The Curator (Washington Poe)

by M. W. Craven

  Poe thought Rebecca had probably dropped it when the killer grabbed her. If it had been early in the morning he could have easily missed it in the dark.

  He looked back into the bungalow. Sparkes had returned. He was talking to Bradshaw. Poe thought he’d better get back in before she showed him how to log onto the site showing where the UK’s Continuous at Sea Deterrent submarines were.

  ‘Mr Sparkes, while Tilly is busy can you give me a hand with something?’ Poe said when he walked back into the main room.

  The MoD man looked at him quizzically but followed him outside onto the front drive.

  ‘I need a favour,’ Poe said. ‘I’m going into the back garden. Can you go and stand on the other side of the road and let me know if you can see me? If you can’t, move position until you can.’

  Sparkes’s extra height was a bonus. If he couldn’t see Poe then the chances were no one could.

  Poe let himself into the back garden then walked to the birdbath. He pottered around it for about the time he figured it would take to fill it with water then returned to the back door. He repeated the process until Sparkes had had enough time to observe him from more than one position.

  The back door opened and Sparkes joined Poe at the birdbath. His knees were wet and his shoes were muddy.

  ‘Anything?’ Poe asked.

  ‘Nothing. From the main road the front wall obscures most of everything unless you’re facing the driveway, and even then you can only see the bungalow. You can’t see the back garden at all.’

  ‘What about through the windows?’

  Sparkes shook his head. ‘No, the building’s raised. All you can see is sky and the tips of the two taller trees. I walked across the road and into the farmer’s field. Held a straight line all the way to the river. At no point can you get high enough to see anything other than the bungalow’s roof. If she was observed in her garden, it wasn’t from the front.’

  Which meant the killer had most likely been able to see into her back garden. But how? The rear wall was even taller than the front. Unless he used a ladder and stuck his head over like a ‘Chad woz ’ere’ cartoon, Poe couldn’t see how the killer could have known about Rebecca’s birdbath routine.

  ‘He could have used a drone,’ Sparkes said.

  ‘Those toy helicopter things?’

  ‘Yes. The non-military versions are cheap enough. He could have sat in his car and operated it.’

  ‘Tell me how they work,’ Poe said.

  ‘Assuming he doesn’t have access to the ones we use, which cost hundreds of thousands of pounds, he’d have to have been fairly close. They’re easy to use and most come equipped with HD cameras.’

  Poe considered it. A drone would be one way of seeing over the wall but there was a major problem with it: Dalston was rural and that meant a big open sky. He pointed at a kestrel hovering near the river’s edge.

  ‘Look at that – it’s standing out like the last leaf on the tree. A drone would be seen, and in a village like this half of them would think they were being attacked by aliens. It would have been reported.’

  ‘What’s left then?’

  ‘I want to check the field at the rear. Maybe there’s a vantage point high enough to see into her back garden. You coming?’

  Sparkes said, ‘Yes.’

  There was no direct route from Rebecca’s back garden to the fields behind it but, the day before, Poe had noticed a purpose-built stile in the dry stone wall, and a wooden public access sign a couple of hundred yards up the road.

  He grabbed his binoculars from his car, changed into some walking boots and went to see what he could find.

  Chapter 18

  Poe didn’t know what turned a field into a paddock but he knew when he was in one. It had jumps set for horse field trials. Nothing too high, suggesting it was a children’s gymkhana. The grass was damp and spongy. He could see their footprints all the way back to the stile.

  A flock of Swaledales watched them warily. Poe and Sparkes skirted past the sheep then turned to look at the bungalow. The high wall hid Rebecca’s garden completely. The killer wasn’t standing in the paddock when he watched her. He’d have stood out like a scarecrow and wouldn’t have been able to see over the wall anyway.

  Poe wasn’t ready to give up. He surveyed the surrounding land, searching for a viable observation post. If he’d still been in the Black Watch and had been asked to set up an OP in Londonderry, where would he have felt safe?

  High ground, certainly. And not in any obvious cover; obvious cover draws the eye. Somewhere less noticeable then. Poe turned his back on the bungalow. There was a wood on a plateau that looked promising. It was five hundred yards from the bungalow but with the right equipment it might have been possible to see over the wall and into the back garden.

  The wood was a mixture of deciduous trees and rhododendron bushes. Tangled roots and animal tracks made the hard ground lumpy. Skinny branches let in pale light. The air was thick with the smell of decaying leaves. Poe heard the scuttle of something small and unseen. He doubted the wood was used much by dog walkers. The undergrowth was too thick and there were other, more scenic walks within easier reach.

  He raised the binoculars. He still couldn’t see into the garden. He could, however, see Bradshaw through the windows. She was alternating between two laptops – hers and Rebecca’s. Poe hoped she wasn’t copying anything sensitive.

  ‘Anything?’ Sparkes asked.

  ‘I can see inside the bungalow but not the garden.’

  ‘What about up there?’ he said, pointing to the trees.

  Poe nodded. If the killer had chosen a tree inside the treeline the chances of being discovered would have been negligible, even during the day. It would have to be easy to climb, though, so that meant evenly spaced, low branches. He’d also have needed a cover story in case someone had seen him, but a man of his ingenuity wouldn’t have let that stop him.

  It didn’t take Poe long to find a tree that could be climbed without specialist gear that also afforded views of the bungalow. It was ten yards in from the treeline. He searched for more but found none.

  ‘This is the one,’ he said.

  ‘You sure?’

  Poe moved some of the top leaves at the base of the tree and grunted in satisfaction.

  ‘I am now.’ He pointed at the ground. ‘The leaves underneath the fresh ones I’ve just moved are crushed. Someone’s been standing there. And not just once.’

  He then pointed at the lowest branch. It was about four feet from the ground. ‘He’d have put his foot on this branch first, grabbed the one above and pulled himself up. Look at the moss.’

  Some of it was missing, some of it was compressed and some had been torn and was dying. Poe took some photographs. CSI would come later and take more professional ones.

  ‘This is a crime scene now,’ Poe said. ‘Can you go and get some forensic gear from my car? And tell Tilly I’ll be sending her some photographs.’

  When Sparkes left, Poe called Flynn and told her what he’d found.

  ‘What’s your next move?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to go up and have a look.’

  ‘Are you sure, Poe? You shouldn’t be climbing trees at your age. Why don’t you wait until CSI get there?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he replied. ‘I’ll wear a suit and if I think I’m going to destroy evidence I’ll stop.’

  ‘OK, I’ll leave it half an hour before I tell Jo Nightingale.’

  Sparkes returned with the forensic suits.

  Poe said, ‘Thanks. I’ll stay here until the cavalry arrives. Can you go and see if Tilly needs any help?’

  ‘No problem,’ he said.

  When he left, Poe grabbed a branch and looked up.

  Chapter 19

  It was funny the way the mind made connections.

  The last time he’d climbed a tree Poe thought he’d known everything there was to know about himself. He’d had a father he loved and a mother who’d abandoned him.
This time he knew the man who’d raised him wasn’t his biological father and his mother had left so she didn’t have to see the face of her rapist grow onto the face of the son she’d chosen not to abort.

  He’d known the truth for over a year but he was no further forward in his off-the-books search for his biological father. But he was looking.

  Six months ago the man who raised him had unexpectedly come home. They hadn’t seen each other for years and they’d had a lot of catching up to do. Poe had told him he knew the truth and the old man had broken down in tears. Poe’s mother had been raped at a diplomatic party in Washington, DC. His father hadn’t been there. She’d told him everything when she returned to the UK and he’d made copious notes. He kept them in a cabin he owned in New Zealand and he was on his way there now. He’d promised to ship them over as soon as he arrived.

  It would be somewhere to start.

  Poe avoided the branches the killer might have used and hauled himself up the tree. It was hard going but three years of having to cut his own fuel had given him wiry muscles. He was soon standing on a branch ten feet from the ground.

  He faced Rebecca’s bungalow and looked through his binoculars. He had a decent view of the back garden. Another six feet and he’d have the perfect view. He looked up, searching. A sturdy branch, about five inches thick, jutted out at 90 degrees. If he’d wanted to sit and watch Rebecca’s home and back garden for any length of time, that was the one he’d have chosen. Poe picked a route so he could get above it. The tree was easy to climb and it didn’t take long.

  He looked down at the branch he thought the killer might have used and smiled to himself. An eighteen-inch section looked different to the rest of the branch.

  Almost as if it had been rubbed smooth by someone sitting on it …

  This was where the killer had set up his observation post. It was perfect: he’d have been able to see everything. Poe couldn’t see what he’d used as his cover story in case he was observed up the tree, but apart from that he was happy with what he’d found.

  Poe moved as close as he dared. The killer wouldn’t have expected them to find this and that meant he could have been sloppy. Poe turned on the torch function of his mobile. He scanned the surrounding area for anything out of the ordinary and snapped some photographs to study later. Nothing jumped out.

  He sent Flynn a text asking her to call it in. He needed CSI. If there was a hair trapped in a ridge of bark, they’d find it. If the killer had nicked his finger climbing and smeared blood against the tree, they’d find it. If there was any forensic transfer at all they’d be a step closer to catching him.

  Poe sent Bradshaw an email with the pictures attached while he still had a decent signal. She’d put them on a laptop and enlarge them. As he was waiting for the email to send, a drop of rain hit the screen. He put his phone back in his pocket and looked up – winter in Cumbria meant five or six different types of weather a day.

  And that’s when he saw what the killer had brought with him on the off-chance someone had seen him up the tree.

  Chapter 20

  It was a kite.

  And not one of the tissue paper and stick things Poe had been given as a child – this was an adult’s kite. He reckoned it would have been at least six feet across when fully assembled. The string was wrapped round the trunk and a couple of branches, a few feet above Poe’s head. If it hadn’t rained he might have missed it.

  The kite itself was tangled in among some branches and its own lines. It was black with random squares of red and purple. It had a logo on each wing, but Poe couldn’t make out what they were. It was crumpled and looked smashed beyond repair. He didn’t know what they were called but most of the frame tubing, and all of the supporting struts, were either broken or bent. The nylon was ripped in at least two places.

  It was wedged in tight. If it had been flown into the tree by accident he’d have expected it to catch in the outer branches, not tight against the trunk like it was. It had been carried up and staged. Which made sense. That way the killer had avoided having it anywhere unrecoverable, in which case climbing a tree would be too suspicious.

  Poe paused a beat before climbing again. The rain had made the branches wet and slippery and he wasn’t an idiot – if he fell he’d break half the bones in his body. He should wait for it to be professionally recovered.

  CSI would take their time. Probably use a cherry picker so they had a safe and stable aerial platform to work from. That would be the sensible thing to do. No one would get hurt and no evidence would be lost.

  But … he wanted a look first.

  After fifteen minutes Poe was above the kite. He was confident he hadn’t touched anything the killer had. As far as he was concerned, the crime scene was still untainted.

  He had a better view of one of the wing logos. It was golden but the fabric was crumped and folded over so he still couldn’t make out what it was. It was probably a brand logo but he wanted to take a photograph anyway, and the only way that would be possible was if he lay horizontally above it. He’d be able to see it perfectly but, without the trunk to cling to, the branch might not be able to support his weight.

  It might bend or snap and it was a long way to the ground.

  Sod it, he thought. Sometimes the only way to get the job done was to literally go out on a limb …

  Chapter 21

  Poe waited in the wood for CSI and the responding detectives.

  He’d called Nightingale and told her what he’d found. She’d been so pleased to have a solid lead that she forgot to be angry about how far up the tree he’d climbed.

  ‘Thank God for Edgar’s frozen water bowl,’ she’d said, then hung up.

  When the two detectives from Carlisle CID arrived, and Poe had handed over responsibility for the scene, he made his way back to Bradshaw. Sparkes had already left with Rebecca’s laptop. Poe told her what had happened, leaving out the part where he’d slipped and fallen the last few feet out of the tree. He’d torn three fingernails and his left knee was now clicking.

  As Bradshaw downloaded his photographs, she briefed him on what she’d been up to.

  ‘I’ve now got copies of the hard drives of all the victims’ computers, Poe,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the contents of their phones and tablets after we’ve finished here. I’ll need to write a program that can work across all platforms simultaneously.’

  ‘And you can do that?’

  Bradshaw shrugged. If she were the type of person to say things like ‘piece of piss’ she’d have said ‘piece of piss’. Instead she said, ‘I’ll have something by the end of tomorrow. If there’s an electronically recorded link between the three victims, I’ll find it.’

  Her computer beeped.

  ‘The photographs have downloaded, Poe,’ she said. ‘What do you want to look at first?’

  ‘The ones with the kite,’ he said.

  Bradshaw selected the best and enlarged it.

  ‘See how it’s been tied?’ Poe said, pointing at the screen. ‘He put it there so he had an excuse to be up the tree if someone saw him.’

  ‘I agree. That’s a knot at the bottom.’

  ‘Which begs the obvious question: why did he leave it up there?’

  It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Perhaps he lost his nerve when it was time to collect it? These photographs were taken from awfully high up.’

  Poe shook his head. ‘If there’s one thing our killer has, it’s balls. He’s been brazenly nipping in and out of places, leaving body parts under the noses of people who’d have ripped him to shreds if he’d been caught. Climbing a tree isn’t going to faze him.’

  ‘Maybe he just saw his chance and took it,’ Bradshaw said.

  Poe nodded. That was more likely. If he’d been watching Rebecca’s bungalow and saw an unexpected opportunity, he could have rushed across the paddock and taken her while he had the chance. It would explain why he hadn’t had time to remove the kite.

  A thought occurred to him
. ‘Which means he might come back for it …’

  He lunged for his phone.

  Chapter 22

  Nightingale called off the hounds and arranged covert surveillance of the wood. Poe volunteered to be part of the team but she politely refused. She did, however, invite him to the planning meeting at Carleton Hall. Poe attended to see if he could change her mind. Until Bradshaw’s program had finished merging and sorting the victims’ information, he didn’t have a lot to do.

  ‘Keep doing what you do, Poe,’ Nightingale said when he broached the subject. ‘If the surveillance pays off, then great, but I like to plan for the worst and all that bollocks.’

  Poe didn’t reply.

  ‘We have three teams of twelve,’ she continued. ‘Two cops are in a house six doors down from Rebecca’s. From the top floor they have a decent view of the wood. Another two will rough it in the woods behind the one we’re watching. The other eight in the team will be spread out in a net in case he runs. We have four motion-capture cameras in the wood and even though I know they’re there, I couldn’t see them. Everyone will have thermal imaging equipment.’

  ‘Shifts?’

  ‘Eight on, sixteen off.’

  Poe grunted his appreciation. A twelve-twelve shift was the usual for surveillance. That Nightingale had budgeted for an eight-sixteen meant that she was in it for the long haul. Research had shown that twelve-twelve surveillance shifts became less effective after four days. Officers lost their edge. Tiredness crept in. When you were in a twelve-twelve shift pattern all you did was work and sleep.

  Flynn and Nightingale began discussing budget contributions, stuff he had no interest in. Poe wandered off. It was late in the afternoon and Bradshaw had already headed back to the North Lakes Hotel and Spa. He sent her a text asking if she fancied getting an early supper.

  She did. Poe jumped in his car and drove to the hotel. She was waiting for him in the lobby. Instead of the formal dining room, they elected to grab one of the leather sofas in the bar area. They were more comfy and there was less chance of being overheard.