was involved with?’ Stahl said, ignoring the sarcasm.
Poe didn’t respond.
Bradshaw did.
‘The alternative is that you were selected because your alcoholism and lack of moral fibre makes you uniquely pliable. Presuming you can still construct a semi-cohesive sentence, and presuming you wish to be a journalist again, it could be that the Botanist thinks you will be willing to do things others won’t.’
‘More small talk?’ Poe said.
‘No. That’s a précis of what you said before Henning Stahl entered the room. Do you remember, Poe? You said that Henning Stahl was a complete … urine-head, who would do something rude to a homeless person for some alcohol.’
‘I didn’t think you were listening.’
‘I’malwayslistening, Poe.’
‘What did he actually say, Tilly?’ Stahl asked.
‘Poe said you would W-A-N-K off a tramp for a bottle of turps.’
Stahl let out a throaty laugh.
‘He also said that you would be as much use as a waterproof teabag.’
He laughed even harder.
‘Yeah … sorry about that,’ Poe said. ‘Been a long day, etcetera.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Stahl said, waving away his apology. ‘And he’s not wrong, Tilly. But Idowant to change.’
