Chapter 119
Long Meg and Her Daughters was a Neolithic stone circle just outside Penrith.
With a diameter of three hundred and fifty feet, it was the third largest stone circle in the UK.
It had sixty-nine stones, including Long Meg, the red sandstone monolith that stood outside the circle, and was one of the most impressive Neolithic monuments in the world.
Legend had it that Long Meg was a witch who, along with her daughters, was turned to stone for dancing on the Sabbath.
The circle was supposedly protected by magic, so it was impossible to count the same number of stones twice, but if you did, the spell was broken and Long Meg and her daughters would be set free.
Poe had told Bradshaw this a few years ago. She’d called him an idiot.
Poe hated Long Meg.
He hadn’t always. He’d visited it on school trips. Sat on the stones, eaten his packed lunch. Taken rubbings from the carved patterns on the monolith. He’d shown them to his dad, who’d put them on the fridge. Poe still had them somewhere.
His love had turned to hate because of the actions of a serial murderer the press had dubbed the Immolation Man.
His third victim, a man called Michael James, had been staked in the middle of the stone circle and burned alive.
The Immolation Man was one of the highest-profile cases of Poe’s career.
It was also the case that had flung him and Bradshaw together, starting the strongest, weirdest friendship he had ever had.
They’d even made an ITV drama out of the investigation.
The Immolator. Poe’s character had been played by Martin Clunes, surely one of the strangest-looking actors to ever find gainful employment.
For the next two years, every time he’d entered a room, Flynn had said, ‘Hello, Big Ears, where’s Noddy? ’
Although Long Meg was close to Penrith, the sixth most populated town in Cumbria, it was still in the middle of nowhere. Poe didn’t need directions, though. The place was seared into his memory.
He left the M6 at Junction 42 and joined the A6. Put his foot down. Towler got on his phone and began whispering instructions. He leaned over and clocked the speedometer.
‘Slow down, mate,’ he said.
Poe did. Towler’s guys needed time to get into position. He took his foot off the accelerator until he was doing forty. Even at that speed they’d be at Long Meg within thirty minutes. He heard Towler ask for an ETA. He seemed happy with the answer.
‘We’re good, Poe.’
‘They’ll be there ahead of us?’
Towler didn’t answer. Probably some weird special forces stuff Poe wasn’t supposed to know.
‘Strictly backup, though?’ Poe said.
‘They’ll only make their presence known if it goes tits-up.’
Poe took his eyes off the road and found his iPhone.
He tapped out a text to Bradshaw and Estelle.
Told them it was on. Where it was happening and that they should hear from him within the hour.
Or not at all. He had no idea what was going to happen.
He was carrying the equivalent of the Red Chamber’s kryptonite – he remembered the days when he didn’t know useless shit like this – but as Bradshaw continually pointed out, Superman almost always found a way to win.
He turned off the A6 and onto a road so small it wasn’t allocated a number. A fingerpost sign – a black and white post with directions and distances that was only ever found in the countryside – indicated that Long Meg and Her Daughters was four miles away.
He drove half a mile down the single-track road and stopped.
It was blocked. Roadworks. Orange and white traffic cones and a yellow and black ROAD CLOSED sign. Poe said, ‘Bollocks,’ threw the car into reverse and backed up to a passing place. He performed an awkward three-point turn, then found a different road to Long Meg.
He drove a mile and a half and stopped.
That one was closed too.