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Poe glanced at Flynn in the mirror. Her face was red with embarrassment. He winked to show there were no hard feelings. He was beginning to like Matilda Bradshaw.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and they arrived at the Shap Wells Hotel just after seven in the evening.

Flynn and Bradshaw checked in while Poe collected his mail. Although it wasn’t his official address, it wasn’t fair to expect a postman to walk over the rough fells to Herdwick Croft, and the hotel allowed him to have his mail delivered to reception.

There was very little. That was one of the perks of living silently; you got very little junk mail.

Flynn met him at reception.

‘Sorted?’

‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Tilly wanted a room nearer the fire exit so we had to do some swapping around but she seems happy now. I’ve told her to get something to eat then have an early night.’

‘Let’s go and see victim number four then.’

Long Meg and Her Daughters, the scene of the third murder, and Castlerigg, the scene of the first, were two of the most visually impressive prehistoric monuments in the country. They were internationally known stone circles. Cumbria also had countless other Neolithic circles, including some that were so small they could only be identified from the air.

Poe didn’t know of any near Cockermouth. He suspected that either the police or the Immolation Man had seen a circle when there wasn’t one. Most fells in Cumbria had naturally occurring rocky outcrops and stone formations, and if you were standing in the middle of one, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine they’d been strategically placed by a Stone-Age civilisation thousands of years ago.

But Poe was wrong.

There was a stone circle near Cockermouth.

Poe navigated the roads as they got smaller and smaller. He turned right at Dubwath, a tiny village on the edge of Bassenthwaite Lake, and five minutes later the flashing glare of blue lights guided them to where they needed to be.

Poe parked at the back of a long row of police vehicles. A uniformed officer was standing at a gate holding a clipboard.

He asked to see their ID and gave Poe a funny look as he recorded his name.

‘Is there a stone circle up there?’ Poe asked.

The uniformed cop nodded. ‘Elva Plain. Supposed to have had something to do with the trade in Neolithic axes.’ When you were on cordon duty in the middle of nowhere there was very little to do but Google things on your phone.

‘This is the outer cordon?’ Poe checked.

‘Yep,’ he replied. ‘The inner cordon’s up there.’ He pointed towards a sharply inclined, windswept hill. Poe couldn’t see anyone but he could hear voices.

As they climbed, they met another uniformed cop on his way down who told them they were nearly there. They kept walking up until they saw it.

The circle was on a level terrace on the southern slope of Elva Hill. It was bathed in artificial light. Fifteen grey stones formed a circle about forty yards in diameter. The tallest was no more than a yard from the ground; some of the others were barely visible.

It was a hive of activity.

CSI, clad head to toe in white forensic suits, milled about in organised chaos. Some knelt on the ground working, while others focused in and around an evidence tent that had been erected in the middle of the circle.

The inner cordon was set up so the entirety of the circle’s circumference was within the bl

ue and white police tape. Poe and Flynn introduced themselves to a cop with another clipboard.

‘The boss’ll be out soon,’ the uniformed constable said. ‘Can’t let you in without his permission.’

Poe nodded. Good crime-scene discipline usually meant a good SIO. Ian Gamble might not have the flashes of inspiration that cracked the impossible cases, but he played to his strengths. And why not? Ninety-nine per cent of murders were solved by thorough and methodical investigations.

Flynn turned to face him. ‘Is there anything to be gained by going in? We’ll get the photos when they’re ready.’

‘I’ll have a quick look, if you don’t mind. I want to get a feel for him.’

She nodded.