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Chapter 140

ForumBooks was located in a former Methodist chapel in Corbridge. A carefully renovated Grade II listed building, its character and heritage remained intact, inside and out. Poe had visited the shop many times recently, enjoying the quirky interior, the hand-painted signs on the walls, the bookshelves made from former church pews.

Henning Stahl’s event was coming to an end. The bookshop owner had told Poe that author evenings followed a standard format: a reading, a curated discussion facilitated by a member of staff, then questions from the audience.

Poe, Doyle and Bradshaw were seated in the middle of an audience of around fifty. Stahl and the member of staff were on the pulpit that doubled as a reading nook and, on nights like this, a speaking platform.

‘I think we have a bit of time for questions from the floor,’ the staff member said. ‘Is there anything I haven’t covered?’

‘Don’t be shy,’ Stahl added. ‘I won’t bite.’

Polite laughter rippled through the audience. Before long, Stahl was answering questions about how scared he’d been at Chance’s Park, what it was like to be in with a chance of being a prize-winning author, what his future plans were.

‘To have a rest,’ he replied to the last one.

The member of staff checked her watch then said, ‘I think that’s all we have time for, so, unless there are any further questions, I think we’ll wrap this up now. Henning has kindly agreed to stay behind and sign books, so if you have anything burning you want to ask him, you still have a chance.’

Poe raised his hand. ‘I have a question,’ he said.

‘Hi, Poe,’ Stahl said. ‘Tilly and Estelle still keeping you on your toes, I see?’

‘They’re doing their best, Henning.’

‘I thought Stephanie was coming?’

‘She sends her apologies,’ Poe said. ‘Has something on that couldn’t wait.’

‘You have a question?’

‘I do,’ Poe said. ‘It’s about the photograph on page two hundred and sixteen.’

Stahl opened the book he had used for his reading and found the right page.

‘I’ve got it,’ he said.

‘This is the photograph you took on your phone. The one taken before CSI processed the flats in north London. You were allowed to take one, then we emailed it to Tilly. Chief Superintendent Mathers then had someone delete it from your phone. Tilly emailed it back to you after the court case had finished.’

‘That’s right. And this demonstrates why this case was such a team effort. Everyone pulled together from day one. It’s my name on the front cover, but really, this book belongs to us all.’

‘You haven’t asked a question, Sergeant Poe,’ the staff member said.

‘Haven’t I?’ Poe said. ‘I do apologise. My question is this, Henning: why is there a dehydrator in this photograph?’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘If you look on the table in the foreground, you can clearly see a grey dehydrator. It looks like one of those new deep fat fryers.’

Stahl frowned. ‘It’s what Frederick Beck used to dry out the flower petals,’ he said. ‘I assumed you knew that. I mention it a few pages later, I think. I thought we’d discussed why Beck had used something so high-tech when a flower press would have worked equally as well. Perhaps I’m mistaken. Maybe I mentioned it to someone else.’

‘You misunderstand me, Henning,’ Poe said. ‘I’m not asking what it was for, I’m asking why it’s in your picture.’

‘I’m not following you.’

‘No? Well, see if you can follow this. Before you were allowed up to take a photograph of the crime scene, Detective Chief Superintendent Mathers and I removed this dehydrator from the flat. We wanted to keep something back to weed out the cranks and we chose that. As you say, a flower press could have been guessed at, a dehydrator, not so much.’

‘I’m not sure—’

‘When you took your photograph, the dehydrator was in the back of a CSI van,’ Poe said. ‘The photograph on page two hundred and sixteen was taken before we arrived. You’d been in Beck’s flats before. Probably that night you returned to Douglas Salt’s house in a taxi.’

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