Page 84 of The Mercy Chair

‘Tell me what happened,’ Doyle said.

‘I don’t think I’m ready . . .’

‘Tell me what happened,’ she repeated.

So Poe had. He told her how he had been reading Bethany’s journal before his interview with Nathan Rose and how he now knew that was a mistake. He told her that the shared antagonism between him and Virginia Rose was entirely his fault. He told her about the Björn Borg remark Virginia Rose had overheard. Doyle had groaned at that bit. She hadn’t chastised him, however; it was obvious there was nothing she could say that he hadn’t already said to himself.

They stopped to eat and to refresh their drinks.

‘It was definitely a suicide?’ Doyle asked during their late supper.

Poe nodded. ‘No doubt about it; I saw the change in his eyes when he decided to do it. Something I’d said made him believe being dead was better than being alive, and that’s a big call for a Christian to make. I’m told God decides when they die; not them.’

Doyle waited until she had finished chewing. She’d looked thoughtful when she put down her fork and picked up her frosted bottle of beer. She took a deep draught then said, ‘Suicide’s been called a permanent solution to a temporary problem. There are really only two reasons someone like the man you’ve described would make such a sudden and drastic decision.’

‘Go on.’

Doyle held up a long, slim finger. ‘Something terrible happened to him, something he simply couldn’t bear revisiting. And he knew it would come out as a result of your investigation.’

‘Something like sexual abuse?’

She nodded.

‘What’s the other thing?’

‘He’ddonesomething terrible, something he didn’t want to face the consequences for.’

Poe considered that carefully, as he did everything Doyle said.

‘What if it was both?’ he’d said eventually.

Poe tracked downSeductive Poisonin Fred’s, a small bookshop in Ambleside, in the heart of the Lake District. It was only accessible via twisting, dangerous roads. They were fun to navigate in winter, when you had the freedom to pretend it was the final lap at the Nürburgring, but awful in summer, when you were reduced to twenty miles an hour as dawdling tourists stopped in the middle of the road to take photographs of lakes and mountains and sheep.

He parked on the double yellows outside the shop, ignored the outraged honking horns, and dived inside. Within two minutes he had paid for the book – a tatty, dog-eared second-hand paperback – and was back on the road, cursing as he got wedged between a camper van and an elderly tractor.

Chapter 73

When Poe slipped back into the room it was as if nothing had changed. Bradshaw’s eyes were still glowing, still darting between her computer and the books he’d brought her. And Linus was still hovering over her shoulder, still interested in what she was doing. He looked up guiltily when he saw Poe watching him.

Poe handed Bradshaw the copy ofSeductive Poison. She turned to the back and ran her finger down the index.

‘No,’ she said, throwing it on to a pile of discarded books by her feet. She reached to her side and handed Poe a piece of paper. ‘I have a new list, Poe.’

‘Do you actually need these, Tilly, or is this just your way of getting rid of me?’

‘If I wanted you to leave, Poe, I would tell you.’

‘Yes, you would,’ he agreed. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘I’ve discovered several things that the alphanumeric tattoos are not, so that’s good.’

Poe nodded. Bradshaw said there was value in scientific failure, in the cul-de-sacs, in the dead ends. Failure was the necessary and positive characteristic of science; without it there could be no discovery. He wondered if Linus understood this. The spook was a millennial; a generation that had grown used to instant gratification. Watching Bradshaw methodically check and recheck data, only for it to be another dead end, must have been maddening for him.

The new list only had two books on it. Poe tucked it into his wallet.

‘Both are at Withnail Books in Penrith, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Make sure you get the editions I’ve specified.’

‘Yes, boss.’

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