Dead Ground (Washington Poe Book 4) Read online

  The break had done Poe good. The Curator case had almost broken him, physically and mentally, and he’d got off lightly compared to some. He’d enjoyed spending time at home. Most days he’d packed some food in a rucksack and headed on to Shap Fell. Just him and Edgar, his springer spaniel, and thousands of sheep.

  ‘How’s DI Flynn?’ he whispered to the woman beside him.

  Stephanie Flynn, SCAS’s detective inspector, had given birth during the case and it hadn’t been straightforward. She was still off sick and he wasn’t sure she’d be coming back.

  ‘Shush, Poe!’ the woman whispered back. ‘I need to hear this.’

  Poe returned to his thoughts. Even when it concerned his own future he didn’t have the type of brain that could listen to legal arguments for more than a minute. He made a mental note to call Flynn later. He’d avoided speaking to her recently – it brought back bad memories, for both of them he suspected.

  ‘Are you ready to respond, Mr Poe?’

  Poe blinked. Chadwick was back in his seat and everyone was looking at him.

  Poe stood up.

  ‘Am I right in understanding that the local authority is seeking a court order to compel me to return Herdwick Croft to the condition it was in when I bought it, your honour?’ Poe said.

  ‘That’s correct. Are you ready to respond?’

  Poe looked at the person on his right. She nodded.

  ‘I am, your honour.’

  ‘And despite her not having a legal background, you’re confident your colleague is up to representing you, Mr Poe?’

  ‘She is, your honour. You may trust me on this.’

  He sat down. When he’d lived in Hampshire he’d had an address. Now, he had a home. To protect it, he was willing to fight dirty.

  And what he was about to do was as dirty as it was possible to get.

  ‘Over to you, Tilly,’ he said.

  Chapter 3

  Matilda ‘Tilly’ Bradshaw was an oddity, but in a good way.

  She had two DPhils from Oxford University, their equivalent of PhDs, but probably didn’t know who the Prime Minister was. She could quote pi to a thousand decimal places, and would if you let her, but wouldn’t be able to tell you who the Sex Pistols were. She’d started higher education at thirteen, an Oxford admissions professor having persuaded her parents that her ‘once in a generation mind’ needed more stimulation than the state was capable of providing.

  Pure mathematics was her speciality, but she excelled at most scientific disciplines. With governments and private companies all over the world throwing research grants at her, she’d been expected to stay at Oxford her entire working life. And for a while that had been enough for her.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Because what the admissions professor had failed to understand – or perhaps had deliberately overlooked – was that curtailing a childhood on the cusp of adolescence had consequences. Not being around people her own age, and not being exposed to anyone who didn’t operate at her intellectual level, meant she’d never needed to develop the skills to talk and think in a socially conventional way. The result was an innocent, guileless woman who verbalised every thought she had and believed everything she was told.

  Poe had never got to the bottom of why she had chosen to leave the world of academia and join the National Crime Agency’s Serious Crime Analysis Section. He suspected

  she’d inherited a wilful streak from her father. In her early thirties she’d left Oxford and taken a job as a SCAS analyst.

  She told Poe she wanted to implement real-world applications to her theoretical models of mathematics. Poe didn’t know what that meant but he knew a diamond when he saw one. He’d taken her under his wing and helped her navigate the new and exciting world she was being exposed to for the first time. In return, as best she could, she softened his sharp edges and helped him manage his demons.

  And, to the surprise of everyone, they’d become friends.

  Not mates, friends. The type of friend that might come along once or twice in a lifetime.

  Which was why, when she’d found out about Poe’s housing problems, she’d taken a week’s leave and become an expert in planning law.

  Chadwick didn’t know what was about to hit him.

  If Bradshaw was nervous, it wasn’t showing. She didn’t have any legal training, but Chadwick, with his four-year degree, his year-long Legal Practice Course and his back-office support, was no match for Bradshaw and a day on the internet.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  She gave the judge a small wave. Bemused, the judge waved back.

  ‘My name is Matilda Bradshaw, your honour. I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘It’s very nice to meet you too, Matilda.’

  ‘What is this?’ Chadwick said.

  ‘Nothing wrong with exchanging pleasantries, Mr Chadwick,’ the judge said.

  Poe smiled. Bradshaw had already won over the judge.

  ‘Nothing at all wrong with being civil, your honour,’

  Chadwick said. ‘I was referring to how someone should dress if they wish to be heard by this court. By dressing like

  this, she not only disrespects you, she disrespects centuries of tradition.’

  Bradshaw was wearing a T-shirt and cargo pants with large side pockets. Pretty much the same thing she wore every day. Her T-shirt was black with ‘You Matter’ in large white letters. Underneath, in much smaller writing, were the words, ‘Unless you multiply yourself by the speed of light squared … then you energy.’

  Poe stood. ‘That’s your favourite T-shirt, isn’t it, Tilly?’

  ‘It is, Poe. It’s a Neil deGrasse Tyson quote. It’s a limited edition.’

  ‘Yeah, she has dressed for the occasion, your honour.’

  Chadwick stood.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Mr Chadwick, in this court I’ll be the one who decides if I’m being disrespected, not you,’ the judge said. ‘I will hear from Miss Bradshaw. If you want to hear from her as well, I suggest you sit down.’

  Chadwick sat.

  ‘Please continue, Miss Bradshaw.’

  As they’d rehearsed, Bradshaw removed two documents from her rucksack. ‘May I approach the bench, your honour?’ she asked.

  ‘You may.’

  Bradshaw walked up to the judge and passed him one of the documents. On her way back she handed the other to the sulking Chadwick.

  ‘Our position is simple, your honour,’ she said. ‘We believe it will be illegal for the county court to rule against Poe.’

  ‘What!’ Chadwick yelled.

  The judge frowned at him then said, ‘I think you’d better explain, Miss Bradshaw.’

  ‘It is really quite simple, your honour. In 1901 the municipal borough of Kendal proposed Byelaw 254, later confirmed into law by the Secretary of State. It is for the protection of Shap Fell and Mardale Common. As you can

  see from the enclosed map, Poe’s home falls within these boundaries. I understand that Byelaw 254 was to stop the unlawful expansion of the quarry. You both have a photocopy of the original document. When the borough of Kendal became part of South Lakeland in 1974, all its byelaws were adopted and subsumed into the current portfolio of planning laws. It was then ratified by Cumbria County Council. It has never been repealed.’

  Chadwick had put on a pair of thick reading glasses and was frantically turning the pages of the document he’d been handed.

  The district judge appeared relaxed. ‘And what does this byelaw prohibit, Miss Bradshaw?’

  ‘Section 2, Subsection F, explicitly prohibits the wilful removal, rearrangement or defacing of any rock within the specified boundaries.’ Bradshaw turned to Poe. ‘Poe, how did you fix up Herdwick Croft?’

  ‘I used whatever rocks were lying around,’ he said.

  ‘Your honour, if you turn to Section 3, Subsection E, you’ll see the cutting or damaging of any plant or vegetation is also explicitly prohibited. Poe, how did you install your septic tank and borehole?’

  ‘I had to dig them in.’

  ‘And did you damage the surrounding plants and vegetation?’

  ‘I’m afraid I did.’

  ‘And what penalty is attached to these two crimes, Miss Bradshaw?’ the judge said.

  ‘The schedule at the back states that any person who offends against any of these byelaws shall be liable to a fine not exceeding fifty pounds in today’s money.’

  Poe stood. ‘It would be my intention to plead guilty to such offences if charges are brought against me, your honour.’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ Chadwick snapped. ‘How can the local authority possibly be expected to know the ins and

  outs of a century-old byelaw it was forced to adopt in the seventies? Your honour, this is clearly a desperate attempt to—’

  The judge smiled. ‘But Mr Chadwick, as you said earlier, ignorance of the law is no excuse.’

  Chadwick flushed.

  The judge continued. ‘I’ve only had a quick look but it appears to be a legal document. And this court certainly doesn’t have the authority to disregard a law ratified by the Secretary of State.’ He looked over his half-moon glasses.

  ‘And neither does the local authority.’

  Bradshaw stood again.

  ‘Your honour, if this court compels Poe to return Herdwick Croft to its original condition, they would also be compelling him to break the law again. He would have no choice but to rearrange the rocks he used to build up the walls, and the plants and vegetation would undoubtedly be damaged when he dug up his septic tank and borehole pump.’

  ‘Mr Chadwick, would you like to explain how Mr Poe is to restore his home to its original condition without breaking the law?’

  Chadwick stared at the document in front of him.

  ‘I’d like a two-week adjournment, your honour,’ he said.

  ‘Denied. This is your petition and I expect you to be prepared. Now, unless you have anything else to add I’m going to retire. When I return I’ll be in a position to make a judgment. Mr Chadwick, if I were you, I’d mentally prepare for my finding. And furthermore, this court will take a dim view of any local authority that changes the law just to pursue a grudge. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Crystal, your honour,’ Chadwick said.

  Poe smiled at Bradshaw. They bumped fists.

  It had gone exactly as they’d hoped.

  Which was when two men entered the courtroom and everything turned to shit.

  Chapter 4

  The two men approached the bench. One had ginger hair, the other’s was long and grey. Poe silently nicknamed them Ginge and Gandalf. Ginge whispered something to the judge. To Poe’s surprise, instead of telling them to get out of his courtroom, the judge whispered back. More than once he glanced in Poe’s direction.

  Eventually he nodded.

  He cleared his throat and said, ‘It seems you’re going to get your adjournment after all, Mr Chadwick – Mr Poe is urgently needed elsewhere.’

  Two minutes later the courtroom was empty. The judge had retired to his chambers and Mr Chadwick had sloped off to lick his wounds.

  ‘Washington Poe?’ Ginge said. Gandalf had yet to speak.

  Poe nodded.

  ‘Can you come with us, please, sir?’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘My name’s Jonathan.’

  ‘You have a surname, Jonathan?’

  ‘Could you come with us, sir?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’ll take a couple of hours to get there.’

  ‘I see,’ Poe said. ‘I don’t suppose you could show me some ID?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I don’t carry any.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere then,’ Poe said. ‘My dad told me never to get in cars with strange men.’

  Jonathan looked at Gandalf. He nodded.

  ‘There’s been a murder,’ Jonathan said.

  Victoria Hume and Bradshaw were waiting outside. Poe explained the little he knew.

  ‘I’ll go and get Edgar,’ Victoria said. ‘You can collect him later.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Tilly, would you be able to take my car back to my place? Yours is parked there anyway.’

  ‘Actually, sir, we’d like Miss Bradshaw to come with us as well,’ Gandalf said, the first time he’d spoken.

  ‘You would?’ Bradshaw said.

  Gandalf gestured towards his colleague. ‘Jonathan will be driving your car home for you. It’s why he’s here.’

  ‘Is he now?’ Poe said. ‘And do you have a name?’

  ‘That isn’t important, sir. What is important is getting you to where you need to be.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And we’re already running late.’

  ‘You do realise that the judge was about to rule in my favour? Who knows what the council will come up with in the extra time you two clowns have just given them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but this is time sensitive. People are waiting for you.’

  ‘It’s OK, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Legally, there’s nothing they can do.’

  Poe wasn’t convinced. The Lake District National Park was obsessed with the past. Everything had to be as it was during Beatrix Potter’s time, and anything that wasn’t was discouraged and legislated against. Two weeks was a long time for people searching for a loophole.

  ‘Sir?’

  Poe looked at Bradshaw. If Gandalf and Jonathan were from the agency he thought they were, then Gandalf probably wasn’t exaggerating about it being time sensitive.

  ‘You up for this, Tilly?’

  ‘Let’s do it, Poe.’

  ‘Lead the way then, Gandalf.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Chapter 5

  Gandalf turned his nondescript but powerful Audi south on to the M6 and put his foot down. He didn’t say where they were going but Poe had a fair idea.

  They hadn’t offered surnames and they hadn’t shown any ID. The journey would take ‘a couple of hours’ and they were heading south. That would put them near Manchester and, because of an astonishing blunder when the builders who were contracted to put up their northern operations centre had put pictures of it in their corporate brochure, Poe even knew to what postcode they were heading.

  He didn’t say anything, though. Better to keep his suspicions to himself for now.

  Gandalf took them to an industrial estate on the outskirts of Manchester. Poe was sure he was taking a circuitous route so they wouldn’t be able to remember the way.

  ‘You should have made us wear hoods,’ Poe said.

  Gandalf ignored him.

  When they arrived at their destination – a low, flat building that looked like an Amazon distribution centre –

  Gandalf turned towards an underground car park, slowing as he approached a checkpoint. He rolled to a stop in front of a black and yellow wedge-shaped anti-ram barrier. The man behind the glass was armed and wearing a bulletproof vest.

  ‘Gosh,’ Bradshaw said.

  Poe, who had seen fortified police stations when he’d toured Belfast with the Black Watch, said nothing.

  Gandalf lowered his window and flashed the ID he’d earlier denied having.

  ‘Not alone today, sir?’ the man behind the glass said.

  ‘Got two for the briefing.’

  The man bent down to check who was in the back of the car before picking up his phone. After a short conversation the anti-ram barrier lowered.

  After they’d parked, Gandalf escorted them to a lift. Like some inner-city hotels, it had a card reader to activate it.

  Unlike inner-city hotels, none of the floor buttons were marked. Cameras in all four corners of the ceiling ensured there was nowhere to hide.

  Gandalf touched the card reader with his ID card. The floor buttons lit up. He shielded them with his torso before pressing one.

  ‘Seriously, mate, you should have made us wear hoods,’

  Poe said. The more they tried to conceal procedures, the clearer everything became.

  The lift moved. Down, not up. Made sense, he supposed.

  The building was only high enough for a couple of floors, but there was no limit to how deep it was.

  The doors opened and Gandalf gestured for them to step out. They were led through a succession of security checks.

  They had their fingerprints taken and their retinas scanned.

  Poe’s mood worsened.

  Eventually they were shown into an enclosed reception area. It was clean and functional. Moulded plastic seats, a water dispenser and harsh lighting. Clocks showing the time in major cities across the world were the only items on the wall.

  Gandalf took them to the reception window. The woman behind the glass looked capable and organised. The kind of person who knew the right bus to catch.

  ‘Washington Poe and Matilda Bradshaw from the National Crime Agency,’ Gandalf said, his voice amplified

  electronically through a metal grill. ‘They’re here for the three p.m. briefing.’

  ‘ID cards, please,’ the woman said.

  A flap opened underneath the window and a tray slid through a slot. Gandalf picked it up and put it on the counter.

  Poe looked at Bradshaw and shrugged. They put their ID

  cards in the tray. Gandalf pushed it back through the slot.

  The flap closed. The woman took their IDs and entered their details into her computer. She put two credit card-sized passes in plastic wallets, attached them to lanyards and sent them back in the tray.

  Poe looked at his. It had his name, VISITOR in large red letters and an access area code that presumably allowed him into certain parts of the building but not others.

  ‘Wear these at all times,’ the woman said. ‘Failure to do so is a criminal offence. When you leave here you’ll hand them back. Your ID cards will then be returned to you.’

  Gandalf pulled out his own ID and slung it round his neck.

  His didn’t have VISITOR on – or his name – Poe noticed, and his access area code was different to theirs.

  ‘Now, if you’ll pass me your mobile phones and any other electronic devices we can get you to where you need to be.’