Chapter 62
Poe hauled himself up into the loft. He got to his feet and found the light switch. He clicked it on, but it didn’t seem to be connected to anything. Or the bulb was broken. It didn’t matter; his phone’s torch was more than adequate.
The loft was the same dimensions as the building.
The vaulted ceiling was high in the middle, lower at the sides in line with the pitch of the roof.
Lots of beams, lots of dust. Lots of nooks and crannies.
Poe thought it was by far the most interesting room in Cowie House.
It was big enough for a fourth floor, but Monica hadn’t bothered doing anything with it other than store desks and chairs when her tenants asked for unfurnished office space.
He trod carefully. He didn’t want to disturb anything. Someone had been up there recently. Completed some work, left some stuff behind.
Stuff they’d want back.
‘Did you find anything, Mr Poe?’ Nigel said from the hatch. He was scanning the loft with his ghost-detecting machine. It wasn’t emitting any exciting noises.
‘Nothing.’
Poe picked up something from the wooden floor. Put it back down in disgust.
‘What’s that?’ Nigel said.
It’s the ghost’s piss jar, Poe thought but didn’t say. ‘Just an empty bottle,’ he called out.
He took photographs of everything, then turned back to the hatch. Out of curiosity, he reached up and twisted the bulb. It moved half a turn and the loft lit up like a fridge. Someone had loosened it deliberately. He climbed back down the ladder. Esmerée footed it for him.
‘No ghosts?’ Nigel said. He seemed disappointed.
‘Sorry, Nigel.’
‘I saw your camera flash, Poe,’ Bradshaw said.
‘Did you? I must have pressed the wrong button.’
‘That I can believe. I remember one time you tried to open your emails and you ended up setting up a conference call with my dad and a woman from New Zealand.’ She shook her head. ‘I still don’t know how you managed to do that.’
Esmerée sniggered.
‘What was the noise?’ Nigel asked.
‘Rats,’ Poe replied. ‘All these old buildings have them. Nothing you can do about it. As soon as you get rid of them, the next lot move in.’
‘Rats are yucky,’ Bradshaw said. ‘I don’t care for them at all.’
‘No one likes rats. Not even David Attenborough.’
‘Edgar likes rats, Poe.’
He nodded. Edgar did like rats. His idiotic dog had seen how the gardener at Highwood rewarded his Jack Russell with a treat each time he killed one and thought he was on to a winner.
He went through a phase of searching the outbuildings and woodsheds until he startled some.
He’d then bring the dead ones into the kitchen, getting annoyed when everyone shouted at him.
Poe got the feeling Edgar thought the rat-killing industry discriminated against springer spaniels.
‘I’ll have a word with Monica,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s time to clear this nest.’
Bradshaw frowned. Poe wished she wouldn’t do that. It meant she was about to ask a question he wasn’t yet ready to answer.
‘I don’t understand, Poe,’ she said. ‘Rats are nocturnal, but I heard the same noise as the man you told me to ignore.’
Nigel glared at him. ‘So that’s why—’
‘Actually, Tilly, rats are also crepuscular,’ Poe cut in. ‘But you make a good point. I’ll be sure to mention it to Monica. Make sure she tells Rentokil we have day rats as well as night rats.’
Bradshaw frowned again. ‘That makes no—’
‘I’m thirsty,’ Poe said. ‘Come on, we’ll go to the Kings Head and discuss this over a pint and a packet of XL Cheese crisps. My treat.’
‘All right, now you’re talking, Poe,’ Esmerée said. ‘Mine’s a Guinness.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Alcohol and crisps are not a treat, Poe,’ Bradshaw said.
‘Yes, Tilly. You made that very clear last time we were there. I had to go back and apologise to the bar staff the next day.’
‘I’ll get my jacket,’ Nigel said.
‘Why?’ Poe said. ‘You’re not coming.’
‘Actually, I think you’ll find that excluding people from social events is classed as bullying. I could take you to a tribunal.’
‘There ain’t no party like a Nigel Flowers party?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yeah, you’re still not coming.’
As soon as Nigel had slunk back into his office, muttering legal threats no one took seriously, Poe turned to Bradshaw and Esmerée.
‘We need to talk,’ he whispered. ‘But not here.’