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‘No, you don’t,’ Poe said.
Salt frowned. ‘OK, I do have more in the freezer, but they’re imported from Saint-Mihiel at eight thousand euros per kilo. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but the palate of the average police officer won’t be sophisticated enough to appreciate an artisanal steak of this quality.’
‘Why on earth would I take that the wrong way?’ Poe said. ‘And I said no, because you do not have a massively overpriced ribeye in your fridge. And nor do you have any in your freezer. Not any more. They were thrown away, along with everything else.’
‘How dare—’
‘A poisoner has threatened you, Mr Salt, and no one here likes you enough to taste your food.’
‘Eating meat is unhealthy, Douglas Salt,’ Bradshaw said.
‘It’s not all bad news, though,’ Poe said. ‘I’m treating everyone to a nose-to-tail goat later. There’s a Moroccan place nearby that dry rubs a whole one with five types of chillies before it’s basted in its own fat for twenty-four hours. Comes with the works: preserved lemons, toasted almonds, the lot. If you stop moaning, you can have one of the eyeballs.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ Salt said. He spun on his heels and stomped back down the stairs. Flynn, suppressing a grin, followed him.
Poe smiled. That had been fun.
‘He’s right, Poe, youaredisgusting,’ Bradshaw said.
‘You ever seen a goat, Tilly?’
‘Of course.’
‘In real life?’
‘Gosh, no. I imagine that would be very scary.’
‘Well,they’redisgusting, not me. Did you know, bucks masturbate then ejaculate on their own bellies and beards?’
‘Who told you that?’ Bradshaw said sceptically.
‘Victoria Hume. She tried keeping them once. Said they’re the sex offenders of the farmyard and people should be paid to eat them.’
Poe made himself a cup of coffee then picked up Doyle’s file. For the next hour he reread everything, including his own notes. Bradshawand Stahl were on their hands and knees going through the acetone lists. They were talking quietly, trying not to disturb him.
The last section of the file was where he’d placed copies of the CSI photographs. His phone rang. It was Doyle’s solicitor, Ania Kierczynska.
‘Estelle has asked to see you, Sergeant Poe,’ she said after they had exchanged pleasantries.
‘She has? Why?’
‘She wouldn’t say. Just that it was important.’
‘I’m going to struggle to get away,’ Poe said.
‘I thought she was your priority?’
‘She is. I’m reviewing her case file right now.’
‘What’s the problem then?’
‘You saw the newspaper coverage of my last visit?’
‘I did. Estelle said it wouldn’t scare you off, though. Don’t tell me she was wrong.’
‘She’s not wrong, Ania, but I’m under strict instructions to keep away from Northumberland right now. It’s beginning to compromise the case down here. And I’ve seen everything I need to for now. If there’s an answer, it’ll be in my file.’
Ania didn’t respond.
