The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

One of the white-suited men looked up and saw them. He left the conversation he was having and walked over to them. He pulled off his face mask as soon as he’d left the cordon. It was Ian Gamble, the SIO. He reached out and shook Poe’s hand.

‘Good to see you again, Poe,’ he said. ‘You had any thoughts on why your name was on the last one’s chest?’

Poe shook his head. No niceties, no small talk. Strictly business.

‘Never mind, we can get into it later,’ Gamble said. ‘You want a look?’

‘Just to see what my first impressions are.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said, before turning to a man standing near a box of equipment. ‘Boyle!’ he shouted. ‘Bring DS Poe a suit.’

At the sound of Poe’s name, another man in a forensic suit pulled off his mask.

It was Kylian Reid.

In a voice loud enough for the whole hill to hear, Reid said, ‘Misunderstood by colleagues, ignored by managers, taken for granted by everyone else – ladies and gentlemen, I present the great Washington Poe.’

Poe reddened.

His friend bounded over, leapt the cordon fence, causing Gamble to wince, and wringed Poe’s outstretched hand until it hurt.

‘I see how it is now,’ Reid said, a grin on his face. ‘I only get to see you when there’s an emergency. That how it is, Poe? Shite show.’

Poe shrugged. ‘Kylian.’ There’d be time to catch up later.

Reid turned to Flynn and said, ‘So, how’d you know this friendless weirdo?’

Poe introduced them. ‘DI Flynn, this is my friend Kylian Reid. He was a DS in major incidents.’

‘Still a DS in major incidents,’ he said. ‘I take it you’re all staying at Shap Wells? I’ll get a room there one night and we can all have a drink.’

‘It’ll be the best night ever,’ Flynn said woodenly.

Poe decided the reunion could wait. ‘So, what’s in there?’ He directed the question at Gamble. Reid might be the only friend he had on the force, but it was still Gamble’s crime scene.

‘You know the rule of nines?’

Poe nodded. It was how the extent of burns was medically assessed. The head and arms were all 9 per cent each, while the legs, the front and the back of the torso were all 18 per cent each. That added up to 99 per cent. The remaining 1 per cent was the genitalia.

Gamble said, ‘Well, our lad’s getting better. Although he was the most heavily tortured, the first victim only had burns covering his legs and back. Not much on his front, and his arms weren’t touched. The burns increased on the second, and by the third, the victim was around about the ninety per cent mark.’

‘And this one?’

‘Come and see for yourself.’

While Poe changed into the suit Boyle had brought over, Gamble replaced the one he was wearing to avoid any cross-contamination issues. Flynn didn’t bother – she’d seen victim number three in situ – and stayed with Reid. Poe was signed into the inner cordon and followed Gamble across the footboards CSI had laid down to avoid key evidence being trampled on.

The smell hit him first. Five yards from the forensic tent and the stench became overpowering.

Poe knew there was a myth that burning humans smelled like pork. They really didn’t. Human flesh alone might, but people who burn to death haven’t been processed the way slaughtered animals have. They haven’t been bled and their internal organs haven’t been removed. Digestive tracts full of food and faeces remain in the body.

Everything that burns has its own unique foul smell.

Blood is iron-rich and Poe could detect the faint metallic aroma. That was the most pleasant. Muscles burn differently to body fat, internal organs burn differently to blood, and burning guts have a smell unlike any other. The combined odour was thick, sweet and cloying. On top of it all was the unmistakable stench of petrol.

The smell coated the inside of Poe’s nose and the back of his throat. He’d be smelling and tasting it for days. He retched and almost vomited but managed to hold it together.

Gamble opened the tent flap for him. He walked inside. The Home Office Pathologist was still working on the body.