Page 49 of The Final Vow

The vendor went to work. A minute later he handed Poe a pork-filled sub the size of a javelin thrower’s arm. Poe was about to take his first bite when his mobile began chirping. So did Bradshaw’s. Poe ignored his, Bradshaw didn’t.

Poe tore off a chunk of bread and meat as he watched Bradshaw. She had an expressive face. He’d know straight away if it was good news or bad news. Good news would mean he could carry on eating. Bad news might mean he’d have to stop. Right now, his sandwich was like that stupid cat Bradshaw kept talking about. The idiot one that had trapped itself in a box. Might be dead, might be alive. No one sensible gave a shit. Bradshaw certainly didn’t. She said the cat in the box was a ridiculous thought experiment and proved once and for all that theoretical physicists were as dumb as a box of shoes.

Poe kept chewing.

And then he stopped. Because Bradshaw was clearly getting bad news. Her face was going through the wringer. She was upset and she was confused. He handed the sandwich back to the vendor. ‘Wrap that for me, please.’

The vendor, sensing something was up, accepted it wordlessly.

Bradshaw finished her call.

‘Who was that, Tilly?’ Poe asked.

‘It was Commander Mathers, Poe. There’s been another shooting.’

Poe briefly closed his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Where?’

‘That’s just the thing,’ she replied. ‘It doesn’t make sense. The shooting was in Gretna Green again.’

Chapter 38

‘Tell me again what the odds are, Tilly,’ Poe said.

They were driving north. Mathers was on her way to Gretna Green too, but they had a three-hour head start. They would beat her there comfortably. They were in Poe’s car, but Bradshaw was driving – he hadn’t wanted to waste his sandwich. Bradshaw kept the windows open while he ate it and refused to shut them until the smell had dissipated completely.

‘While accepting that each throw is an independent event, the odds of throwing two double twenties in a row is one hundred and sixty thousand to one,’ she said.

‘But itwasn’ttwo in a row,’ Poe said. ‘He killed Jools Arreghini in between. It was actually two throws out of three. Gretna Green to Oxford and back to Gretna Green.’

Bradshaw nodded. ‘It was, Poe. I was simplifying the maths for you. However you put it, the odds of Gretna Green coming up twice in a sample this small are so large it is statistically irrelevant.’

She took a moment.

‘And that means I was wrong,’ she said. ‘The sniperisn’tusing dice to select locations.’

‘You said the maths didn’t lie, Tilly. Nothing’s changed. The mathsstillisn’t lying. This is just a blip.’

But it was as if Bradshaw had stopped listening to him.

‘What a colossal waste of everyone’s time,’ she continued. ‘All the wild goose chases I’ve sent people on.’ She hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. ‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’

‘Tilly, stop that.’

‘I even tricked you into dressing like the tenth Doctor!’

‘David Brent’s one of my favourite actors.’

‘It’s DavidTennant, and the last time we watched an episode ofDoctor Whoyou cheered for the Cybermen.’

Poe looked out of the window, watched as they sped through Lancashire. Despite the crippling self-doubt, Bradshaw was never wrong about these things. She never voiced opinions until she was absolutely certain. If she said twenty-sided dice were being used to select locations, as far as he was concerned that was a stone-cold fact. But neither was she wrong when she said something was statistically irrelevant. It was a dialetheia. A true statement whose repudiation is also true. He thought about what that meant. Tried to square the circle.

And after a while he began to smile.

‘What?’ Bradshaw said.

‘This isn’t a bad thing, Tilly,’ Poe said. ‘It’s agoodthing.’

‘Really?’