Page 209

Chapter 125

‘Edgarcan go in first,’ Poe said, unlocking the door. ‘If anyone’s been in there he’ll let us know.’

An excited yap told them it was safe. They followed him inside.

‘I’ll fire up the wood-burning stove so we have hot water,’ he said. ‘You’ll be able to have a shower soon. There should be clean towels in the bathroom. We’ll sort out the sleeping arrangements shortly.’

Doyle didn’t respond. She was still taking in the single room that was the entirety of Herdwick Croft’s ground floor. Her eyes were wide. Poe had never felt embarrassed about his home, and he wasn’t now, but he had hoped Doyle would approve.

‘It’s the safest place I know,’ he said, ‘but if you don’t like it we can have a rethink after we’ve had some sleep.’

‘Like it?’ she smiled. ‘It’s absolutely perfect, Poe.’

While Doyle showered, Poe fixed breakfast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal. Probably the Vietnamese he and Flynn had shared when they were looking for Henning Stahl. Every meal since then had been taken on the fly. It looked like Victoria had stocked his fridge with a little bit of everything the butcher sold. Cumberland sausage rings, bacon, chicken thighs, diced lamb, black pudding. A couple of Ullswater pies. He reached for some eggs and cracked them into a bowl. Whisked in some milk and a pinch of salt and pepper. As soon as he heard the shower stop he heated up his skillet and added some oil. While the omelette was cooking, he found some cheese and spring onions. By the time he had folded it over, Doyle had joined him downstairs. She was wearing black jeans and one of his Clash T-shirts. It was old and thin and had probably been washed fifty times. Poe thought it looked better on her than it did on him.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked.

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘You feeling better?’

‘Much. Your water pressure’s insane.’

‘It’s pumped straight out of the ground. You hungry? I’ve cooked us an omelette. You don’t mind if it’s a bit rubbery, do you? I know how to start cooking omelettes, but I never really learned when to stop.’

‘Are you asking how I like my eggs in the morning, Poe?’

Poe made a show of checking his watch. ‘You’re slipping, Estelle. We’ve been here forty minutes and that’s your first double entendre.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine. You’re holding up remarkably well.’

‘You mean for someone who got out of prison twenty-four hours ago only to find a serial killer is after them?’

‘I mean for someone who has just lost her dad,’ he said softly. ‘While all this was going on, something got lost.’

‘And what was that, Poe?’

‘You weren’t allowed to grieve. It doesn’t matter how close you were, he was still your dad. So, I would like it if we could sit down and eat our breakfast and drink our coffee. And afterwards I want you to tell me about him. What type of man he was. Stories he told you about his youth. What it was like to grow up in Highwood.’

‘I’m not sure I’m ready yet, Poe.’

‘Please, Estelle. For me.’

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. ‘What’s this about, Poe?’

He mumbled something she didn’t catch.

‘I missed that,’ she said.

‘I said, “Your father’s dead and it’s my fault”.’

‘Your fault? How on earth is it your fault?’

‘If I hadn’t kept bringing you all our cases, Beck wouldn’t have known we worked together. There’d have been no reason to take you off the board.’

‘You’re a brilliant detective and I’m a brilliant pathologist and we both live in the north,’ she said. ‘We were always going to work cases together.’

‘But that wasn’t the only reason I kept coming to you,’ he addedquietly. ‘I brought cases to you even when I didn’t need to. Cases way below your pay grade.’