Page 127

One week after Eve Bowman’s basement

Poe woke confused, exhausted and weak, like he’d been swimming in treacle. His mouth was drier than cat litter and he had a hangover-like headache. When he finally gathered his wits, a bright-eyed nurse offered him a cup of tea and sat with him while he drank it. She explained he had been in a medically induced coma until the intracranial pressure had reduced to a safe level, but his consultant had recently stopped administering the barbiturates that had kept him unconscious for a week. After a battery of cognitive, reflex and vision tests, she and an orderly wheeled him out of intensive care to a private ward. Flynn, Doyle and Bradshaw were waiting for him.

Despite Poe protesting that all her patients were dead, Doyle went into full doctor mode. She asked his consultant about something called electroencephalography and seemed pleased by his answers. ‘It seems you have some brain activity left, Poe,’ she said before dragging the bewildered consultant from the ward for a grilling.

While Doyle was busy finding out how long Poe would be a drooling idiot, Flynn and Bradshaw filled him in on what had happened during the week he’d lost after Eve’s basement. Bethany was in custody, but she hadn’t said a word since her arrest. Flynn wasn’t sure she ever would. He asked if Alice was OK after what she’d seen in Eve’s basement. Said he wanted to thank her for saving his life.

Flynn’s answer stunned him.

He asked questions but Flynn didn’t yet have all the facts. ‘We’re getting almost hourly updates, Poe,’ she said.

‘I could have sworn . . .’

Flynn shrugged. ‘It was a bit of a shock,’ she admitted. ‘Just as well though.’

Poe nodded. It was just as well.

‘How are you feeling, Poe?’ Bradshaw asked. ‘You’ve had major reconstructive surgery on your fractured eye socket. Is it sore?’

It wasn’t, but he suspected that was the barbiturates talking. He carefully touched his eye socket, but it was heavily bandaged and his fingers came away damp with iodine.

‘Who’s paying for this room?’ he asked.

‘I do wish you’d occasionally read the terms of your employment, Poe,’ Flynn replied, sighing. ‘All NCA employees have private medical insurance. And even if we hadn’t, every doctor in Europe seems to owe Estelle a favour. The surgeon who operated on your eye socket flew in from Austria.’

Poe wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The ward was on the ground floor and he had views across the hospital’s landscaped grounds. The walls were painted a soothing, non-institutional cream and were scrupulously clean. The bedsheets were crisp, the pillows starched. Poe was hooked up to a bunch of shiny monitors and machines. Some blipped and beeped, others observed. The occasional chairs looked comfortable and the television on the wall looked new. The instructions by Poe’s bed said he had access to Sky, Netflix, Disney+, Amazon Prime and Apple TV. He’d heard of Netflix, but the others could have been porn channels for all he knew. Probably not Disney, he thought. Not unless they’d recently rebranded. Other than that, a private ward seemed to be the same as an NHS ward.

‘This is all a bit . . . privileged, isn’t it?’ he said eventually.

‘You needed urgent medical attention, Poe,’ Flynn replied. ‘And because Superintendent Nightingale told Estelle what had happened, she raced over to Eve Bowman’s house and helped stabilise you before you were put in the ambulance. By the time you got to hospital, her surgeon friend was already on his way to the airport. Every single person involved in your care is the best in their field and none of them are taking a fee.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that you being in a small room in the private wing of an NHS hospital is just the tip of your privilege iceberg. You have plenty of things to feel uncomfortable about, Poe; this isn’t one of them.’

‘Fair enough. How’s Superintendent Nightingale getting on?’

‘Busy. She has two more murders to go with Cornelius Green’s now. She also has Nathan Rose’s suicide and a death in police custody inquiry to be getting on with.’

‘The exhumations?’

‘All done. Not including the grave the badger dug up, there were four extra bodies in the remaining five. Like Israel Cobb said, only the grave earmarked for Bethany was empty.’

‘There’s no one left alive to charge with those murders.’

Flynn shook her head. ‘Superintendent Nightingale tried tracking down the remaining boys in the videos, the ones Cornelius forced to do the stonings, but it was a dead end.’

‘Can’t find them?’

‘No, it was a literal dead end. Cobb hadn’t been lying when he said Nathan Rose and Aaron Bowman were the only ones who had survived into adulthood. Three, or four if you include Nathan, committed suicide, and the other died of a drug overdose. Superintendent Nightingale told me this is the most complex case anyone in Cumbria has ever been involved with.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Poe replied.

‘St John’s Wood is the only London Underground station to not share any letters with “mackerel”,’ Bradshaw said without hesitation.

‘No, Tilly, that doesn’t mean . . . what, really?’

Bradshaw nodded. ‘It only works because on the tube map, “Saint” is shortened to “St”. It’s nonsense really.’

‘Speaking of nonsense,’ Poe said, ‘did we ever find out what Snoopy was up to?’

Flynn didn’t answer. Doyle re-entered the ward. Poe’s consultant wasn’t with her.

‘Have you moved your bowels, Poe?’ Bradshaw said, starting to go red. ‘The doctor said that moving your bowels is a sign you’re getting better.’

‘You shouldn’t ask people things like that.’

‘But I’m your friend; you can tell me anything.’

Poe turned to Flynn. ‘Boss, tell her.’

‘Answer the question, Poe,’ Flynn said.

Poe raised an eyebrow, wincing as he did. Bradshaw could always be relied upon to misread social situations, but right now her Tillyness was dialled up to eleven. Something was up. Her voice was a little too bright, a little too cheerful, as if she was overcompensating for something. All Flynn did in response was shrug. Poe turned back to Bradshaw. Her face was burning like a brake light, and this was the woman with no embarrassment threshold. Either she was lying, which was unlikely, or there was something she hadn’t been allowed to tell him. It certainly wasn’t about the health of his bowels; a team of whipped vegans couldn’t have stopped her talking about that.

‘What was Snoopy up to, Tilly?’ Poe asked again.

‘Later, Poe,’ Doyle said. ‘Right now you need to rest.’

‘Why later?’

‘Estelle said we’ll talk about it later, Poe,’ Flynn said. ‘And we will.’

Poe said, ‘If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m getting out of bed and I’m discharging myself.’

Doyle sighed. ‘You’re a stubborn, stubborn man, Poe,’ she said. Then to Flynn, ‘You’d better tell him.’

Bradshaw sniffed. Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

Flynn approached the bed. ‘They’re disbanding the unit, Poe,’ she said.