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The machine remained unplugged.

‘We’ll do the residential detail first,’ he continued. ‘You knowDetective Superintendent Nightingale from Chance’s Park, of course.’

‘Nice to see you again, Jo,’ Mathers said.

‘Let’s hope for a better result this time, Alice.’

‘This is Ian Gamble, Detective Sergeant Andrew Rigg and Detective Constable Anne Hawthorne,’ Poe said. ‘All from Cumbria. Ian was head of CID before he took retirement. I trust them implicitly.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Mathers said. She gestured towards a group of men dressed in jeans, T-shirts and heavy boots. They were covered in tattoos and attitude. ‘And who are these mean-looking desperadoes?’

‘My external security, ma’am. This is Jefferson Black. He and his men are all ex-Parachute Regiment, ex-Royal Marines Commandos, even ex-regiment.’

‘Regiment?’

‘SAS. Jefferson’s team will be in the surrounding area performing close target reconnaissance. Two of them are in Salt’s garden now, but you won’t see them. They’ll be our early warning system. If the Botanist thinks he can sneak in without being noticed, he’s in for a very bloody shock.’

‘Are you staying in the house when you’re off shift?’ she asked Jefferson Black.

‘This will be the last time the two details meet, ma’am,’ Poe explained. ‘We want to limit the door being opened.’

‘We can put you up somewhere, if you want?’

‘No, thank you,’ Black replied.

‘Best not to ask too many questions, ma’am,’ Poe said. ‘You may not like the answers. I don’t know these guys, but I trust Jefferson and he trusts them.’

‘There’s a Duke of Wellington quote that seems apt,’ Mathers said. ‘Something about not knowing what effect they’ll have on the enemy, but, by God, they frighten me.’

Poe nodded. He felt the same. Bringing in Black was a risk. He had moved seamlessly from being a top chef to an organised crime boss in the space of a few years. He had removed the competitionin a bloodless coup and, as much as it was possible, had civilised the drug and prostitution trade in Cumbria. Drugs were no longer sold near schools and the girls were protected and well paid. But, although he owed Poe a favour, he was still a criminal and so were his associates. On the flip side, there was no way the Botanist could have predicted a move like this.

Mathers addressed the two teams.

‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’ she said. ‘Sergeant Poe thinks the Botanist is killing his victims by compromising someone protecting them. He believes it must have been arranged in advance. By handpicking people the Botanist could have no way of knowing about, we’re hoping to have an edge for the first time. If he can’t compromise someone in this room, he may have to take risks he’s so far managed to avoid. We’re aware this theory doesn’t work all the way to the end, but right now it’s all we have.’

With Salt and Flynn squirrelled away in a basement room, and the residential team sleeping, eating or watching television, Poe and Bradshaw settled down to wait for the countdown timer to run down on the Botanist’s beta website.

It was like waiting for a microwave meal. You knew it was going to be awful, but you watched the clock anyway. Waiting for the ping that said your horsemeat lasagne was ready.

Henning Stahl joined them. He had arrived back from his Chance’s Park debriefing in a taxi. Poe had asked why he hadn’t had a police officer bring him. He’d said he needed some time on his own. They settled down on the sofa to watch the countdown. It was less than a minute now. Stahl opened his notebook.

‘How are you feeling right now, Sergeant Poe?’ he said.

Poe ignored him, kept his eyes on the timer.

Thirty seconds now.

‘Are you nervous? Excited?’

Twenty seconds.

Ten.

Five.

Zero.

The website on Bradshaw’s screen dissolved. It was replaced by two words.

Game on