Poe leaned over.
A large Herdwick lay on its side, its foot wedged in a gap in the wall. Poe couldn’t imagine how it had managed to get like that. It was trembling, which was unusual for the breed. Although they were prey animals, Poe’s experience of Herdwicks was that they wore the label lightly. The ones that hung around Herdwick Croft either ignored Edgar completely, or, if he was being particularly annoying, charged him – a reminder that he was a daft spaniel and they had heads designed for butting.
‘It’s not fully grown,’ Victoria continued. ‘We must have missed it when we gathered the fell last year.’
Poe looked again. What he’d initially thought was a large sheep was in fact a young sheep weighed down with a fleece heavily matted with snow. The reason for its distress made sense now – if it hadn’t been gathered the previous lambing season it was possible that Victoria was the first human it had had contact with.
Poe climbed over and grabbed it securely around the midriff, making sure he kept clear of its thrashing head. While he held it steady, Victoria worked on freeing its leg.
It didn’t take long with the two of them. The Herdwick limped off without a backward look.
‘Thanks,’ Victoria said, blowing on her hands to warm them. ‘You OK? You look tired.’
He shrugged. ‘We have a bad one.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not yet.’ He sometimes offloaded to Victoria – she’d proved a useful sounding board in the past – but now wasn’t the time.
‘How are you managing with Edgar?’
‘Not great,’ he admitted. Edgar had been passed from pillar to post these last few days.
‘Shall I take him?’
He looked at the spaniel. He’d jumped the wall and was sitting on the back of Poe’s quad. He’d obviously remembered there was a Cumberland sausage roasting in the oven.
Poe sighed. ‘I suppose you’d better.’
Poe walked back to Herdwick Croft alone. He’d miss Edgar but, although the spaniel had enjoyed the beach and the time he’d spent in the dog section, it wasn’t fair to push it. He was an energetic dog and needed constant exercise. Far better he was on Victoria’s farm for a while.
The rescue of the trapped Herdwick meant he was home half an hour later than he’d planned. His baked potato resembled a prune and the sausage was black and crispy, more charcoal than pork. He threw the former and ate the latter. Never in his life had he thrown away a Cumberland sausage.
He briefly considered cooking another but decided that he needed sleep more than he needed food.
Poe woke eight hours older. Sunlight pushed through the slats in the window shutters – a new sensation for him; he was usually up before dawn. He’d slept in because Edgar wasn’t there, licking his face, reminding him that morning meant breakfast. He had another headache, not as ferocious as the bastard of the other day, more a dull throb than bone-splitting agony. He didn’t even reach for the analgesics.
He got up and stepped under the shower, initially blasting himself with ice-cold water before turning it up way higher than was comfortable. He stood motionless as the scalding jets stung his skin and cleared his mind.
As the hot water flushed his system, Poe visualised what he wanted to do next. There wasn’t an obvious role for him. They had their killers and the hunt for the Black Swan Challenge administrator would start and finish online. Now that she knew what she was looking for, Poe didn’t doubt that Bradshaw would find a way to track him down.
He’d ask Nightingale if he could join the team she had going through the guesthouses where the single-board computers had been hidden. Poe didn’t think for a moment that the site administrator would be caught that way but at least it was police work.
After he’d got out of the shower and towelled himself dry, he checked his phone for messages. There was a text from Bradshaw reminding him to take the vitamin pills she’d bought him and one from Flynn saying she wouldn’t be in until later. There was also a missed call from a withheld number, probably someone from Carleton Hall reminding him about the meeting with the council’s Blue Whale expert.
He thumbed Bradshaw a reply confirming he’d taken the pills and that he’d have weird-smelling urine for the rest of the day. He sent another to Flynn telling her everything was in hand and he’d call her if there was anything she needed to know.
The missed call he couldn’t do anything about.
Chapter 46
An online, challenge-based murder game taking place in Cumbria required a countywide multi-agency response. Public Health, the agency charged with protecting and improving the nation’s health, would lead but all agencies would be involved: the children safeguarding board, the adult safeguarding board, the police, schools, probation, everyone. A press strategy would be needed too. The pros and cons of sharing it with the public would be discussed and agreed.
The pros being that parents, schools and social care agencies could identify vulnerable kids and adults and put interventions in place.
The cons being copycats. In Bridgend, Wales, after a spate of young people had hanged themselves, the media had been accused of glamorising suicide and triggering more. So much so that the police had to ask them to stop covering it. They’d become part of the problem.
Poe was glad the decision wouldn’t fall on him. There were no good choices, only bad ones.