Beth slumped back in her chair and nibbled on one of the cookies she’d bought earlier. Across the desk from her, O’Dowd was stuffing one into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

They’d had reports back on some of the locations she’d found. So far none had turned up any more winged victims.

At Beth’s suggestion, O’Dowd had asked Control to get in touch with every police station in Cumbria to see if any older officers knew of any country houses that weren’t mentioned in the book. So far, no reports had come in, but it would depend on each station’s workload and shift pattern, and how quickly the request would get to the people with the right local knowledge.

Beth picked up the notes she’d made on Highstead Castle with one hand, as she used a saliva-dampened finger to collect the crumbs from the paper bag she’d used as a plate when eating her cookie. The most interesting link between the houses, as far as she was concerned, was that they had both been ravaged by fire: Highstead in the fifties and Arthuret Hall some time later she understood, although the details she’d gathered on Arthuret Hall had failed to specify when the fire had taken place. Logic told her that it must have happened many years ago due to the fact there was so much vegetation evident in the house.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering if the fact both buildings had fallen victim to fire was significant to their selection as murder sites for victims whose mouths were scorched like dragons. She explained the connection to O’Dowd who got onto Control and suggested that they amend her request to every station to also mention any country houses that had suffered fire damage.

‘Ma’am, do you think it’s worth getting someone to check the fire-brigade logs too?’

‘Good call.’ A finger pointed at her list. ‘Those houses you’ve got there, how did they become derelict? Was there a fire at any of them?’

Beth was scanning her notes before O’Dowd had finished speaking. ‘Just Brayton Manor House. Back at the end of the First World War. My notes say it’s a caravan site now. Is it worth installing a surveillance team?’

‘No, the link is too tenuous for that.’ O’Dowd reached for her phone. ‘I’ll get someone to check it out on a regular basis instead.’

Beth nodded at O’Dowd and went back to her notes on Highstead Castle. Nothing she’d unearthed so far told her who owned Highstead before Max Cooper. Nor was there information on the farm beside it, or the two houses they’d parked beside yesterday. Perhaps the killer had grown up in one of those houses. The old building would be a magnet for an inquisitive child. Therefore he’d know it as well as anyone alive.

The Land Registry would have the information about Highstead and the farm; however she’d need to get the addresses for the houses to locate them through an online search of the Land Registry database.

She logged onto her computer and looked up the statements the officers had taken yesterday. Armed with the addresses, Beth ran the searches and listed the owners of each property right back to 1940. One of the houses had the same name as the farm, which told her the house came with the job and that she’d have to speak to the farmer to get a list of all those who’d lived there. The one saving grace was that the farm had remained in the same family for the whole of her search period.

She figured that her killer would be no more than sixty years old due to the physical aspect of his kills, but she wanted to make sure her bets were well and truly hedged.

Now there were multiple victims, the investigation had shifted and what had seemed like good ideas when looking into Angus Keane’s death, now looked like a waste of time and resources when set against the bigger picture.

From across the desk she could hear O’Dowd’s tone show gratitude as she got approval for something. The DI’s good mood evaporated when the printer clacked into life as she made her second call. The office printer was nearing the end of its life and made a lot more noise than it should. As it whirred and clacked, O’Dowd pressed her free hand to her ear and scowled at the machine as if she could scare it into silence.

Beth collected the sheets of paper from the printer and looked at the names and dates. Working on the theory the killer would be a man aged between twenty and seventy, she used a highlighter to mark all those who fell into that category. The others may well be a possibility, but she thought it best to play the odds first. If O’Dowd disagreed, then so be it. Her thinking was that those whose ages fell within her chosen demographic were those who’d be physically strongest and the most confident of their ability to get away with the murders.

When the DI came off the phone she looked triumphant.

‘I just spoke to the brigade manager for Cumbria. He’s getting someone onto my request for information on fires at stately homes, country houses and any other large rural building that has gone up in flames in the last hundred years.’

‘Excellent.’ Beth went on to tell O’Dowd what she’d done regarding the houses flanking the track to Highstead Castle. She also mentioned that she’d traced George Bellingham to a hospital bed in Manchester Royal Infirmary. He’d been there for a fortnight and was receiving palliative care for leukaemia. His being the killer would have nicely tied up the case in a neat bundle, but there was no way it could have been him.

‘Who’s he again?’

‘The gangster’s son who got evacuated to Arthuret Hall.’

O’Dowd looked at her with assessment decorating her face. ‘I’m bloody glad I retire in a few years. Otherwise I’d have to worry about you getting my job.’

As unexpected as the compliment was, it still brought an impromptu smile to Beth’s lips and a flush to her face.

‘I’ve been thinking, ma’am. Dr Hewson said the crow’s wings that were on Angus Keane’s back had a lot of holes in them, as if the crow had been brought down with a shotgun. Should we be looking at people who own a shotgun?’

‘It’s a good idea, but you’re looking at hundreds of people, possibly thousands in Cumbria alone. Most farmers have a shotgun and there’ll be a lot of shooting enthusiasts. And that’s only the people who have a gun license. Someone who’s killed four people might not worry about owning an unlicensed firearm. You’re also working on the assumption that it was the killer who shot the crow. I’ve seen crop fields where the carcasses of crows have been tied to a fence as a warning to other crows not to eat the grain. What if the killer just helped himself to a crow a farmer had shot?’

‘Sorry, ma’am. Just trying to think of everything.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ O’Dowd gave her an indulgent look that renewed Beth’s blushing. ‘Now then, Beth, while the colour is still in your cheeks, what other ideas are rattling around in that brain of yours?’

‘None for the moment, ma’am. I’m still new to this and just spitting out whatever I can think of.’

‘Keep spitting, you’re doing a good job. Have you considered the wings at all?’

‘I’ve given them a bit of thought, but if I’m honest, I’ve been concentrating on trying to identify the victims and find out if there could be any others in places we haven’t looked. Why, what do you think?’

O’Dowd stuffed the last piece of cookie into her mouth and talked around it. ‘I don’t know what to think, that’s my problem.’ A pause to swallow. ‘In chronological order of kills we’ve got a canary, a parrot, a crow and then what appears to be some kind of bird of prey. What does that tell you?’

‘That the killer is escalating? That he’s going for bigger birds as he tries to make the perfect dragon?’

‘That’s what I’m thinking. Problem is, we need to get an expert opinion on that. We need a specialist.’

‘Where would you get a specialist on so many different birds?’ Beth couldn’t begin to think who’d know about canaries, parrots and birds of prey as well as crows.

‘We may have to use a couple. A pet-shop owner should be able to help with the first two, then perhaps a handler at a bird-of-prey centre would be best for the oth—’

‘A gamekeeper would, ma’am. They’d know about birds of prey. And I bet they’d know how to catch one.’

‘Good call.’

‘There’s something else. Should we check if they can tell the sex of the birds from the wings? I’m not sure if it will be relevant or not, but I feel it’s worth finding out if we can.’

‘You’re right.’ A snap of the fingers. ‘We’ll need to get onto one at once.’

Beth reached for her keyboard. ‘Leave it to me.’