The Puppet Show (Washington Poe)

‘You’re shopping your accomplice?’

Reid shrugged. It didn’t seem important to him.

‘As soon as I drugged them, my accomplice would drive them away in the four-cell van. I also disguised their abduction dates. I’d already made it look like Graham Russell was in France. I sent Joe Lowell to Norfolk and Michael James on a whisky tour in Scotland. I followed it up with emails and texts, enough to stop their families worrying. I had them at the farm for longer than anyone realised, even you, Poe. Lowell, James, Owens and Doyle were all here at the same time.’

The planning and preparation were extraordinary. Poe rubbed his neck. It was beginning to ache – he’d been looking up at Reid for nearly twenty minutes.

‘Anyway,’ Reid continued, ‘I had the four of them all nice and secure in the ten-cell. But killing them wasn’t the only goal. I wanted confessions, I wanted information gaps filled, but, more importantly, I wanted the locations of my friends’ bodies.’

‘And they told you? Just like that?’

‘Not at first, they were still thinking of their reputations. It wasn’t until I hit upon the idea of making an example of one of them that they came round.’

‘Sebastian Doyle,’ Poe murmured. It had always bothered him why Doyle had been stuffed into Carmichael’s coffin rather than displayed publicly.’

‘Sebastian Doyle,’ Reid agreed. ‘I showed the others what happened when they didn’t talk. Until they watched Doyle burn, I think they still thought they could buy their way out of it. I put him in Carmichael’s coffin to keep you interested. Make sure you kept going.’

Poe had plenty of questions about why he’d been involved. For now, though, it seemed best to get a linear version of events. ‘They told you everything?’

Reid nodded. ‘And, unbelievably, none of the sick bastards had wanted to get rid of their prizes completely. They’d all been buried somewhere close to where they lived. James admitted to visiting his site at least once a month.’

‘You recovered them?’

‘One at a time. Carefully. These were my friends.’

‘And Swift?’

Reid scowled. ‘I’d always intended to kill her last – hers was the greatest betrayal of all – she didn’t have the sick urges of the others; for her it was purely financial. You want to know where Carmichael’s missing three hundred grand went? It was her fee.’

Poe had suspected as much. The depth of her involvement meant it was the only reasonable explanation. ‘But why didn’t you take her when you took the others? Surely she’d have spotted the pattern?’

‘She was the only one of them whose abduction I couldn’t disguise. By the time I was ready, she’d booked her holiday to Australia. If she didn’t turn up there’d have been a missing person’s investigation, and as it wouldn’t have been conducted by major crimes, I would have been in no position to steer it.’

‘How could you be sure she wouldn’t run? She must have realised what was happening.’

‘She’d always denied ever being on the boat, remember? As far as she was concerned, the only people who could contradict her were dead. Running would only establish her guilt to whoever was doing this.’

Poe understood the perverted logic behind it all. ‘You should have told me, Kylian,’ he said softly. ‘Just think how formidable we’d have been together. We’d have got justice for your friends. They wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

‘This wasn’t about justice, Poe. It was never about justice. This was about vengeance.’

Vengeance . . . Poe was reminded of the Chinese proverb: ‘He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy and one for himself.’ Poe could pretty much work out the rest of his narrative – Reid didn’t intend to leave Black Hollow Farm. The building was the second grave.

He looked up and held Reid in his gaze. Asked the question that had plagued him since day one. The only question that mattered. ‘If you weren’t seeking justice, Kylian, then why involve me at all?’

Reid looked down and smiled. ‘Three reasons. First, you’re the best detective I’ve ever met. You’re intuitive and relentless, and you aren’t scared of doing what’s needed. You don’t care who you piss off and you don’t accept the first explanation that presents itself. Although I’d misdirected the early stages of the investigation with the Leveson-revenge angle, I needed it to start catching up. Even when they had a second victim, Cumbria police couldn’t see past a random serial killer. They weren’t looking for a motive beyond the usual psychobabble bullshit.’

‘But you knew I would?’

‘I wrongly assumed that with the crimes being committed where you grew up, worked and now lived, SCAS would have lifted your suspension immediately.’ He stopped to smile. ‘But it seems you’ve managed to make as many enemies down there as you did up here, Poe. When they didn’t recall you, I took matters into my own hands. I sent them a message.’

‘You carved my name into someone’s chest.’

‘No more than he deserved. And because I needed to make sure you didn’t become a suspect yourself, I killed Clement Owens when you were down in Hampshire.’

‘Thanks,’ Poe grimaced. ‘I assume it was you that sent me the postcard?’

‘Yep. I hadn’t realised just how deep the burns on Michael James had gone. The percontation point was virtually destroyed. I needed to give you a nudge when I found out that the MSCT report said the symbol next to your name was the number five. I needed you to re-examine it to get the Shap link. And also, I didn’t want you thinking you were my intended fifth victim.’