Chapter 47

They arrived in Skelton a little after 8 p.m. Bradshaw directed Poe to Israel Cobb's house. It was a mile out of the village, at the dead end of a single-lane track where the weeds had punched through the tarmac and tyre-piercing stones lay like spilled marbles. The house was almost derelict. It was in the shade of three tall oaks and Poe doubted it had ever seen sustained sunlight. The low, misshapen roof sagged, and the walls were wet with algae. If it hadn't been for the light coming from the partially drawn curtains, it would have looked abandoned.

Poe rapped his knuckles against the thin door and winced when the wood splintered. He waited twenty seconds then knocked again, harder. He was about to knock for a third time when he heard a shuffling noise from behind the door.

‘Who's there?'

‘National Crime Agency, Mr Cobb,' Poe said. ‘We need to talk.'

‘Talk to each other then; I'm busy.'

Poe knocked again. The door opened.

Israel Cobb was as thin as garlic skin and twice as pale. He had hair like an unshorn sheep, and the physique of someone who drank his meals. His back was banana-curved. Given his background, Poe had been expecting an older version of Joshua Meade. Prim and prissy with a distasteful look, as if he had something smelly on his upper lip. But, in his ratty dressing gown and even rattier sandals, Israel Cobb looked like a featherweight Merlin. His toenails were jagged and yellow and dirtier than a dustbin lid.

‘May we come in, Mr Cobb?' Poe said, stepping past him before he'd finished asking.

‘Apparently you may,' Cobb replied in a voice sculpted by filterless cigarettes. He had teeth like baked beans.

Bradshaw stepped inside too. She said, ‘Good evening, Mr Cobb. My name is Matilda Bradshaw and I work with Poe at the Serious Crime Analysis Section.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Yes, it is. And you should see your GP about your onychomycosis.'

‘What's that, miss?'

‘The fungal infection on your toenails. It's why they are yellow and smell like strong cheese. Your GP will prescribe antifungal cream and it will take six-to-nine months to clear up.'

Cobb shrugged. ‘Do I look like I have a GP?'

‘I know that you do,' Bradshaw replied.

She blinked as she realised what she had said. Poe rolled his eyes. So, that was how she'd found Cobb. She'd been rooting around in NHS databases again. Luckily Linus had stayed outside so he hadn't heard. MI5 must have different rules to Poe on entering private residences without permission, he thought. Poe's rule was if he wanted to go into someone's house, he'd go in and make up the reason why afterwards.

‘You've been looking through my medical—' Cobb started to say.

‘Cornelius Green is dead, Mr Cobb,' Poe cut in. ‘Did you kill him?'

Cobb staggered like he'd taken a crossbow bolt to the chest. He collapsed into a greasy, but comfortable-looking, stuffed armchair. ‘How?' he wheezed, reaching for his cigarettes. His hands shook as he lit up.

‘He was tied to a tree near Keswick and stoned to death. Where were you the night before last, Mr Cobb?'

‘Cornelius was stoned to death?'

Poe nodded as Linus finally decided to enter the cottage. ‘He was.'

‘Who did it?'

‘That's why I'm here.'

Cobb didn't immediately respond. It looked like he was struggling to understand what Poe was saying. ‘Cornelius is dead,' he said. Poe thought he needed to hear himself say the words. See if it sounded more believable that way. ‘And he was definitely stoned to death?'

Poe nodded again.

A low, rattling noise started in Cobb's bony chest. It sounded like the build-up to a wet cough, but when it finally reached his throat it was laughter that erupted. Not the mean-spirited laughter of someone enjoying a colleague's misfortune, this laughter was free and pure. Tears of joy streamed down his face. This continued for a full minute. When the laughter eventually subsided, he gasped, ‘Tell me everything.'

‘A stun gun was used to get him to the place he was murdered.'

‘One of those electric burny things?'

‘Yes.'

The intensity of his laughter trebled. He was now laughing so hard Poe was worried it would turn into a fit. ‘You're killing me, Sergeant Poe!' he gasped.

Poe looked at Bradshaw. She shrugged. Linus did too.

‘There was no love lost between you two then,' Poe said. At least it confirmed part of the note was accurate. You didn't take so much delight in someone's death unless something had happened. Hate like this wasn't organic; it didn't build up naturally. If someone rubbed you up the wrong way, you avoided them. This was the hate of two people who were close and now weren't. The note had told them to find out what had caused their rift and Poe intended to.

It was five minutes before Cobb was composed enough to talk to them. ‘That's that then,' he said. He lit another cigarette from the embers of the previous one.

‘What's what?' Poe said.

‘Nothing. Now, how can I help you, Sergeant Poe?'

‘You can start by answering my first question: where were you two nights ago?'

‘Two nights, two nights,' Cobb muttered. He wasn't even trying to hide his grin. ‘Ah, yes. Two nights ago, I was helping out at the community allotment.'

‘What as, a scarecrow?' Poe muttered.

‘What's that?'

‘Nothing. Where did you go after the allotment?'

‘I walked to the Dog and Gun and had the ox-cheek ragu. They will be able to vouch for me.'

‘That's very specific.'

‘I've had ox-cheek ragu every night this week.'

‘What time did you leave?'

‘Kicking out time. I don't wear a watch any more, but I think it will have been around half eleven.'

It wasn't a cast-iron alibi, but it didn't seem manufactured either. Poe was always suspicious when suspects had alibis that covered the entire crime window. The all-night poker game, the party with shady guests; they stank of deception. A night in the pub two nights ago would be easy to check.

‘I understand you and Cornelius had a big falling out?'

‘Did we?'

‘Your records at the Children of Job have been expunged. We were there this morning and no one mentioned you. And while living there is hardly the lap of luxury, it has to be better than this . . .' – Poe wanted to say hovel but didn't – ‘. . . place.'

‘And from that you got there was a falling out?'

‘If you were there for as long as we think you were, your faith must have been very strong,' Poe said. ‘And yet, here we are in your home, and there isn't a cross on the wall or a Bible on your coffee table. And though you might look like a hobo-Jesus, I don't believe that's intentional. I think you look the way you do because of neglect.'

‘No offence taken.'

‘I'm investigating a murder; I don't care if I offend you.' Poe sighed, aware he wasn't getting anywhere. ‘Tell me what happened, Mr Cobb. You didn't only lose a friendship; you lost your faith as well. What did you and Cornelius Green fall out over?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' Cobb said. ‘I was friends with Cornelius, but we grew apart. I left the Children of Job fifteen or so years ago because it was the right time for me to do so. There was no falling out, Sergeant Poe. And I didn't lose my faith, I just practise it differently now.'

‘People aren't expunged from existence simply because they grew apart, Mr Cobb. What is it you aren't telling me? And what were these courses that stopped?'

Cobb's eyes, dead until now, sparked into life. ‘Unless you're here to arrest me, please leave my house,' he said, his voice suddenly cold and hard. He spun and left the room, his dressing gown flaring up like he was Marilyn Monroe standing over a New York air vent. He slammed the door behind him, leaving them alone in his front room.

‘The truth's a swamp bubble, Mr Cobb,' Poe called out after him. ‘It doesn't matter how thick the mud is; eventually it'll work its way to the top.'

Judging by the clang of pots and pans, Cobb had stomped off into his kitchen.

‘Did you see that when he turned round?' Poe said.

Bradshaw nodded. ‘He wasn't wearing any underpants.'

‘Also, his lower back was covered in alphanumeric tattoos.'