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.’