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The inside of Carlisle Cathedral was smaller than the outside suggested, sort of like a reverse TARDIS. Bradshaw said this was because part of the nave was destroyed during the English Civil War so the stone could be used to reinforce Carlisle Castle. Poe wondered how long it had taken her to become an expert on the cathedral’s history. The time it had taken to drive from Keswick to Carlisle, he suspected, minus the five minutes she’d lectured him on the folly of ditching Linus outside Greggs.

The service hadn’t quite finished, so they took a seat on one of the carved, black oak choir stalls. The cathedral had forty-six and they were at a ninety-degree angle to the East Window and the High Altar; twenty-three on each side. They were tiered and faced each other, kind of like a basketball court if the bleachers behind the nets were removed. Seats for the congregation were to the left and right of the stalls, although only the seats near the front were currently occupied.

‘There’s the Bishop of Carlisle, Poe,’ Bradshaw said, pointing at the pulpit.

‘Yeah, thank you, Tilly. As he’s fifteen feet up in the air and the only person talking, he’s really difficult to see.’

‘You’re welcome, Poe.’

The goblet-shaped pulpit was made of the same black oak as the choir stalls, and was tall, freestanding and ornately carved. The Bishop of Carlisle fitted it like Humpty Dumpty fits an eggcup. He was wearing a purple cassock with big cuffs. A large metal cross hung from his neck. Other members of the clergy, lesser in rank and seniority, stood on the flagged floor, looking up. If their mouths had been open, they’d have looked like a nest of chicks waiting for worms. Clearly the bishop conducting a service was a big deal.

He was called Nicholas Oldwater and they had crossed paths on a previous case. He had been helpful and Poe liked him. He was keen to protect the Church, but not at the expense of covering up a crime. Poe hoped he was about to be as helpful now.

But whatever it was he wanted from them, it would have to wait. Right now, the bishop had his hands full. The service he was conducting wasn’t straightforward. It seemed to be a cross between Gregorian chanting and a carefully orchestrated theological debate between the bishop and the congregation. There were no hymns, no sermons, and definitely no smiling. This was a serious service.

After five fruitless minutes of trying to figure out what was happening, Poe gave up. He gazed at the barrel-vaulted ceiling – royal blue with gold stars – and let his mind wander. He didn’t bother trying to second guess why the bishop had summoned them; they’d find out soon enough. Instead, he reviewed what he knew so far. A man had been murdered. No, that wasn’t right. A man had been stoned to death.

Christianity had a complex history with stoning and the victim was covered in religious tattoos. Poe was familiar with most religious dogma and he knew the Old Testament in particular prescribed capital punishment for a variety of sins, and the most commonly used method was death by stoning. Some of these sins – murder and rape, for example – were still classed as serious crimes but others like disobedience to parents and homosexuality were spectacularly outdated. According to the Bible, even gathering firewood on a Saturday was enough to be put to death. So, Christianity and death by stoning had a bloody past, and now the Bishop of Carlisle had asked to see him. Poe doubted this was a coincidence.

Poe turned his thoughts to Linus Jorgensen. If Linus was a trainee in the National Audit Office, Poe hated sausages. He had strong suspicions about who Linus really worked for and, if the trap he had set with Bugger was sprung tonight, he would be able to confirm it. He could then turn his mind to the ‘why’.

Bradshaw nudged him. ‘The service has finished, Poe,’ she said.

She was right. The chanting had stopped, the small congregation was breaking up. The bishop had climbed down from the pulpit and was chatting to some of the clergy.

‘Let’s go and see what he wants,’ Poe said.