‘If I can keep him away from theStar Warsstage, yes,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Poe lovesStar Wars.’
‘I don’t loveStar Wars, Tilly,’ Poe said. ‘I just said it was the least shit out of the films you forced me to watch.’
‘Will people be in fancy dress, Tilly?’ Flynn asked.
‘No, DCI Flynn,’ Bradshaw replied. ‘But theywillbe in costume.’
‘Then I think it’s a brilliant idea. What will you be going as, Tilly?’
‘I’ll dust off my wings and go as myWarlocks & Witchescharacter.’
Flynn looked at Poe, a sly smile on her face. ‘And what will you go as, Poe?’
Poe looked at Mathers. He looked at Flynn. ‘I’ll be going as a policeman,’ he said.
Chapter 26
The UK Games Expo was taking place at the weekend. Jools Arreghini was murdered on the Tuesday before. Mathers offered to put them all up in a London hotel, but Poe took the opportunity to head back to Northumberland for a couple of days. He wanted to apologise to Doyle for abandoning her during their wedding rehearsal.
There was nothing he could do in Oxfordshire anyway. His main task now was to try and get inside the head of a man who indiscriminately shot people. An intelligent, forensically aware, technically proficient man. A ruthless man. And, if Bradshaw were to be believed, a tabletop role-playing game nerd. That was quite the cassoulet of character traits. He also wanted to check out Archie Arreghini’s personal protection officer, Matthew. Archie had said Matthew knew Poe, and he wanted to know how. He would get Bradshaw to run him through every database she had.
So, he took his leave and headed north until he reached the M6. He then joined a million other commuters trying to get into, or past, Birmingham. It was unusually busy at the Newcastleunder-Lyme turn-off but that was OK – a caravan had caught fire. Good, Poe thought. It was probably heading to the Lakes. It was close to one in the morning when he finally arrived at Highwood. He’d expected the grand old house to be shrouded in darkness. Instead, the lights were on. He could hear laughter. Excited barking.
A man in an old-fashioned suit appeared as the front doors opened. Doors, plural. Poe now lived in a house with a doorway so large it neededtwodoors and a portico. The first timehe’d set foot inside Highwood, he’d been examining a murder scene, trying to root out the clues Northumberland Police had missed. The clues that would eventually clear Doyle of her father’s murder. Now he called Highwood his home. It had fifteen bedrooms. A vestibule. The curved stairway looked like something out ofGone with the Wind. Suits of armour guarding internal doorways; portraits of long-dead ancestors on the wall.
Highwood also came with a butler.
His name was Richard Brunton, but he only ever answered to Brunton. Poe knew this for a fact. He’d called him Richard once and his tea had been milky for a month. Poe hadn’t liked the idea of a servant in the house. In fact, he’dhatedthe idea. He’d told Doyle. She’d said if he disliked the idea that much, he could tell Brunton his services were no longer required. But she’d added that Brunton’s cottage in the village was dependent on him remaining in the family’s employ until he was sixty-five.
‘Can’t we just tell him he can stay in the cottage?’ he’d said. ‘Kind of like early retirement.’
‘Like charity?’
Poe had nodded.
‘Wouldyouaccept charity?’
‘I suppose not,’ he’d said before adding, ‘But when your dad was murdered, he hadn’t been using Brunton. Why do we have to?’
‘My father didn’t use Brunton that year because he was on compassionate leave. His wife was battling lung cancer and my father said he didn’t want to see him at Highwood until she was better.’
‘And shedidget better?’
‘She did. And as soon as she’d regained her strength, Brunton returned to work. Of course, that was after my father had died.’
So, Highwood still had a Brunton, who only ever called Poe ‘sir’ and Doyle ‘Lady Doyle’. Poe quite liked the cantankerous,stuffy old man. Brunton was sixty-three, so only had two years until his retirement, and Poe saw no reason to make them awkward just becausehefelt awkward.
‘Welcome home, sir,’ Brunton said before he reached the door. ‘They’re expecting you on the south lawn.’
‘Estelle’s not on her own?’
‘Miss Emma is with her, sir,’ he replied. ‘And your dog, of course.’
Brunton said ‘dog’ the way other people said haemorrhoids. Brunton didn’t like Edgar and Edgar didn’t like Brunton. Poe didn’t know why, although Bruntonhadlimped for a week after Edgar had moved in. Poe knew from experience there was only so much Edgar would put up with before he used his teeth to express his displeasure.
Poe made his way around the back of the house to the south lawn. It was where the marquee had been sited. Edgar rushed out to greet him. When Poe had finished getting his face washed with dog saliva, he made his way inside. Doyle and Emma were sitting at one of the tables, giggling.
‘Poe!’ Doyle shouted. ‘Tilly texted that you were heading home. Emma and I decided to wait up.’
