The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

Ten minutes later Poe received a text from Flynn: Reid not at Cumbria headquarters. No one has seen him. Gamble’s in meltdown. Any ideas?

Poe sent one back saying he didn’t have any, but he’d get Bradshaw working on it. He doubted Reid would have left a paper trail leading to his location but he had to do something. After he’d made sure Bradshaw knew what she was searching for, he’d head into Kendal and have a look through Reid’s flat before it was declared a crime scene and off-limits. It wouldn’t be Reid’s containment site, but it might offer something.

As soon he’d sent the text, his phone rang. It was Flynn. ‘What you got, Steph?’

It sounded as if she was running. ‘Poe, Reid signed Montague Price out of Carlisle police station two hours ago!’

Shit!

‘Escorted him personally to a—’

‘Four-cell GU Security prisoner-escort van,’ Poe finished for her.

‘Exactly. Gamble’s staying at HQ to coordinate the search for him but he’s totally lost it now. I’m coming back down. It seems it’s only you and Tilly who have a grip on what’s going on.’

‘We’ll keep trying to find the address they’ve been using then. They won’t be at Reid’s or his father’s. Far too busy. Reid’s flat is in the middle of Kendal, and although his father has a small farmhouse, he converted and sold the two barns so he now has neighbours.’

‘You think the Scafell Group owns a property we don’t know about?’ she asked.

Despite having this discussion over the phone, Poe shook his head. ‘Tilly’s checking but the company has literally nothing left. George Reid seems to have liquidated his assets. The only things he owns now are the vans.’

‘Best guess?’

‘No idea, Steph,’ Poe replied. ‘But they’ve obviously been planning this for years; no way do we find them because of a utility bill.’

‘Nope, I think . . .’ He didn’t get to find out what she thought, as at that moment her other phone rang. ‘Hang on, Poe,’ she said. ‘My personal mobile’s ringing.’

Poe could only hear one side of the conversation. It didn’t sound good.

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ Flynn shouted. ‘Right, I’ll tell him to go there now.’

Flynn tried to sound calm. ‘Poe, we need you to go and check something out for us. Apparently, a train passenger has reported seeing someone on fire in a field.’

‘Where?’ He thought he might know.

‘A short distance from where you are now. I’ve sent Tilly the coordinates. Go and check it out and let’s hope it’s just kids starting Guy Fawkes early.’

He stared at the map Bradshaw had just put on her screen. It was as he feared. ‘Shit,’ he said.

‘What is it, Poe?’ Flynn asked.

‘Those coordinates are where the West Coast Mainline bisects the Kemp Howe stone circle. The train tracks run through the fucking middle of it. If someone did see something burning in the stone circle, they wouldn’t have been more than ten yards from it. Hard to mistake a burning body for a wheelie bin at that distance.’

‘Oh, shit,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

When he’d been in uniform, Poe was frequently the first officer on scene. Beat cops were usually the first to see unexplained deaths, natural deaths and suicides. When panicked relatives discovered a body, or neighbours smelled something suspicious and organic, their first thoughts were invariably to dial 999. Poe knew how to secure a crime scene.

Later in his career, when he’d moved into CID and had been on-call, he’d possessed a grab bag: a small rucksack containing things like crime-scene tape, a torch and batteries, a mobile-phone charger, forensic suits and warm clothing. His car was always fully fuelled and there’d be pre-packed food in the fridge.

This time the only thing he had was a greenhorn analyst on her first field trip.

Bradshaw had refused to stay at the hotel. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said, and time was too important to spend on an argument he’d surely lose.

On the way, he rang Flynn to determine it was the northbound Carlisle train the passenger had been on. Poe grunted in satisfaction. That meant they were on the right side of the railway track and there was no need for a long detour.

Ten minutes later they were at the side of the narrow field that hosted what remained of the Kemp Howe stone circle. Poe stopped the car but kept it in gear while he searched for signs of Reid or his father. He hadn’t expected any; the abduction of Price was a bonus, an unexpected opportunity to get the full list of victims while Gamble’s briefing had everyone’s eyes elsewhere. Price’s murder would have had to be rushed; there wouldn’t have been the time for any elaborate staging or ritual. And it didn’t matter if Reid were observed or not. Everyone knew who he was now.