John entered the building and hurried out of his coat as Robert, approaching as if someone whipped at his heels, hissed at him. "Where've you been?"

"Getting this." John held up the pen. "The autopsy was long but not very informative. We only know that he was poisoned by belladonna and it wasn't a gentle way to die."

"Mr. Napier, from the Foreign Office, is here."

John frowned, "Wasn't he there last night?"

"Yes, which only makes this more difficult and it's why Flintshire's here himself."

"The Super's here?"

"Yes so we'd better get bloody moving or the Turkish Ambassador's going to make hell for them and it'll trickle down until someone's making hell for us." Robert propelled John toward a room.

They entered to see a balding man, with a magnificent white beard, addressing two men in chairs. All three heads turned toward them and the two men in chairs stood while John tried to sort out how his coat hung on his arm. The man closest to them, with a square jaw, stepped forward and shook both of their hands.

"I'm impressed you're both up and about given how late you must've been at the Cerulean last night."

"This isn't the kind of case that we'll leave to anyone but our best, Mr. Napier." The white-bearded man spoke, jerking his head to get John and Robert moving his direction. "I've every confidence in the dedication of our fine detective inspectors here."

"As do I, having had the…" Napier made a face, a hint of a smile that left no sensation of mirth to the conversation. "I wouldn't say 'pleasure' is the right word to describe our meeting but it wasn't as painful and it could very well have been. I'm immensely grateful it wasn't."

"As are we. And, may I say, you were the picture of professionalism." Robert added and John pulled out his notebook to take down notes from the meeting.

"I hope so. I represent the Foreign Office and, for the moment, I'm here as a personal attaché to the Turkish Ambassador." Napier pointed to the man next to him and John noted how the man eyed the notebook in his hand.

"It's just for notes." John assured him and the man shifted in his chair.

"This isn't exactly an official meeting so there won't be any notes needed. What we say here is in confidence."

"Between five different people?" John eyed the white-bearded man but he nodded and John tucked the notebook away. "If Superintendent Flintshire thinks it's unnecessary than we'll have to keep this conversation between the five of us."

"It's best that way." Napier clacked his teeth together, "This could be rather embarrassing for… both of our governments, to put it bluntly."

"And mildly, if we're giving definitions to the gravity of the situation." Robert coughed, "A representative of your government was murdered."

"Only those in this room will know the truth of that." The Turkish Ambassador flicked nonexistent lint from his trouser leg. "There's no need for anyone else to be involved in this and it's in the interest of my government's continued association with Great Britain that it remain that way."

"There are people who saw him die, sir." John shuffled in place, "They'll know the truth."

"What they'll know is that a man they've never met suffered a reaction to something and perished. It's tragic but I'm sure you know of people who die in freak accidents all the time."

"With any due respect, this wasn't someone choking on a bit of bread. This was a murder." John reached into his jacket pocket but Robert grabbed his arm to stop him.

"What it was, Mr. …?" The Ambassador waited and John dropped his arm, grinding his name through his teeth.

"Bates."

"Mr. Bates," The Turkish Ambassador stood, folding his coat perfectly over his arm. "This was a tragic accident. The body of my countryman will be returned to me in due course and I will accompany it back to Istanbul by week's end. All else regarding your… investigation is a moot point. I'm sure you can explain to those who witnessed this tragic accident that it was just that, an accident."

John did not answer, only glanced over at Superintendent Flintshire as the man stood to shake the Ambassador's hand. "We'll do what's best, Mr. Ambassador."

"I'm sure you will." He buttoned his coat and nodded at Napier. "I'll be outside Evelyn. I'm sure there are a few things you need to remind them about."

He left and John ground his teeth, missing the first part of Napier's next statement. "… It's not the best of circumstances but I'll have to ask you, for the moment, to let the investigation lie."

"That's not a good idea."

"In a climate like this one, Superintendent Flintshire, there's only going to be trouble that comes from this. Trouble for anyone who wants to suggest a country as ravaged by war as Turkey lost one of it's rising stars in a murder."

"Is that the official word from the Foreign Office?"

"I'm sure you're aware that the Foreign Office doesn't want to have to pass down any official word."

"Yes." John muttered, blinking when he realized everyone heard him. "The Foreign Office likes everything very neat and tidy, don't they."

"Mr. Bates…" Napier stopped himself, buttoning his jacket to give a moment's distraction. "DI Bates, I respect that you've a job to do. If there's a way for you to pursue this… with as light a foot as possible I'd suggest you take that initiative."

"Is that officially from the Foreign Office?"

Napier managed another mirthless smile, "We'd be very grateful if you'd be willing to give us whatever information you manage to find." He paused, his eyes narrowing, "If there's information to give."

John held Napier's gaze, the pen burning a hole in his pocket, but shook his head. "Nothing concrete outside of the autopsy. It was belladonna poisoning."

"So, a tragic accident?" Napier winked at John and then shook Superintendent Flintshire's hand. "I wish I could've said this meeting was a pleasure as well but…"

"We're the police, Mr. Napier, it's never a pleasure to meet us."

"Nor those in my line of work." Napier forced his arms through his coat and nodded to them all as he retrieved his hat and left the office.

The moment he was out of rang Flintshire rapped his knuckles on the table and motioned John and Robert to the recently vacated chairs. "I do hope you're not stupid enough to believe that a Turkish diplomat was poisoned at the Cerulean Swan because he ate the wrong thing by accident."

"Belladonna's not a dish on their menu and given he drank it I don't think it's what they're adding to fine wines or celebratory champagnes these days." John reached into his pocket and withdrew the pen, handing it over to Flintshire. "I consulted with someone who told me that's a refined model of a similar pen used during the war."

"I've seen these." Flintshire examined it and then handed it back to John. "Better than the ones I saw developed by the SOE but I guess that's industry for you."

"My contact says that whomever made it's been doing private work to make it of this quality." John tucked the pen back into his jacket. "I've got a few people I knew from the war who might be willing to kick dust in that direction."

"See what they'll dig up for us without making too much noise." Flintshire rubbed his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. "What was Napier doing there last night if he wasn't eating with our dead diplomat?"

"According to my interviews he was meeting with three other men," Robert flipped open his notebook to consult his scrawl. "Lord Gillingham, a Charles Blake from the Home Office, and a Henry Talbot of no particular affiliation."

"Did they say why?"

"Business deal in the works, apparently." Robert tucked his notebook away. "I could ask more questions of the three of them but I very much doubt Tony Gillingham's going to give us any details without a solicitor present, Charles Blake will hide behind bureaucracy, and Mr. Talbot… I don't even think he had a clue what was going on."

"Then it seems our only lead is a pen." Flintshire shook his head, "What about the others at his table?"

"They're a mixed bag." John bit the inside of his cheek, his trying not to meet Flintshire's.

"I expect you've got more to say there, Bates, than you're willing to share with me but I promise you, withholding's not going to be good for you."

"His ex-wife was there sir." Robert answered, cringing and trying to give John a helpful glance. "She was at the table with Mr. Pamuk."

"So he's got a name?" Flintshire huffed, "I was worried I'd have to keep referring to him as the 'dead diplomat' until it became rather obnoxious."

"He's got more than a name." Robert's teeth ground a bit and now John took his turn to wince. "He was the one who accosted Mary."

"I think I need to examine the entire guest list at the restaurant from the night in question and then wonder if I should assign someone else to this case."

"There's no one else for this, sir." John ventured forward, putting a hand on Robert's shoulder. "We've got the experience, we've got the partnership, and you know that if you hand to anyone else they'll make unwanted noise."

"I don't answer to the Foreign Office."

"But they've got friends to make our lives difficult if we push back." John took a breath. "Let us handle this, sir, and I guarantee we'll get to the bottom of it before anyone even knows we were looking."

Flintshire stared them down another minute before sighing and waving his hand. "Fine. But if I get even the slightest whiff that either of you are getting yourselves into trouble then I'll take that Ambassador's advice and shut it all down. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir." John stood, slapping his hand on Robert's shoulder to get the other man to move as well.

They hurried out into the corridor and Robert stuck his finger in John's face. "You don't have any contacts from the war."

"But Flintshire doesn't need to know that."

"He should."

"No, not if we want to keep the people who are helping us in our corner." John shrugged at Robert's frown. "Look, the reality is that we're outmatched. It's the two of us fighting off the Turkish, who won't believe someone killed their delegate, the Foreign Office who thinks friendship with a defunct country that's just a sleeper nation for Stalin will stop him blowing us all to Hell, and the other twenty something people in there who hoped they'd go their whole lives without seeing another dead person in the same room with them. We don't need to show our hand just yet."

"Will you at least tell me who gave you that pen?"

"The doctor did." John grabbed his coat from the back of a chair, "And she's the one with friends who used to work in this sort of thing."

"She's got friends like that?" Robert snorted, "I never expected that from Anna Smith."

"Then I guess you never really know people do you?" John checked his watch. "We need to examine the scene again."

"It's still under quarantine and we haven't lifted it."

"Did we ever get the identity of the man that never came back from Constable Laing?"

"No. He thinks it was a younger bloke and a few people mentioned a younger man at the table but that's not much to go on. Half the population of London's young these days."

"Maybe we get Laing to come back to the Cerulean with us, see what it picks up." John shrugged at Robert's raised eyebrow. "What could it hurt?"

"It could ruin our comment to Flintshire just now that we're going to keep a light foot about all this."

"You think Laing steps heavily?" John turned over his shoulder to watch the constable, timidly sorting through documents with a care and precision long lost by other older officers. "He'll be fine."

"He still jumps at loud noises."

"And I hate small spaces." John glowered at Robert, "We've all got our demons to carry with us as we go."

"I didn't mean-"

But John moved across the floor, catching Laing's attention. "Busy?"

"It's a matter of perspective sir." Laing pulled his shoulders back, "How can I help you?"

"You said, last night, that one of the men left early in all the confusion." John pointed between himself and Robert. "If we took you back to the scene do you still think you could recognize him?"

"If he were there sir I could pin him down myself." Laing bit at his lip. "The Superintendent chewed me out for last night sir and I'm sorry it happened."

"We're not perfect, none of us." John motioned toward the door. "Grab a coat or something and get a move on. We've got to take another look at the scene."

The three of them loaded into Robert's car and hurried across London. John squinted up at the sky and then settled back into his seat, shaking his head. "I promise you that smog'll only get worse."

"They say it could blanket the city one of these days." Robert parked outside the Cerulean Swan and waited for them all before walking toward the doors. "Imagine how much harder this case would be then."

"I don't want to." John and Laing entered the building, examining the floor as Robert joined them. "Laing, I want you with me while we scour this place. Robert, take a turn around the floor and tell me what you see."

"See how?" Robert walked around the edge of the room, his hands in his pockets. "Like a killer or like a patron."

"Like a killer." John led Laing to the table, circling it while the other man stood there. "If you wanted to kill someone by poisoning their drink, Laing, how would you do it?"

"Excuse me?" The three men stopped in their tracks as a younger man approached. "We're not open and you need-"

The man's eyes widened and John noticed Laing's slight nod. In a flash the younger man dodged between tables, running for the door. John followed, leaping over a chair, but Robert tackled the man sideways. They skidded over the floor and John reached them to help Robert pull the man from the floor.

Laing joined them, pointing to the man. "That's him. He's the one who ran out last night saying that there were six others who escaped."

"Six others?" John helped the man to a chair, taking one across from him while Robert's hand stayed tight on the man's shoulder. "I'll guess that was a lie."

The man looked between the three faces around him before nodding.

"Then," John interlaced his fingers. "Would you be so kind as to tell me exactly why you ran from here last night?"

"And why you lied to me." Laing stepped forward but John put a hand on his arm. "Why say there were six others?"

"I…" The man stuttered, swallowing so hard his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I did it because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"James?" They all looked up to see the older couple who ran the Cerulean approaching them. "What's going on here?"

"Mr. Carson," John stood, extending his hand to shake. "We're just taking another look here and Mr. …?"

"Kent. Jimmy Kent."

"Jimmy Kent here was just giving us his opinion about last night." John put his hand on Robert's shoulder and the other on Jimmy's to keep them silent and in their places. "We'll only take a moment."

"Just remember that there's work to be done." Carson eyed the group and raised an eyebrow over his imposing nose.

"Don't worry Mr. Carson, I'll get right on it." Jimmy waited until Carson went back to his offices. "I can't let him know what happened. If he knows then I'll lose this job and I've not got another."

"Then tell us what had you saying there were six others?" John eyed Jimmy but he only shrugged.

"It was the first number I could think of."

"Because it was the number of people at your table?"

Jimmy nodded, "I didn't want to be questioned because I didn't want to lie and I knew if I told you the truth I'd be in even more trouble."

"How so?"

Jimmy looked down at his feet and then up at John. "I've… helped do some things that would lose me this job."

"What kinds of things?"

Jimmy just shrugged. "I've done things to help out a friend that might put me in a dangerous position."

"Be more specific."

"I help… I helped with Carlisle's operation."

"Richard Carlisle?" John flicked his eyes up at Robert, who only shook his head. "What kind of operation?"

"I don't know. I only had a small part on all of it. I just snuck extra alcohol or helped plan a few meetings. I was only at that table as the server and then they invited me to take a drink. Next thing I know the man's choking and I needed to get out of there before Mr. Carson caught me. I ran for the door and then doubled back to give an excuse for why I was late."

"And that's all?"

Jimmy nodded, "All I can say is whatever reason they all met that night was about some kind of operation that they all take part in. I don't know what it is or what it all means but I know they wanted the Turk out of it."

"Why, what'd he do?"

"I don't know but he wasn't going to do it anymore." Jimmy looked around the circle, "What does that mean for me?"

"It means," John patted a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "You're our informant now. You hear or see anything else attached to this case you tell us. Understand?"

"I…" Jimmy looked at each face. "If I'm seen…"

"Then don't get caught." Robert shrugged, leading them away. "It's better than prison."

"Prison?" Jimmy swallowed so hard he almost choked and John slapped his back. "I can't…"

"That's right because they'd eat you alive in there and you'd not come out the same." John bent down, "So we'll keep this between us, yes?"

Jimmy nodded violently. "Yes sir."

"Perfect." John joined Robert and Laing, "He's going to be difficult to handle."

"I could manage him sir." Laing held up a hand and the two DIs looked at him. "It'll be no problem and if I take this area on patrol then…"

"Then it wouldn't be so odd for you to drop by here and occasionally speak with the employees on your rounds." John sucked the inside of his cheek and shrugged at Robert. "Allows our focus elsewhere for a bit."

Robert leveled a finger at Laing. "If you ruin this then it'll be your ass they hang out to dry and not ours. Understand?"

"I won't let you down again sir."

"Better not."