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He read the list again. Six men got on the boat that night. Five of them were now dead.

‘It can only be one of two things, Tilly,’ he replied. ‘Montague Price is either the next victim or . . .’

‘Or?’

‘Or he’s the Immolation Man.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Poe was happy to let Gamble take over. Searching for a killer once he’d been identified was a job for the sledgehammer, not the scalpel; it needed a manhunt, not a man hunting. He’d called Gamble immediately and told him that they’d found the link between the victims. To his credit, he didn’t shout too much.

Flynn was back in Cumbria and insisted on being briefed. They met in the bar at Shap Wells and she seemed happy with what they’d achieved in her absence. SCAS had come out of it OK in the end. She said she’d let him know later how the meeting with the director and the minister had gone.

Bradshaw broke down the financial information in greater detail while Flynn took notes. She’d be the one writing up the official SCAS report. It would form part of any subsequent prosecution so it had to be meticulous. Reid sauntered into the bar halfway through but waited until the information exchange had finished.

‘What have you got, Sergeant?’ Flynn asked, making it clear she was back and in charge. It was how it should be. The DI organised the show; the DS ran it.

‘He’s gone,’ Reid said.

‘Montague Price?’ Poe asked.

‘Yep. I was on the raid. His house was empty but it looks like he left in a hurry.’

‘And?’ There was always an ‘and’ with Reid. He was a natural showman.

His face cracked into a smile. ‘And . . . it’s him. CSI found traces of blood on some of his clothes – the DNA is being fast-tracked. There was an empty bottle that we think contained some of the accelerant he used, and there was also a vial of an unknown liquid. Looks medical. It’s been sent to the lab.’

He reached out and shook Flynn’s hand. ‘I’m to officially thank you, ma’am. DCS Gamble’s busy obviously, but he didn’t want it left unsaid. He knows it wouldn’t have happened without SCAS.’

He turned to Poe. ‘Even you, Poe. He asked me to tell you that he still thinks you’re a bit of an idiot but—’

‘An idiot. That’s what he called me, an idiot?’

‘I’m paraphrasing. His actual words were “massive bellend” but there are ladies present.’

Bradshaw giggled. Even Flynn smiled.

He’d been there before; the silly season right after a case finished. It was a natural high. Everything was funny. Price hadn’t been found yet but he would be. Gamble would use everything at his disposal. He’d be on the news later that day and he’d have already circulated Montague Price’s picture to the press. It’s what Poe would have done. Close the net. Leave Price thinking there were eyes and ears everywhere. That he had nowhere left to hide. He might be intelligent as far as psychotic lunatics went, but Montague Price had no idea he was about to become the most famous man in the country.

Poe walked to the bar. They all deserved a drink. While he waited for the barman to take his order, he turned to look at his friends. They were laughing and joking. Enjoying a job well done.

So why didn’t he feel the same?

He knew what it was. Like a pea under his mattress, Carmichael’s money was bothering him.

The amount withdrawn from his secret bank account when he closed it, and the amount found in his official bank account didn’t add up. The six men on the cruise had given Carmichael eight hundred thousand pounds. Only five hundred thousand had been found. Not counting the nine thousand pounds donated to Seven Pines, almost three hundred thousand pounds was still unaccounted for.

And there was still no reason why his name had been carved onto a victim’s chest.

Poe didn’t like loose ends. They were untidy. Sometimes they unravelled.

While everyone else celebrated, Poe brooded and pondered.

CHAPTER FORTY

Poe and Reid stayed up late. Flynn left early to begin writing SCAS’s report. Bradshaw stayed until one a.m. but eventually cried off, saying she had stuff to be getting on with.

Reid raised his eyebrows after she’d gone. ‘What stuff does she have to do at this time of night?’