Page 10 of The Killer’s Mark

‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘Of course you are.’

Esmerée produced an award-winning pout. ‘I have money,’ she said. She pulled a leather wallet from the pocket of her hoodie. Showed Poe a bunch of tens and twenties. ‘How much do you charge? I need you to find my mom.’

‘A thousand pounds a day plus expenses,’ Poe said.

She fanned the money and counted it. ‘I have ninety pounds.’

‘Then you don’t have enough.’

‘I have a credit card.’

‘Of course you do; you’re twenty-one.’

Esmerée nodded. ‘Right,’ she said. She flipped the wallet and rooted through the cards. Didn’t seem to know what she was looking for. Eventually she found a Barclaycard. She shielded it from view. ‘Do you have a machine? I’ll just read out the number.’

‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen,’ Poe said. He looked over Esmerée’s shoulder. ‘What the …?’

She turned in her seat. Poe pinched the wallet.

‘Hey! Give that back.’

He rooted through until he found a driving licence. ‘Adam no-middle-name Malloy. This is you, is it?’

Even under her harsh make-up, Esmerée blanched.

‘So you’re a liar and a thief?’ Poe said. ‘You’re not twenty-one and you’re not a middle-aged man.’

‘I’m not a fucking thief,’ she snarled.

‘We don’t swear in front of Tilly,’ Poe said automatically, returning the wallet to Esmerée.

Bradshaw tutted.

‘What?’

‘You swear in front of me all the time, Poe. Only last night you said that the F-word chippy had better still be F-word open.’

Poe took a moment. ‘We try not to swear in front of Tilly,’ he said eventually. He softened, remembered he was talking to a child. ‘Look, if you and your mum have had an argument, or if she’s kicked you out, there are people who can help.’

‘I don’t need their help. I need your help.’

‘To find your mum?’

Esmerée nodded.

‘Where is she?’

‘If I knew where she was, I wouldn’t be talking to you.’

Poe said, ‘Fair enough.’

He got up and walked to his desk. Tried to remember how to work the secure phone system. Bradshaw rattled off a list of instructions. Poe followed them without remembering them. He dialled a number. ‘Children and Families, please,’ he said.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Esmerée demanded, alarmed.

‘What Tilly should have done the moment you stepped into our office. I’m calling Children’s Services. We aren’t equipped to deal with this; they are.’