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Doyle had guessed Poe’s meeting with the bishop might go on longer than expected, so had made the decision to travel across from Northumberland early and get Herdwick Croft ready. She owned a temperamental 1974 MGB Roadster so servicing and booting up a modern generator presented no difficulties. Poe had somehow missed her car at Shap Wells. Doyle had even collected Edgar from Victoria. The two women got on well, far too well for Poe’s liking. Whenever they were laughing and giggling together, he suspected it was at his expense.

She was wearing one of his old Ferocious Dog tour T-shirts, a pair of faded jeans and no makeup. Poe thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

‘Have a beer and catch up with Edgar,’ she said. ‘I have a stew in the oven. It’ll be ready in half an hour.’

After they’d eaten Poe said, ‘The bishop asked if I believed in God today.’

Doyle burst out laughing. ‘How on earth did you answer that? I hope you were tactful.’

Poe considered it. ‘I was certainly more tactful than Tilly’s science answer,’ he said eventually. ‘By the time she’d finished explaining how we were all born in the heart of a star, I think he was ready to throw in the towel and open a payday loans company.’

Doyle laughed even harder. ‘She didn’t?’

‘This is the same woman who asked someone if they had werewolf syndrome – of course she did.’

‘But now you’ve had time to think about it?’

Poe shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Life is decay. We’re all going to die and at some point we’ll be forgotten.’

Doyle smiled. ‘Tough day?’

Poe told her about Cornelius Green and the Children of Job’s not-so-secret agenda. ‘They call girls who are at risk of, you know, being girls, “licked lollipops”. That if they don’t comply with their rigid views of purity no decent man will want them. It’s abhorrent. So no, right now I don’t believe in a higher power, certainly not the same one they believe in.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Poe,’ Doyle said. ‘You’re the most spiritual man I know. I’ve seen you sit on the fell and stare into nothing for hours at a time. Just you, Edgar, and a flask of tea.’

‘You say spiritual, I say hungover,’ he said.

‘Anyway,’ she said, standing up, ‘forget about answering to a higher power – tonight you’re answering to me.’

Which shunted the Children of Job out of Poe’s mind immediately. He smiled happily.

‘Oh, before I forget, Jo Nightingale wants you to do Cornelius Green’s post-mortem. I told her it would probably be OK.’

‘I’m not your personal pathologist, Poe,’ Doyle said. ‘If you want to schedule a PM, call the office like everyone else.’

Poe checked his watch. ‘I’ll call first thing in the morning.’

‘Ring them now, Poe. We operate an out-of-hours system for emergencies.’

He scrolled through his phone until he found the number for Doyle’s office. He pressed call. The ringing tone hiccupped slightly. ‘I think it’s being redirected,’ he said.

Doyle’s mobile began to ring. She answered it. ‘Hello?’

‘Ha ha,’ Poe said, throwing his phone on the couch.

‘I’m on call this week,’ she said.

‘Can I schedule a post-mortem, please, Professor Doyle?’

‘Of course you can, Poe.’