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‘Tell Gamble then. I was just about to tell DI Flynn anyway.’
‘You were?’
‘Absolutely,’ Poe lied.
‘I’ll get back to you then,’ Reid said before hanging up.
Poe returned to his seat and finished his cup of tea. He asked Ferguson some more questions but it was clear he had everything the ex-watch salesman knew. After thanking Mrs Nolan for her hospitality, they made their excuses and left.
He rang Flynn on the short walk back to his car and was relieved when he got her voicemail. He left her a quick update, and then turned off his phone. He was going to have to do it the hard way and he didn’t want any interruptions.
They hadn’t even got out of Warwick Bridge when Bradshaw’s phone rang. She answered it quietly, then frowned. ‘It’s for you, Poe,’ she said.
Poe pulled over at a bus stop and took the phone from her.
‘Poe,’ he said.
‘Poe, this is DCS Gamble. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be on leave.’
Sometimes the best thing to do is to deny everything. This was one of those times. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.’
Gamble grunted. ‘DS Reid tells me you think you’ve discovered Tollund Man’s identity?’
‘Quentin Carmichael, sir. Disappeared about twenty-five years ago.’
‘And you think it’s linked to the Immolation Man?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘How?’
Poe didn’t have a clue and said as much. Gamble seemed annoyed that he didn’t have more. He said, ‘And how did you get his name?’
‘I’ve emailed Flynn a full report, sir. I think it would be best coming from her.’
Gamble either didn’t realise or didn’t care he’d been brushed off. He said, ‘I want to make it absolutely clear – you are not to go near any Church officials. Do you understand, Poe? My team will go through the proper channels and set up appropriate interviews if they’re needed.’
Poe said nothing.
‘Do you hear me, Poe? You don’t go near the Church!’
‘Sorry, sir, you’re breaking up.’ He pressed the end-call button and handed the phone back to Bradshaw. She started fiddling with it.
‘There’s nothing wrong with it, Tilly. I just needed to end the call. It’s easier to say things like that sometimes.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What did he say, Poe?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So, what are we going to do now?’
Poe frowned. He’d always thought that if someone would rather you stopped doing what you were doing, you were probably on the right path, but . . . he didn’t want to drag Bradshaw down at the same time. As adorably awkward as she was, she had an important career ahead of her. He told her he would do the next bit on his own.
She refused.
He stared at her, trying to fathom if she really wanted to help, or whether she was blindly following him because of some new-found, misguided sense of loyalty. The only thing he could see was determination. He sighed then thought, Why not? He was on leave, what was wrong with taking his new friend round the sights of the Lake District? And if they happened to end up in Keswick, near the Bishop of Carlisle’s residence, then so be it . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
