Page 121 of The Killer’s Mark

Poe glanced at the prostrate Susan Hawksworth. Decided to leave Indica’s studio before he accepted the call. He didn’t know why. He got calls from unknown numbers all the time. It was usually some arsehole from Manchester telling him about subsidies for solar panels. Poe had always thought Manchester was a strange place to be selling solar panels. It got even less sun than Cumbria. But at this time, and under these circumstances, he got the feeling he needed to answer his phone in private.

He accepted the call and said, ‘Hello?’

Silence.

His first thought was that he was about to get one of those automated responses, the kind that plagued every single person in the country. A robotic voice telling him that he might be entitled to compensation for the recent road accident he’d been involved in. If you spoke, you were immediately put through to a living, breathing shameless chancer. But he couldn’t hear the clunks and clicks that suggested that was about to happen.

Although he could hear breathing.

He took a punt.

‘Mr Jin, this is Washington Poe; thank you for getting in touch. I know how difficult it must have been.’

More silence.

Poe broke it again. ‘Twenty or so years ago, you tattooed a woman who would go on to be called Océane Blue. You did this on behalf of a triad organisation called the Red Chamber. Océane became the concubine of a man called Vincent du Buk. Around a year ago, near the end of her contract, one that would have made her very rich, she murdered du Buk. She stuck a knife in his throat and disappeared. The Red Chamber have been looking for her ever since.’

He waited to see if this was still a solo performance. It was.

‘The thing is, Kai – is it OK if I call you Kai? – I’ve spoken to someone who knew you when you had aspirations beyond doing tattoos for gangsters. Hester Flynt. She told me you were a great artist. Potentially a master. Someone people would study for centuries. When she saw Océane’s tattoo, she burst into tears. She’d thought you were dead, another triad victim. She hadn’t thought she would see your work again.’

The silence was getting silly now, he thought.

‘On the other hand, if you aren’t Kai Jin, the Red Chamber tattooist, you can pretty much ignore everything I’ve just said.’ He paused a beat or two. ‘But you’d better not try to sell me solar panels for my roof. I live in the far north of England; if the sun comes out here, we sacrifice Edward Woodward.’

The person on the other end of the one-sided phone call cleared their throat. And then a woman’s voice said, ‘How can Kai help you, Mr Poe?’

Chapter 97

‘You’re not Kai Jin?’ Poe said.

‘I’m not,’ the woman agreed. She spoke with a German accent. ‘But also I am.’

‘I think you’d better explain.’

‘Kai is my friend, Mr Poe. I will be speaking for him today.’

‘Why?’

‘Because two days ago, the Red Chamber cut out his tongue and punctured his eardrums. He’s now deaf and mute.’

Poe didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t need to ask why Kai had been mutilated. It was because of him. He’d been in Newcastle carelessly throwing the tattooist’s name around. He hadn’t once considered that it might have repercussions.

‘Is Kai there now?’

‘He’s right beside me.’

‘Then please tell him how sorry I am.’

She didn’t answer. Poe heard scratching. It sounded like writing.

‘Kai doesn’t care about that, Poe. He’s spoken – through me – to his mother and he now wants to do the right thing, not the easy thing.’

‘Do you have a name, miss?’

‘You can call me Greta.’

‘Kai has a pen and a notebook?’