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‘Put your tablet away.’

‘OK, Poe.’

The three Carmichael children – by then Patricia had joined them – protested Poe’s intrusion on their big day. He wouldn’t budge.

‘Damn it, sir! You are a rank bad hat!’ said Duncan Carmichael.

Poe doubted it would be the worst thing he’d be called that night. He tried to call Flynn. He pointed at his phone and said, ‘Shh.’

‘Oh, I’m sick of this obnoxious little man!’ Patricia Carmichael complained. ‘I’m asking Nicholas to put an end to this nonsense.’

‘I’m here at his invitation,’ Poe replied. He still hadn’t managed to get through to Flynn.

That didn’t stop them marching on the bishop. Oldwater did his best to placate them but it was clear he was on Poe’s side.

It seemed he trusted his judgement.

In the end the chief constable did too. He might have been an isolated careerist, but he wasn’t stupid. When Poe told him that the Immolation Man’s identity might be hidden among the display cases, and that being seen in the company of the Carmichaels might not be politically advantageous for too much longer, he did his job and rang for uniformed backup. When the Carmichaels continued to make a fuss, he threatened to arrest them.

He sidled up to Poe and whispered, ‘You’d better be fucking right, Poe.’

Through the glass cases Bradshaw began photographing the items. It meant they had their own records and weren’t relying on Gamble to share everything. It didn’t matter; Poe knew it was all going to come down to that one obscure punctuation mark.

?

It was innocuous, and in the context of a charitable auction, completely appropriate. But . . . the last percontation point they’d found had led them to dark places. Poe knew this one would too.

He didn’t know how easy it’d be to uncover information on a twenty-six-year-old charitable event, but, if it were online, Bradshaw would find it. He doubted the Carmichaels were going to be much help; potentially they had much to lose. In any case, they’d been children at the time.

A gruff voice made him turn. DCS Gamble was now on the scene. Reid was with him. Flynn would be there soon. Gamble ignored Poe as he strode over to his chief constable. Poe couldn’t hear what was being said, but judging by his flamboyant gesticulation, Gamble didn’t get whatever it was he was after. He stormed across to Poe.

‘I don’t know how you’ve managed it, Poe, but the chief says that you should be given full access again.’ His lips were pressed together.

For a few seconds the two men glared at each other. Poe knew Gamble’s heart wasn’t in it, though. He was angry but a large part of that was misdirected; his own officers shouldn’t have been so far behind this. Poe didn’t want to fall out with the man so a peace offering was the right move.

‘Sir, as far as I’m concerned this is your investigation,’ he said. ‘I’m happy to help in any way I can, but I would urge you to consider using SCAS as it was designed; to offer analytical support and advice.’

‘Fine,’ Gamble replied. He gestured for Reid to approach. ‘Sergeant Reid, you’re back on SCAS liaison, but this time do it properly.’

‘Sir,’ Reid acknowledged with a deadpan face. That Poe had exhumed a corpse and gate-crashed a gala had hardly been his fault, but he was wise enough not to protest.

Bradshaw interrupted. ‘Everything’s scanned, Poe.’

He nodded. ‘Let’s get out of here then.’

‘Where to?’ Reid asked.

‘The pub,’ Poe replied. ‘I need a drink.’

The Oddfellows Arms in Keswick was still serving food – real food this time – and they grabbed a quiet table in the paved beer garden that overlooked one of the town’s car parks. Poe ordered giant Yorkshire puddings filled with lamb stew for himself and Reid, and a vegetable lasagne for Bradshaw.

‘What do we need to know next?’ Poe asked.

Reid said, ‘I don’t know what we know now, mate.’

‘Fair point,’ Poe said. For the next half an hour he and Bradshaw ran through the sequence of recent events. By the time they’d finished, the food had arrived, and rather than spit gravy at each other, Poe called a halt until they’d eaten.

After they’d refreshed their glasses, Bradshaw, who’d been on her tablet since they’d sat down, said, ‘There were two companies running cruises on Ullswater twenty-six years ago. One of them ceased trading a few years ago. The father died – of natural causes before you ask – and the children didn’t want to keep it going so it folded. The other’s still going strong and has been for the last one hundred and fifty years.’