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‘Wehavebeen dealing with cranks, Sergeant Poe,’ Chief Superintendent Stewart said. ‘Every police force has.’

‘But we’re here, anyway,’ Flynn said. ‘What does that tell you?’

‘There’s something else,’ Poe said. ‘Something that wasn’t on television. Something that’s been kept back from the media.’

‘The envelope the poem and flower came in. We’ve been through the TV show frame by frame and at no point was the back of it shown.’

Flynn scrolled through some photographs on the tablet, stopped on the one she wanted, and handed it to Poe.

The photograph was a hand-drawn picture of a flower. It was in black ink and incredibly detailed.

‘Tilly says it’s a scientific illustration, the type you’d be taught to do at university.’

‘I’ve compared it to a photograph of the genus of mandrake plant that killed Kane Hunt and it’s accurate and to scale,’ Bradshaw said. ‘This is a highly skilled drawing, Poe.’

‘And there was a drawing on the back of Harrison Cummings’s envelope as well, I take it?’

‘Of the fish wort plant,’ Flynn confirmed.

‘OK, I’m sold,’ Poe said. ‘I take it South Yorkshire have Harrison Cummings safe?’

‘He was never here,’ Chief Superintendent Stewart replied. ‘He’s a Londoner, parachuted into a safe Tory seat. Spends the least amount of time here he can. Officially leads the table in most cancelled constituent surgeries.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘London,’ Flynn said. ‘Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection have him.’

‘So he’s safe?’

‘He is.’

‘We’d better get started then. We got somewhere to work?’

‘Chief Superintendent Stewart has very kindly put a room aside at their operations complex. We’ll go there now. See if we can come up with some lines of enquiry.’

‘You lead, I’ll follow.’

Her phone rang. Instead of answering him she gave a thumbs-up and wandered off.

‘You’d better give me the postcode, sir,’ he said. ‘She could be a while. Tilly and I can make a start.’

Chief Superintendent Stewart told him what it was.

Poe keyed it in and the address appeared on the centre console. ‘Is this a joke?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’

‘Letsby Avenue. As in “let’s be ’aving you”?’

Stewart nodded, embarrassed.

‘The town planner turned a blind eye to what the property developer had named it,’ he said miserably. ‘And by the time any of us realised, the damage was done. Retrospectively objecting would have made us appear curmudgeonly. Now I have to have this conversation every few weeks.’

Flynn walked over.

‘You know about this, boss?’ Poe said. ‘South Yorkshire’s operation complex is on Letsby … What’s up?’

Her face was ashen.

‘It’s Harrison Cummings,’ she said. ‘He isn’t safe. He’s dead.’