Page 24 of The Mercy Chair

‘Ah, the third construction.’

‘Fourth,’ Bradshaw corrected.

Bugger laughed delightedly.

‘Wait,’ Poe said to Bradshaw, ‘you understood all that?’

‘Youdidn’t?’

He turned to Bugger. ‘And you, you mad bastard, that wasn’t a load of bollocks? That actually wassomething?’

‘Of course, Sergeant Poe. Euclid was an Ancient Greek and considered by many to be the father of geometry. What better way to celebrate his life than with a solo performance in Carlisle’s pedestrianised city centre?’

Poe shook his head. ‘You’ve got me there, Bugger.’ He pulled a twenty-pound note from his wallet. ‘Anyway, I need a favour.’

He told Bugger Rumble what it was. When he’d finished, Bugger nodded.

‘Keep your money, Sergeant Poe.’ Bugger pointed at Bradshaw and said, ‘If I do what you ask, she has to have tea and cakes with me for an hour.’

‘I think I’d enjoy—’ Bradshaw said.

‘Fifteen minutes and not tonight,’ Poe said.

‘Forty-five.’

‘Thirty and don’t push your luck.’ He checked his watch and glanced at the cathedral. It was time. ‘Ready?’ he said to Bradshaw.

‘I am, Poe.’

He turned to Bugger Rumble. The street entertainer was staring at Bradshaw like a dog stares at cheese. This must have been what it was like when Doyle had accompanied Bradshaw to that maths award in the States. Even the Fields Medal winners there had been so awed by her intellect they’d become star struck. And now she was having the same effect on a bark-at-the-moon nutjob. Sometimes Poe wished he were intelligent enough to really appreciate the once-in-a-generation mind of his friend.

‘Don’t let me down, Bugger,’ he said.

Bugger’s eyes didn’t leave Bradshaw.

‘Scratch that,’ Poe continued, ‘don’t letTillydown.’

‘I won’t,’ Bugger said.

Chapter 20

The inside of Carlisle Cathedral was smaller than the outside suggested, sort of like a reverse TARDIS. Bradshaw said this was because part of the nave was destroyed during the English Civil War so the stone could be used to reinforce Carlisle Castle. Poe wondered how long it had taken her to become an expert on the cathedral’s history. The time it had taken to drive from Keswick to Carlisle, he suspected, minus the five minutes she’d lectured him on the folly of ditching Linus outside Greggs.

The service hadn’t quite finished, so they took a seat on one of the carved, black oak choir stalls. The cathedral had forty-six and they were at a ninety-degree angle to the East Window and the High Altar; twenty-three on each side. They were tiered and faced each other, kind of like a basketball court if the bleachers behind the nets were removed. Seats for the congregation were to the left and right of the stalls, although only the seats near the front were currently occupied.

‘There’s the Bishop of Carlisle, Poe,’ Bradshaw said, pointing at the pulpit.

‘Yeah, thank you, Tilly. As he’s fifteen feet up in the air and the only person talking, he’s really difficult to see.’

‘You’re welcome, Poe.’

The goblet-shaped pulpit was made of the same black oak as the choir stalls, and was tall, freestanding and ornately carved. The Bishop of Carlisle fitted it like Humpty Dumpty fits an eggcup. He was wearing a purple cassock with big cuffs. A large metal cross hung from his neck. Other members of the clergy, lesser in rank and seniority, stood on the flagged floor, looking up. If their mouths had been open, they’d have looked like a nest of chicks waiting for worms. Clearly the bishop conducting a service was a big deal.

He was called Nicholas Oldwater and they had crossed paths on a previous case. He had been helpful and Poe liked him. He was keen to protect the Church, but not at the expense of covering up a crime. Poe hoped he was about to be as helpful now.

But whatever it was he wanted from them, it would have to wait. Right now, the bishop had his hands full. The service he was conducting wasn’t straightforward. It seemed to be a cross between Gregorian chanting and a carefully orchestrated theological debate between the bishop and the congregation. There were no hymns, no sermons, and definitely no smiling. This was a serious service.

After five fruitless minutes of trying to figure out what was happening, Poe gave up. He gazed at the barrel-vaulted ceiling – royal blue with gold stars – and let his mind wander. He didn’t bother trying to second guess why the bishop had summoned them; they’d find out soon enough. Instead, he reviewed what he knew so far. A man had been murdered. No, that wasn’t right. A man had beenstoned to death.

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