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He’d been clever and chosen guesthouses on the outskirts of town as CCTV didn’t cover them and, unlike the bigger hotels, their wi-fi networks weren’t protected by security systems such as guest portals, firewalls or logging systems. Bradshaw said that they could have been placed there at any time and, as long as they remained plugged into a power source, could remain there indefinitely. Nightingale had a new line of enquiry but Poe didn’t think the man they were now hunting would be careless enough to leave actionable evidence at any of the lo

cations.

‘I suppose it’s possible he still has single-board computers he hasn’t brought online yet?’ the chief constable said.

Bradshaw nodded. ‘And we have no way of knowing how many. He could have been planning this for years and they can be anywhere in the world. The five we located were in Carlisle but the sixth could be in Mumbai.’

Nightingale stood to address the room.

‘Thank you, Miss Bradshaw, and thank you, Sergeant Poe. Are there any questions before we move on to tasking?’

There weren’t.

Poe stayed behind to talk to Nightingale. To his surprise, Flynn joined them. If she had managed to rest, the effect was negligible: she still looked tired and swollen. She was wearing trainers so big it looked as though she’d stolen them from a clown.

‘Boss? What you doing here?’ Poe checked his watch. It was coming up to 10 p.m.

‘Tilly’s briefed me on what’s going on.’ She turned to Nightingale and said, ‘Ma’am, I hope you don’t mind but this is potentially a national public safety issue and I need to get involved. It’s contained in Cumbria for now but it might not stay that way.’

‘I could do with the support to be honest, DI Flynn,’ Nightingale replied. ‘What do you need from me?’

‘I’ve arranged for Poe to meet someone in Public Health for Cumbria first thing tomorrow. Apparently he’s the council’s lead on Blue Whale. I’m happy if you want to send someone with him.’

‘I will, thanks.’

Flynn turned back to Poe. ‘Before I forget, someone called …’ – she reached into her pocket and read a note written on North Lakes Hotel stationery – ‘Melody Lee rang for you.’

‘Unusual name,’ he said.

‘You not paid your tab at Rouge, Poe?’ Nightingale asked.

He laughed. Rouge was Carlisle’s only pole-dancing club. ‘She leave a message?’

‘Just a mobile number and a request that you ring her ASAP.’ She passed the information across.

He glanced at it. It was a strange number. Thirteen digits instead of eleven, it also began with 001 instead of 07. It wasn’t a UK mobile, that much was clear.

‘I’ll call her later,’ he said, tucking the note into his pocket.

Chapter 45

The meeting with Public Health was scheduled for nine-thirty the following morning and Nightingale insisted that Poe call it a night. He offered perfunctory resistance but, in truth, he was glad to get away. His bones felt tired – payback for the long hours and cheap coffee – and his mind felt like a spreadsheet with too many tabs open. A meal, a walk in the snow with Edgar followed by a full night’s sleep would see him reinvigorated. He said goodbye to Flynn and Bradshaw, collected Edgar from the dog section and headed home.

Robert and Rhona Cowell remained in his thoughts as he manoeuvred the BMW X1 through the deepening snow, the winter tyres and four-wheel-drive torque ensuring he fared better than most other road users. He thought Rhona was probably equally as involved as Robert and, although they made good suspects, a lot of unanswered questions remained. Neither of them looked like criminal masterminds, and although Poe knew that few crimes made complete sense, even if they were dealing with the two luckiest pinheads alive – bumbling clowns who’d somehow defied the odds and pulled off three almost perfect murders – nothing explained why they’d pumped two of their victims full of anaesthetic while one had simply been dispatched on the spot.

They were still missing something.

The weather had cleared and, with a Cumberland sausage and a potato in the oven, Poe took Edgar for a walk along his boundary walls. Herdwick sheep would use them as shelter and they’d occasionally get stuck if the snow drifted. More than once he’d had to drag them out by their feet.

He walked the length of the dry stone wall that served as the demarcation between his and Victoria’s land. It was free of trapped animals. He was about to head home when he heard something. The idling engine of a quad.

He turned to the noise and saw two headlights. It seemed that Victoria had been having one last check as well.

‘Washington,’ she said, when he popped his head over the wall, ‘what are you doing out so late?’

‘Same as you by the looks of it,’ he replied.

‘You couldn’t give me a hand, could you?’