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What he wanted to say was that a team of oxen with freshly peeled root ginger jammed up their arses wouldn’t be able to drag her off the next boat.

Nightingale nodded. ‘I’ll leave one of my officers at the pier. We can cover the whole island with just two people that way. The detective coming back with me will leave his radio with you so you can keep in touch with each other.’

It was a good plan. With Poe and Flynn on Atkinson’s land covering the western approaches, and Nightingale’s cops on the public land covering the east, the island would have all-round surveillance. No one was getting on or off without being seen.

‘I’ll rotate my officers each high tide,’ Nightingale said. ‘The marine unit can bring them in. I assume you’ll want to do longer shifts, given you’ll be indoors?’

‘I’m happy to do twenty-four hours,’ Poe replied, ‘but it’ll depend on the boss. She might bring someone up from Hampshire if this is going to drag on. Spread the load.’

‘And Tilly?’

‘She’ll stay on the mainland and keep working.’

Nightingale said she’d have armed response units on Walney Island, ready to be rushed across should either of her two lookouts request assistance. She’d also see if it were feasible to have another armed response unit permanently at sea.

‘I’ll set up a dedicated and permanently staffed email address in case you can’t get through on the radio. Send details if you can, otherwise 999 will be enough to trigger an urgent assistance response. That OK?’

Poe nodded. It would have to be.

‘We good then?’

He ran through everything. Securing the island was like a military op and, although it had been a long time since he’d worn khaki, he couldn’t think of anything they’d missed. They had a 360-degree line of sight, and they’d soon have a way to call in reinforcements.

‘We are,’ he said.

He hoped he was right.

Chapter 64

When Nightingale left, Poe got the wi-fi password from Atkinson and emailed Flynn. He told her that he would stay on the island until high tide the following morning. After that he’d need to be relieved.

As he’d expected, she confirmed she’d share the work with him. The exact words in her email were: ‘Poe, I’m more than capable of sitting on my fat arse with a pair of binoculars.’

Nightingale must have called as soon as she’d found a signal as Flynn already had the tide timetable. She’d land at approximately eight o’clock the next morning.

He then sent a quick email to Bradshaw letting her know where he was and when he’d be back. She sent him a link to something called ‘WhatsApp’ and asked him to download it. It was some sort of internet-based free messaging service she said would be quicker than email. Poe did as he was told.

With his admin done, he told Atkinson he was going to check the perimeter. What he really wanted to do was make sure the cop Nightingale had left at the pier was doing his job.

He needn’t have worried. The cop saw Poe before he saw him. He’d found a sheltered gap between two boulders and had fashioned his waterproof coat into a poncho-type shelter. He was out of the fine drizzle but wasn’t sacrificing his tactical advantage. Poe spoke to him for a minute and they agreed that they would both patrol the island’s perimeter at least once every two hours. Nothing regular that someone could use against them.

Satisfied Nightingale hadn’t left him with a duffer, Poe made his way back to Atkinson.

He was back on his terrace, a full cafetière and two mugs on the wall next to him. He gestured for Poe to join him.

‘I want to have a look inside first,’ Poe said. ‘Get my bearings.’

r /> ‘OK,’ Atkinson said, picking up his binoculars and staring out to sea again.

Poe let himself in through the French doors. So far he’d only been in the living room. There was a door to his left, which he assumed led into the annex Atkinson had arranged to be built, and a door on the opposite wall. He opened the door on his left first.

The door led into a short hallway with two additional doors. Poe stepped through and opened the nearest one.

It was Atkinson’s bedroom. The bed was large with space either side. An over-bed pole hoist to help him with sitting up, getting in or out or simply changing position was the only nod to Atkinson’s disability. Two fitted bookcases hugged the walls either side of his bed. They were ornate with raw bark edges. Poe picked up a couple of books. Moby Dick and one of Wainwright’s pictorial guides, a first edition by the looks of it. If he hadn’t been there to work he’d have taken a seat and read it in one sitting. He reluctantly put it back.

The bedroom had a door that Poe assumed was an en suite.

It was. A wet room rather than a traditional bathroom so there was nothing that Atkinson had to climb into. There was a large rainfall showerhead above. A handheld one in an adjustable holster was set halfway up the shower rod, about head height for someone sitting down. There was a wheeled shower chair in the corner. Presumably Atkinson transferred onto it so he didn’t get his wheelchair wet. The toilet had handrails either side and the sink was set at a lower height.