‘Why? Why? Isn’t it obvious why?’ the Botanist replied. ‘A man who is so sexually dysfunctional, so afraid of women, that his hatred of them shines through in everything he does. A politician so morally bankrupt his own daughter has disowned him. And you ask me why they had to die?’
‘I suppose I’m asking why you think you have the authority to act as judge, jury and executioner, sir.’
The pause lasted several moments. When the Botanist spoke again his tone was less measured.
‘Did you know there are more narcissists in the world now than ever before, PC Griffiths?’ he said. ‘Never in recorded history has there been more people without empathy. We used to rely on the young to rebel for us, now they’re so self-absorbed they don’t even resent authority any more. And has there ever been a more boring generation than the millennials? The hipster generation, with their flat whites and their selfie sticks and their never-ending search to find something to be offended by. Is it any wonder people like me are starting to appear?’
The Botanist’s tirade went on for another five minutes. Incoherent lunacy, Poe thought. He’d get Bradshaw to analyse it when they were done. She might be able to pull something useful. Start building a profile.
‘You have strong views, sir,’ Griffiths said after the Botanist had simmered to a finish.
‘We need these views, PC Griffiths. It’s not just evil that flourishes when good men do nothing, it’s banality. People like me remind us of what we’ve lost.’
‘It’s a serious subject, sir, and one we don’t have time to do justice right now. I have to ask you – are you prepared to come into a police station to talk to someone?’
‘It’s funny you should say that,’ the Botanist replied. ‘Thereissomeone I’m willing to speak to. Would you be able to do me a favour, PC Griffiths?’
‘If I can, sir.’
‘I’d like you to get in touch with someone for me.’
‘Who’s that, sir?’
‘A man called Henning Stahl,’ the Botanist said. ‘He’s an ex-journalist. Out of favour right now, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding him.’
‘And you’ll talk with Mr Stahl?’
‘I will.’
‘When?’ Griffiths asked.
‘Right after I kill someone.’