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The sun was bright and the view as stunning as always. Uneven ground, treeless hills and jagged rocks for miles in every direction. Edgar tried to beg Flynn’s crusts, but unlike Bradshaw, who’d given him virtually all her lunch, she seemed immune to the sad-eyed, puppy-dog routine. When he realised the treats were over, Edgar wandered off and before long there was a screech. A curlew panicked into the air. Edgar reappeared, looking pleased with himself.

‘Leave the birds alone, Edgar!’ Poe shouted, before he could find the ground nest. The last thing he needed was the spaniel coming back to Bradshaw with a mouth full of hatchlings. Edgar reluctantly returned to the croft.

Flynn brushed some crumbs from her jacket. She was wearing the suit she’d had on the first day she’d been there, the one with the pinstripes. Bradshaw was wearing her usual cargo pants and T-shirt. Reid was immaculately dressed; he’d always been a clotheshorse and never dressed casually. Even when they’d socialised together, Reid wore a suit and Poe suspected he considered his own lack of effort a burden and disgrace. Poe was still wearing the clothes he had on yesterday, which reminded him – his mail was still unopened in his pocket.

He retrieved the bundle and glanced through it. There was a letter from his gas supplier letting him know that the delivery time for his fresh tank had been changed, and one from the borehole-pump suppliers telling him his warranty had expired. If he wanted to renew it, it would be six quid a month. Poe didn’t.

The last envelope was plain brown. His name was typed on the front and the postmark was local. He slid a knife under the flap and slit it open. He shook out the contents.

It was a postcard. A generic picture of a cup of coffee. The foam on top had been fashioned into a design by someone with too much time on their hands. Latte art, he thought it was called. Something they did in London, not Cumbria.

He flipped it over. He must have let out a gasp, as Flynn, Reid and Bradshaw all turned to stare.

‘What is it, Poe?’ Flynn asked.

He turned the card so they could all see what was written on the back.

One symbol, two words.

?

Washington Poe

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘What the hell?’ Flynn muttered. She turned to stare at Poe. ‘What is this?’

Poe didn’t take his eyes from the postcard. ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ he managed.

It was clear no one else did either. The only sound that could be heard was Edgar gnawing on a bone he’d found. No one wanted to know where he’d got it from.

‘And what the hell’s that reverse question-mark thing?’ Flynn added. She placed the envelope and postcard into a clear evidence bag while Reid called Gamble to let him know. He promised to get someone across to take it for a forensic test, although none of them was holding out hope. The Immolation Man didn’t make mistakes at chaotic crime scenes – he was hardly likely to make one when he wasn’t in a hurry.

Bradshaw scanned both sides through the evidence bag so they had an electronic copy. She stared at her tablet for almost ten minutes, occasionally touching the screen and pulling her fingers apart to zoom in on something. She started to frown and mutter to herself.

‘What is it, Tilly?’ asked Flynn.

‘I need to go inside,’ she replied. She got up without another word. By the time they’d caught up with her she had her laptop open. She was searching for something. She turned to Poe and said, ‘Do you have a white bedsheet you can hang on the wall, Poe?’

He did, and luckily it was clean. Reid helped him put it up while Bradshaw set up the projector she’d brought with her.

When they’d finished, Bradshaw was ready. She aimed the light at the hanging sheet. She moved to Google’s home page and typed in ‘Percontation Point’. Nothing happened and she apologised for the slow internet connection.

A picture came up. It was the same symbol; the reverse question mark: ?

Underneath was the definition:

The Percontation Point, sometimes called the Snark or the Irony Mark, is a little-known notation used to indicate that the sentence is to be taken rhetorically, ironically or as sarcasm. It can also be used to indicate that there is another layer of meaning in a sentence.

‘Tilly,’ Flynn said, ‘where are you going with—’

‘Let her speak, boss,’ Poe said. ‘I think I know.’

Bradshaw looked at him gratefully. ‘Thank you, Poe. The point I am trying to make, DI Stephanie Flynn, is, if I do this,’ she fiddled with the projector until it was out of focus, ‘what does the percontation point look like?’

Poe squinted, although he already knew. He watched Flynn to see if she could see it as well.

‘It looks like a number five,’ she said.