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Chapter 74

Nightingale had called in armed response but Poe’s worst fear had been realised: the tide had only just started to come in and it wasn’t yet deep enough for them to take a marine unit RIB across the Walney Channel. They were stranded at Snab Point for at least another hour.

‘Try not to worry, Poe. The storm’s playing havoc with our comms,’ Nightingale said. ‘It might not be what you think.’

But it was, he knew that. Knew that Nightingale knew it too.

‘We can’t get a chopper in the air but armed response will get across as soon as the water’s deep enough,’ she added. ‘Hopefully they’ll be in—’

Poe ended the call. He indicated and left the M6 at junction 36. When he was on the Barrow road he turned to Bradshaw and said, ‘Find a way to get us onto that island, Tilly.’

While Bradshaw worked Poe said nothing and did nothing. He didn’t beat a drum on the steering wheel and he didn’t fidget in his seat. He didn’t sigh and he didn’t ask her how she was getting on. He drove and kept quiet. Bradshaw had an impossible task and she needed silence.

He glanced across.

She had her laptop open and she was doing maths, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, her lips pressed together in concentration.

Five more minutes passed.

‘There might be a way, Poe,’ she said, ‘but you’re not going to like it.’

She told him.

She was right. He didn’t.

Poe drove into Barrow ignoring the speed restrictions – the storm had cleared the town anyway – and headed towards the dock area. Bradshaw wanted him going no slower than fifty miles an hour at this point.

A traffic light ahead of him turned red. A cab and a silver Audi stopped for it. Poe didn’t. He swerved round them and carried on.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered when a car coming the other way sounded its horn.

He was soon in the dock area.

Bradshaw was glued to her laptop, plotting their progress.

‘How we doing?’

‘It’s going to be tight, Poe,’ she said. ‘We can’t afford to stop.’

The phone rang. Poe pressed the answer button on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the road.

It was Nightingale.

‘Where are you, Poe?’

‘Just crossing the bridge to Walney Island.’

‘We’re assembled at Snab Point,’ she said. ‘The marine unit has agreed to leave in less than ideal depth conditions. They estimate an hour. You can’t go with them but I can get you on the second boat.’

Poe said nothing. He turned left off the bridge and sped south along the promenade on Walney Island. He was soon through the isolated village of Biggar and had a clear run along Mawflat Lane. The worst of the storm either hadn’t reached Walney yet or it had already passed. A weak moon offered pale light through cracks in the low cloud. Poe grunted in satisfaction. It should be enough for them to see Montague Island’s silhouette.

Walney was eleven miles long but the distance between the bridge and Snab Point was less than five. Poe ignored the unsuitability of the road and the conditions and put his foot down again. Bradshaw kept her eyes on her computer.

‘I’ll be at Snab Point soon,’ Poe said. ‘Stay on the line.’

‘Why?’ asked Nightingale.

Poe ignored her.