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‘I know you’re in, Mr Cobb,’ Poe yelled, hammering on the door. ‘I’ve just watched you lurch back from the pub.’

He listened for movement. Nothing. Cobb was either already asleep or he was hiding behind the door. Poe’s money was on the latter – Cobb was the kind of man who wouldn’t be caged by the landlord’s timetable; he would want to drink until the small hours.

Poe banged on the door again. ‘I have nothing better to do, Mr Cobb; I can keep this up all night.’

This time he heard shuffling.

‘You and the constabulary appear to be having communication problems, Sergeant Poe,’ Cobb said from behind the door. ‘I didn’t kill Cornelius Green; my alibi checked out. Ask Detective Sergeant Rigg. He was the chap who interviewed me and the landlord of the Dog and Gun.’

‘I’m not here about that.’

‘Then what are you here for? Because a third visit is bordering on persecution. From now on, if you want to make an appointment, please go through my solicitor. He’s called—’

‘I’m here because we believe you’re in danger, Mr Cobb. I am required by law to deliver an Osman warning.’

Poe had delivered Osman warnings many times, usually to people who already knew they were in danger. Reactions varied. Some demanded around-the-clock protection, others told him to piss off. Cobb seemed to be nearer the ‘piss off’ end of the scale.

‘Consider me warned,’ Cobb said. ‘Now, please leave me alone.’

‘I also want to talk about your tattoos,’ Poe said.

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the night creatures seemed to recognise this was a bell that couldn’t be un-rung. Poe had gone all in. Eventually a hooting owl broke the spell.

‘What tattoos?’ Cobb said eventually.

‘We know what they mean,’ Poe said, ignoring the question. ‘And we know what we’re going to find when we exhume the graves.’

More silence. Then, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant Poe.’

‘Then let me refresh your memory. Cornelius Green had six alphanumeric tattoos on his lower torso and upper thighs; tattoos he penned himself. These tattoos are the locations of graves, and because of a badger with a wonky sense of direction, we already know one of those graves contained an extra body.’

Cobb didn’t rise to the bait. Poe wondered why. If the flash of black he’d glimpsed last time had been one of Cornelius’s alphanumeric tattoos, rather than a random Bible verse or the name of a long-dead loved one, Poe’s words should have rocked Cobb’s world. They should have elicited a response. A resigned denial, the spluttering threat of legal action.

But all Poe got was a sombre, ‘I have nothing to say.’

‘Someone’s going to prison, Mr Cobb, and with Cornelius dead, you’re now the only one without a chair after the music’s stopped.’

Still nothing.

Poe rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a different approach. The proverb, ‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar’ might literally be the best way to bait a flytrap, but as a way of getting people to do things they didn’t want to do, it was inherently flawed. People only ever did what was in their own best interest. They responded to politeness and threats in exactly the same way – what’s in it for me?

But Poe had tried and failed with the implicit threat of the tattoos, and he had nothing he could offer Cobb. Keeping quiet cost Cobb nothing. Talking could potentially cost him everything.

Not that Cobb had a lot. He had no real possessions and other than his nights in the local, he had little to do with the human condition. Which gave Poe an idea. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could give Cobb. But there was certainly something he could take away.

‘If you don’t let me in, here’s what’s going to happen, Mr Cobb,’ he said. ‘Because I think you know more about Cornelius Green’s murder than you’re letting on, I’m officially changing your status from witness to person of interest.’

Poe paused a beat to let that sink in.

‘And the first thing I’m going to do with your newfound status is drive into the village and drag the pub landlord out of bed and take him down to the station for an interview under caution,’ he continued. ‘He provided you with an alibi and I’m going to make him wish he hadn’t. I’m going to sweat him and I’m going to hold him for the full twenty-four hours. By the time I’ve finished you’ll be persona non grata at the Dog and Gun. I’ll then move on to the locals. One by one I’ll drag them down to the station too. And I’m not going to tell them what it’s in connection with. I’ll let them decide why the village oddball has come to the attention of the National Crime Agency, an agency that now includes CEOP.’

‘I don’t know what CEOP—’

‘Child Exploitation and Online Protection Command, Mr Cobb,’ Poe said. ‘The paedophile hunters.’

‘But you’re with that other lot. The serial killer unit.’

‘The NCA is only really known for two things: arresting gangsters and arresting child sex offenders. Now, you know your neighbours better than I do, Mr Cobb, but when the mums and dads in the village google what it is the NCA does, what conclusion do you think they’ll leap to? That the weirdo hermit who lives at the end of the lane is an organised crime boss, feared throughout Europe, or he’s the type of person who parks a van full of puppies outside the local school? How long before you have a mob with torches and pitchforks outside your house? A day? Two? Certainly not more than three.’

Poe waited to see if that had hit home. Eventually the door opened an inch.

‘You’d better come in,’ Cobb said.