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‘Good man, I like him,’ Poe grunted. When van Zyl was in North West Special Branch they’d worked closely together on a counter-terrorism case. The July 21st bombers had trained in the Lake District, and Cumbrian cops were vital in building up the intelligence profile. It had been van Zyl who asked Poe to apply for the SCAS position. ‘And Hanson?’

‘Still the deputy director.’

‘Pity,’ said Poe. Hanson was a politically savvy man and Poe wasn’t surprised to learn he’d somehow managed to wriggle out of it. Ordinarily, when a senior manager is forced out due to catastrophic errors in judgement, the next manager in line takes their job. That Hanson hadn’t been promoted meant he’d not got away with it completely.

Poe could still remember the smirk on Hanson’s face when he suspended him. He hadn’t had contact with anyone from the NCA since. He’d left no forwarding address, had cancelled his mobile-phone contract, and as far as he knew, he wasn’t on any database in Cumbria.

If Flynn had taken the trouble to track him down, it meant a decision on his employment had finally been made. As Hanson was still in post, Poe doubted it was good news. It didn’t matter; he’d moved on months ago. If Flynn was there to tell him he no longer worked for the NCA then that was fine. And if she were there to tell him that Hanson had finally found a way to charge him with a criminal offence, he would just have to deal with it.

There was no point shooting the messenger. He doubted Flynn wanted to be there. ‘You want a brew? I’m having one.’ He didn’t wait for a response and disappeared into the croft. He shut the door behind him.

Five minutes later he was back with a metal espresso maker and a separate pot of boiled water. He filled two mugs. ‘Still taking it black?’

She nodded and took a sip. She smiled and raised the mug in appreciation.

‘How’d you find me?’ His face was serious. His privacy had become increasingly important to him.

‘Van Zyl knew you’d come back to Cumbria and he knew roughly where you lived. Some quarry workers told me there was someone living in an old shepherd’s croft in the middle of nowhere. They’d been watching you do the place up.’ She looked round as if evidence of this was negligible.

Herdwick Croft looked as though it had grown out of the ground. The walls were made of unrendered stone – too big for any one man to lift and manoeuvre into place – and it merged seamlessly with the ancient moorland it inhabited. It was squat and ugly and looked like it had been frozen in time for two hundred years. Poe loved it.

Flynn said, ‘I’ve been here a couple of hours waiting—’

‘What do you want?’

Flynn reached into her briefcase and pulled out a thick file. She didn’t open it. ‘I assume you’ve heard of the Immolation Man?’

Poe jerked his head up. He hadn’t expected her to say that.

And of course he’d heard of the Immolation Man. Even in the middle of the Shap Fells, the Immolation Man was news. He’d been burning men to death in some of Cumbria’s many stone circles. Three victims so far, unless there was another he hadn’t heard about. Although the press had been speculating, the facts were there if you knew how to separate them from the sensationalism.

The county had its first-ever serial killer.

Even if SCAS had been called in to help Cumbria police, he was on suspension: subject to an internal investigation and an IPCC inquiry. Although Poe knew he was an asset to any investigation, he wasn’t irreplaceable. SCAS had moved on without him.

So what was Flynn really doing there?

‘Van Zyl’s lifted your suspension. He wants you working the case. You’ll be my DS.’

Although Poe’s face was a mask, his mind worked faster than a computer. It didn’t make sense. Flynn was a new DI, and the last thing she’d want would be the old DI working under her, undermining her authority just by being there. And she’d known him a long time and knew how he responded to authority. Why would she want to be a part of that?

She’d been ordered to.

Poe noticed she’d made no mention of the IPCC inquiry so presumably that was still ongoing. He stood and cleared away the mugs. ‘Not interested,’ he said.

She seemed surprised by his answer. He didn’t know why. The NCA had washed their hands of him.

‘Don’t you want to see what’s in my file?’ she asked.

‘I don’t care,’ he replied. He no longer missed SCAS. While it had taken him a long time to get used to the slower pace of life on the Cumbrian fells, he didn’t want to give it up. If Flynn wasn’t there to sack or arrest him, then he wasn’t interested in anything else she had to say. Catching serial killers was no longer a part of his life.

‘OK,’ she said. She stood up. She was tall and their eyes were on the same level. ‘I need you to sign two bits of paper for me then.’ She removed a thinner file from her briefcase and passed it over.

‘What’s this?’

‘You heard me say van Zyl’s lifted your suspension, right?’

Nodding, he read the document.