Page 60 of The Final Vow

‘It was just a joke, Tilly.’

‘Oh that, yes, ho-ho-ho, Poe,’ she said. ‘But that’s not why I’m calling.’

‘Go on.’

Poe listened. And after Bradshaw had finished, he said, ‘Who the hell is Ezekiel Puck?’

Chapter 47

Bradshaw had spent the morning cross-referencing the names on the role-playing games mailing lists she’d downloaded with the names from the hotel guestbooks, wedding venue logbooks, and museum comments books that McCloud and Mathers had scanned into the investigation portal.

The first match had been the pube thief. The second match sounded like the pube thief’s mischievous brother.

Ezekiel Puck.

It sounded like a made-up name to Poe. The kind you gave yourself, not the kind you were given.

Bradshaw explained how she had found it. She said that a couple celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary had wanted to recreate the original wedding. They’d chosen the Smithy’s Forge in Gretna Green, one of the smaller wedding venues. The whole family was there, but on the morning of the ceremony, one of the original witnesses had taken ill. Ezekiel Puck had stepped in. There was no explanation as to why he was there. He had no connection to the venue or to the people recreating their wedding. His name didn’t crop up anywhere else.

She also said that Puck’s online presence was strange. That he hadn’t existed on any database, until suddenly he had. He rented a house under the name. He opened a bank account. Even got a passport. It was as if he’d been born a forty-nine-year-old man. The more she described him, the more Poe became convinced that Ezekiel Puck was an assumed identity. His first thought was that Puck was a protected witness, but he immediately discounted it. The protected witness teamsdidgive peoplenew names and backgrounds, but they didn’t give themstupidnames. It would be counterproductive. And he hadn’t changed his name via deed poll. If he had, Bradshaw would have had his whole life history by now.

‘What does the boss think?’

‘The same as everyone, Poe.’

‘Which is?’

‘That Ezekiel Puck is the name of his role-playing game avatar,’ she said. ‘And somehow he’s sneaked it into the system so he’s now officially known as Ezekiel Puck.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘I could do it, Poe. That means others can too. It would also explain why the name doesn’t appear anywhere until a couple of years ago.’

Poe wasn’t convinced. If Puck had been determined to adopt his avatar name, why not do it officially? It wasn’t an onerous task. It cost less than a Christmas turkey. It wasn’t even unusual. People did it all the time. Richard Burton had been called Richard Jenkins. Michael Caine had been Maurice Micklewhite. Elton John had been Reginald Dwight. But Bradshaw said Puckhadn’tchanged his name officially.

‘Do we have an address?’ Poe asked.

‘We do, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘It’s in Ripon.’

‘But that’s where I am. Or within thirty miles anyway. I’m in York now. I’ve bought a tie.’

‘A tie?’

‘It’s orange.’ He looked across at the sleeping Uncle Bertie. He could be in and out of Ripon before the old soak woke. He said as much to Bradshaw.

‘DCI Flynn says you’re to liaise with police officers at North Yorkshire Police headquarters. She says there hasn’t been a crime in North Yorkshire since Nicholas Nickleby’s days andyou’re to make sure they don’t eff-word it up. DCI Flynn and Commander Mathers will join you as soon as they can.’

‘Are North Yorkshire headquartered in York?’

‘Northallerton, Poe. An assistant chief constable called Christine Wilpers is expecting you.’

Poe frowned. ‘I’m not driving all the way to Northallerton just to turn around and come back to Ripon.’

‘But that’s what DCI Flynn says you have to do, Poe.’

‘Does she? Oh, well that’s definitely what I’ll do then.’

A pause. Then, ‘Was that sarcasm, Poe?’