‘You put Jefferson Black in the hotseat?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my daughter’s talking about studying film and television at the University of Cumbria when she’s older,’ Towler said. ‘Now, I don’t know if this is just a phase she’s going through, but, if it isn’t, by the time she’s eighteen, Carlisle will be the safest city in the UK. I guarantee it.’
‘Black works for you?’ Poe said incredulously.
‘He does. He’ll keep a lid on things until I give him the nod. Then it’ll be like the Night of the fucking Long Knives. Every dickhead in the city will be taken off the streets.’
Poe didn’t say anything. It barely seemed believable. Yet, he knew Jefferson Black. Knew him to be a principled man. A moral man. Poe had always struggled with his move from top chef to top boss. Now it kind of made sense. ‘What’s your daughter’s name again?’ he said eventually.
‘Abi.’
‘Nice,’ Poe said. ‘You should have brought her with you. Edgar loves children.’
‘So does the fucking sniper,’ Towler replied. He finished his beer and looked at his watch. ‘You’ll be doing this in the dark, so we need to do that too. Come on, time to go to work.’
Chapter 98
Poe and Towler made their way out of Herdwick Croft and on to the cold and damp moor. Towler stamped his feet and smiled. It was clear he preferred being outside. Edgar saw a fox or a badger and tore off like Linford Christie, barking wildly.
‘He likes a scrap then?’
‘I don’t know why,’ Poe said. ‘He never wins.’
Herdwick Croft sat on the lip of a circular, crater-like basin. Towler waited for his night vision to catch up, then did a slow three-sixty as he surveyed the surrounding land.
‘You’re blessed with geography here, Poe,’ he said. ‘As long as you choose to do this on a clear night, you have a significant advantage.’
Poe, who’d been having second thoughts, breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I do?’
‘Unless he shoots you as you arrive, obviously.’
‘I’ll be coming in fast,’ Poe said. ‘I’ll have my spotlights on and I’ll be wearing a headtorch. And even if I don’t dazzle the bastard, the ground is so bumpy he won’t risk a shot. No, he’ll wait until I’m standing still. He’ll wait until the morning. Shoot me when I let Edgar out.’
Towler thought about it. He nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s too difficult a shot. Hewillwait until morning.’
‘What advantage of geography do I have?’
‘Your cottage is on the edge of a natural depression.’
‘I call it the Shap crater,’ Poe said. ‘It looks like a meteorite thumped into the ground a billion years ago. Wiped out the dinosaurs.’
Towler nodded. ‘The cottage will have been situated at the edge so the shepherd could watch the surrounding fell for predators, but also so he could keep an eye on his sheep as they sheltered in the natural protection the crater provides.’
That was true, Poe thought. When the wind got up, which it did most days, the sheep congregated in the depression. There was even an ancient, horseshoe-shaped sheep fold down there.
‘It means that this Ezekiel Puck wanker is going to have to get down into the crater when he takes his shot,’ Towler continued.
‘Why won’t he sit on the lip?’ Poe asked. ‘Surely, he’ll have a better shot there? He’ll be at the same height, and he can stay as far back as he likes.’
Towler shook his head. ‘He doesn’t have a shot. The lip of the crater is only five or six yards then it dips back down again. That means he’d have to be on the lip itself to have a direct line of sight. And he won’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’ll stand out like a racing dog’s balls,’ Towler said. ‘That’s why you have to do this on a clear night. Moonlight will help. He’ll have no choice but to get into the crater. That limits his range to, say, four hundred, five hundred metres. An easy shot, but at least we’ll know where he is.’
