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His radio crackled. It was the cop at the pier.

‘Your replacement’s here,’ she said.

Chapter 69

Flynn, her balance compromised by an eight-month-old baby bump, was holding onto the rail of the RIB as tightly as Bradshaw had the night before. Her belly was so big that the lifejacket wouldn’t fasten and she wore it loose, like an unbuttoned waistcoat. Poe suspected there’d been quite the discussion before she’d been allowed to sail.

He grunted in satisfaction when he saw her companion. It was Dave Coughlan. The big cop might not be a deep thinker but he seemed solid and unflappable. Poe doubted he’d scare easily. It would be one less thing to worry about while he was on the mainland.

Poe, Coughlan and the cop Coughlan was replacing all helped get Flynn off the boat. The snow still wasn’t settling but it had made the pier treacherous. She glared at them all but eventually allowed herself to be manhandled.

‘We’ll never talk about this, Poe,’ she said when she was on dry land.

The marine cop threw up her bag and Poe caught it.

‘Come on, boss,’ he said. ‘While Tilly’s going through her ridiculous marine safety drills I’ll take you across and introduce you to Atkinson.’

‘You sure you’re up to it, boss?’ Poe said. ‘There’s no shame in sitting this one out. I’m more than capable of doing another shift. Allow you time to get some NCA replacements up here.’

Flynn snorted. ‘You looked in a mirror lately? You’ve got eyes like a racing dog’s bollocks. Go on, get yourselves home. I need you rested and I need Tilly helping Nightingale track down whoever’s behind all this.’

Poe nodded. She was right.

‘I’ll see you in two tides’ time then. Round about this time tomorrow, I expect.’

With Flynn safely ensconced on the terrace of Atkinson’s bungalow Poe jogged back to see Coughlan.

‘I don’t care what she says,’ he told him, ‘you radio check every fifteen minutes and—’

‘That’s not what she said on the way over—’

‘Look into my eyes, Dave,’ Poe said, staring at him. ‘Every fifteen minutes. I’m not having her go into labour and not getting the help she needs because she’s too stubborn to ask.’

‘Every fifteen minutes,’ he agreed.

‘And you do a visual check on the hour.’

‘You do know she outranks me.’

‘Everyone outranks you,’ Poe replied, ‘but I’m a sergeant and sergeants are always right.’

Coughlan grinned. ‘Radio check every fifteen minutes and a visual check on the hour it is then.’

‘You’ll pass on these instructions to your replacement?’

‘I will.’

‘Good man,’ Poe said, handing him a bit of paper. ‘Here’s Atkinson’s wi-fi code – if Flynn gives you any shit email me or Tilly. One of us will be awake.’

The boat ride back was uneventful and they were soon on the road. Bradshaw had refused the offer of a hotel on Walney and had instead booked a room at Shap Wells, the hotel nearest to Herdwick Croft. She wanted to carry on working.

Poe knew he should sleep, that the time he’d stolen by overindulging in Atkinson’s coffee would soon demand a heavy price, but he was still jittery and wide awake. He’d work until his body told him to stop then get some sleep. He wanted to get at least six hours before his next shift on the island.

A grey sky leached colour from the land. Even the snow seemed muted, more off-cream than the brilliant white of the previous day. It wasn’t falling heavily and Poe only needed his windscreen wipers on intermittent. Bradshaw’s Mole People had already sent information on how the Atkinson case had ruined a handful of police careers. She was trying to read it but the hot air coming from the heaters, combined with the caffeine-free night she’d had, meant her eyelids were drooping.

He was about to tell her not to fight it when his BlackBerry finally picked up a signal again. It started to vibrate like crazy as missed calls and texts from the last twenty-four hours came flooding in. He passed it across to Bradshaw and asked her to see what was happening.

She blinked wearily. ‘You have three missed calls, Poe. All from the same number. They haven’t left a voicemail.’