‘Poe … what did you do?’
‘All above board,’ he said. ‘Ask Tilly.’
‘All above board, DI Stephanie Flynn,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Poe had to ask his friend how to lie properly on the warrant but—’
‘OK, OK, I’ve heard enough,’ she cut in. ‘This list, Poe, you’re sure the killer’s on it?’
Now wasn’t the time to exaggerate. It was a lead based on second-hand information based on an assumption that a crumpled logo, when straightened out, would be what they thought it was. And, as Bradshaw had said, surely more than one kite enthusiast would have a flying dinosaur as a logo. Nerds liked dinosaurs.
He said as much.
‘OK,’ Flynn said after a short pause, ‘I’ll pass it up to Superintendent Nightingale but don’t expect her to leap up and down with excitement – this is about as tenuous as it gets.’
‘It is,’ Poe admitted. ‘I don’t think we can ignore it, though.’
‘You can’t,’ she agreed. ‘I take it you’re going back to Herdwick Croft to work on reducing the numbers down from thirty-two?’
‘We are,’ Bradshaw replied. ‘I’ll use statistical correlation of criminal behaviour and some other tricks I’ve wanted to try for a while. I’ll let Poe reduce it further by giving him a red pen.’
Bradshaw wasn’t being sarcastic. The red pen method had worked for them in the past. Science could only take things so far; sometimes it needed instinct.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Flynn said.
‘We’ll ring you every hour, boss,’ Poe said. ‘I take it you’re with Nightingale?’
‘I’m taking the day off, Poe. I’ve got indigestion like you wouldn’t believe. It feels like I’ve been eating raw chillies all week.’
Poe winced. He’d heard that indigestion was probably the worst thing in the later stages of being pregnant.
‘And don’t ask me about my haemorrhoids.’
‘I definitely won’t,’ Poe said, quickly revising his last thought.
‘They’ve inflamed so much they’re almost glowing. If there was a power cut I swear I could read by the bastards,’ she said. ‘That’s something they don’t tell you at the mother and baby class.’
Poe looked at Bradshaw. ‘What? No questions, Tilly?’
‘Are your breasts still leak—’
‘Not long now, boss, hang in there,’ Poe said hurriedly.
‘Oh, while I remember,’ Flynn said, ‘Nightingale wants you both at Carleton Hall for a briefing tomorrow morning. She’s bringing in an expert in semiotic studies.’
Bradshaw booed. She turned in her seat and gave Poe a double thumbs down.
‘What the hell’s semiotic studies?’ Poe said.
‘It’s the pseudo-science that claims to interpret signs and symbols,’ Bradshaw said. ‘And it is, of course, an utter waste of time. You’d have more chance predicting the future from animal poo.’
‘The Met uses someone to help decipher gang tags,’ Flynn said.
‘And that’s who Nightingale’s got, is it? This London dork?’ Poe said.
‘No. She has a lecturer from the university coming in,’ she replied. ‘He’s going to talk about what the bird symbols found at the first crime scene might signify. The ones that the mug had been wrapped in.’
Bradshaw booed again.
‘She’s desperate, Tilly,’ Flynn said.