‘Has she found the poem yet?’ Flynn asked, ignoring the now beetroot-red Karen Royal-Cross.
‘Still looking. She thinks it’s in with this lot somewhere,’ he said, pointing to a stack of gossip and celebrity magazines on the floor.
‘Excuse me,’ Karen Royal-Cross said. ‘Iamstill here.’
‘It’s the envelope we really need. Without it we don’t know if this is a genuine threat or a copycat. Everything on the video has been in the public domain for a while now. Easy enough thing to replicate.’
‘It’s already happening,’ Flynn said. ‘There’s been a spate of poems and pressed flowers posted to celebrities.’
‘Any scientific drawings on the back of the envelopes?’
‘No. Thank God we kept that bit out of the press. Tilly says public support for the Botanist is building.’
‘Ten minutes in this idiot’s company and I can see why.’
‘Who’s an idiot, Poe?’ Bradshaw said, entering the room.
‘You’ll see soon enough.’
‘I need to make a phone call,’ Flynn said. ‘Let Mathers know we haven’t been able to confirm Royal-Cross is a potential victim yet.’
Flynn left the room and Poe had an idea. So far, neither he nor Flynn had managed to get it through to Karen Royal-Cross just how much danger she could be in. She was half-heartedly looking for the poem and the envelope, hampered by her obsession with filming herself as she did. Each time he tried to impress upon her how important it was, she laughed it off and said it was fake news.
She seemed to live in a self-replicating bubble of toxic shit.
But Bradshaw had a way of cutting through shit. She was unintentionally direct, had no embarrassment threshold and missed 90 per cent of nonverbal cues.
‘Tilly,’ Poe said, ‘can you please brief this silly woman on what’s been happening, and why she should be more worried than she is?’
‘Of course, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Please sit here, Karen Royal-Cross.’
‘Er, it’s KRC.’
‘No, that’s your online persona. Your real name is Karen Royal-Cross and that is how I shall address you.’
Karen Royal-Cross folded her arms and scowled. She turned to Poe and said, ‘I’m not listening until I’m shown the respect I deserve.’
‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ Poe replied. ‘Not unless we can find some faeces to fling at you.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard. Now listen, you dumb piece of sh …’ Poe took abreath and composed himself. ‘Mrs Royal-Cross, I don’t know if you’re the Botanist’s intended third victim or not, and frankly I don’t care. The world would be a far nicer place without you in it, but we’re cops and that means we don’t get to pick and choose who we try to save. So, you’re going to listen to Tilly’s briefing and if you say one nasty thing to her, I’m going to shave off one of your eyebrows.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Try me.’
‘I want to speak to your line manager.’
‘What’s he done now?’ Flynn said, walking back into the room.
‘He’s being rude and aggressive.’
‘Poe?’
He shrugged.
‘Tilly?’ Flynn said.