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Poe nodded. That was more likely. If he’d been watching Rebecca’s bungalow and saw an unexpected opportunity, he could have rushed across the paddock and taken her while he had the chance. It would explain why he hadn’t had time to remove the kite.

A thought occurred to him

. ‘Which means he might come back for it …’

He lunged for his phone.

Chapter 22

Nightingale called off the hounds and arranged covert surveillance of the wood. Poe volunteered to be part of the team but she politely refused. She did, however, invite him to the planning meeting at Carleton Hall. Poe attended to see if he could change her mind. Until Bradshaw’s program had finished merging and sorting the victims’ information, he didn’t have a lot to do.

‘Keep doing what you do, Poe,’ Nightingale said when he broached the subject. ‘If the surveillance pays off, then great, but I like to plan for the worst and all that bollocks.’

Poe didn’t reply.

‘We have three teams of twelve,’ she continued. ‘Two cops are in a house six doors down from Rebecca’s. From the top floor they have a decent view of the wood. Another two will rough it in the woods behind the one we’re watching. The other eight in the team will be spread out in a net in case he runs. We have four motion-capture cameras in the wood and even though I know they’re there, I couldn’t see them. Everyone will have thermal imaging equipment.’

‘Shifts?’

‘Eight on, sixteen off.’

Poe grunted his appreciation. A twelve-twelve shift was the usual for surveillance. That Nightingale had budgeted for an eight-sixteen meant that she was in it for the long haul. Research had shown that twelve-twelve surveillance shifts became less effective after four days. Officers lost their edge. Tiredness crept in. When you were in a twelve-twelve shift pattern all you did was work and sleep.

Flynn and Nightingale began discussing budget contributions, stuff he had no interest in. Poe wandered off. It was late in the afternoon and Bradshaw had already headed back to the North Lakes Hotel and Spa. He sent her a text asking if she fancied getting an early supper.

She did. Poe jumped in his car and drove to the hotel. She was waiting for him in the lobby. Instead of the formal dining room, they elected to grab one of the leather sofas in the bar area. They were more comfy and there was less chance of being overheard.

‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ the barman asked.

‘Sparkling water, no ice, please,’ Bradshaw said.

‘Same for me but I’ll have ice,’ Poe said.

After the barman had disappeared, Poe said, ‘How’s your program coming along?’

‘I’m running tests now, Poe,’ she replied. ‘I’ll put the data in tonight and I’ll have early analysis this time tomorrow.’

Poe nodded. He wasn’t expecting much – the victims’ ages, education levels, geography and socioeconomic factors were too different for them to be linked – but experience had told him never to underestimate Bradshaw’s contributions.

The lack of anything connecting the victims was irrelevant, though, as they had been selected. Working out how was what SCAS did, and Poe knew Bradshaw had already tasked her small team of analysts – affectionately known as the ‘Mole People’ due to the way they tended to blink when they went outside – with analysing victim selection criteria.

The barman brought their drinks and placed them on coasters. He also placed a bowl of peanuts in front of them. Poe grabbed half a dozen, threw them in his mouth and started crunching. He passed the bowl to Bradshaw.

‘No thank you, Poe,’ she said. ‘Studies have found that bar nuts can contain as many as one hundred unique specimens of urine.’

Poe stopped chewing. He spat out what he hadn’t swallowed into his handkerchief.

‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome, Poe,’ she replied politely.

He popped an ice cube in his mouth and crunched it to get rid of the imagined taste of urine.

‘And I don’t have ice in my drinks for the same reason.’

Poe froze. ‘Urine?’

She shook her head. ‘Coliform. It’s the bacteria found in human faeces.’