The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

‘Good,’ Oldwater said.

‘How so?’

‘It’s your lucky week,’ he grinned. ‘Can you get your hands on a suit?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

By the time Poe had left Bradshaw at Shap Wells, Cumbria was beginning to show its true colours. The weather had changed and an easterly wind was threatening to turn into a gale. Edgar growled at the dark skies but a long walk soon had his tail wagging.

When the wind began rushing through Poe’s thin coat he decided he’d better turn back; there was no such thing as bad weather, only bad choices of clothing. As he did so, his phone alerted him to an incoming text. It was from Flynn: I’m on my way to yours, Poe. We need to talk.

There were no prizes for guessing what Flynn wanted, and Poe idly wondered if he had enough time to build a moat round Herdwick Croft to keep her out. The light was already on as he approached. Despite it being his home, he knocked before entering.

Flynn was furious. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

Poe walked past her and opened the valve on a gas bottle. After lighting his stove and getting some water on the boil, he turned to her and said, ‘What was that? I’m sure you weren’t just telling me what I can and can’t do when I’m on leave.’

She wasn’t fazed, as he knew she wouldn’t be. ‘Don’t give me that shit, Poe. With no authority at all, you went to see a witness.’

‘Which one?’ Poe asked before he could stop himself.

Luckily Flynn seemed to think he was just trying to wind her up.

‘You know fine well who I mean. Francis Sharples rang Carlisle police station asking when they were coming to arrest him.’

Shit . . . he’d forgotten about Sharples. He suppressed a grin.

‘It’s not funny, Poe! They looked a right set of tits.’

‘They are a right set of tits.’

‘No, Poe, they aren’t. They have an impossible job, and the world’s media are second-guessing everything they do. Gamble can’t have someone talking to witnesses willy-nilly.’

‘But van Zyl—’

‘Van Zyl wanted you up here so you could help strategise, Poe. So you could think of the things no one else can,’ she replied. ‘He doesn’t want you going rogue. He was on the phone for an hour to Cumbria’s chief constable.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re right; there’s no excuse. I should have told someone.’

That seemed to mollify. ‘Tell me what you found out. Your voicemail about the watch was a bit vague.’

Poe told her all about his day, although he forgot to mention the subsequent trip to see the bishop; no way could she ignore him disobeying a direct order. Not after he’d gone over her head for the exhumation order. Bradshaw might tell her later – he hadn’t told her to keep it a secret – although he hoped she wouldn’t. And anyway, he was on leave and Bishop’s House was on the tourist trail. Despite her simmering anger, Flynn seemed impressed.

The kettle whistled and they took a break. While his coffee cooled, he took the time to secure all the shutters and make sure everything outside was tied down. He wasn’t concerned about Herdwick Croft; it had stood for centuries – builders in the past seemed to understand how to make things properly – and all his modifications were either inside or buried in the ground. He looked up and saw one of the inevitable Herdwick sheep. It was chewing the tough fell grass stoically and seemed untroubled by the gale. And why would it be? The breed was as tough as nails. They’d been known to survive in snowdrifts for weeks by eating their own wool; a little bit of wind wouldn’t bother them.

Edgar came out to see what he was doing but soon dived back inside when his ears nearly flapped off. Poe tied the last thing down, a spare gas bottle, and finally he was finished. He went back inside and shut the door.

Flynn was sipping her drink and looking at the board on the wall. Nothing had been added since she’d been there last.

‘It’s a bit breezy out there,’ he said as he took off his coat.

She drained her coffee and put the mug in the small sink. ‘So, what’s your next play?’

‘You sure you want to know?’

‘No. But tell me anyway.’

‘Tilly and I are going to a charity event with the Bishop of Carlisle.’