Page 145 of The Killer’s Mark

Chapter 121

Three black Jeep Wranglers, two hundred grand’s worth of four-by-four, were parked in the middle of the stone circle in an outward-facing triangle. Their headlights were on even though the sun wasn’t due to dip for hours. Men stood on the vehicle’s running boards. Others milled around talking among themselves. They were all dressed the same. Black leather coats and dark glasses. When Poe came into view, they straightened up. Became alert.

‘Jeep Wranglers,’ Towler said. ‘Gucci as fuck.’

Poe agreed. Before he’d moved out of his cottage on Shap Fell, he’d considered getting a second-hand Wrangler. It was Jeep’s off-road workhorse. Their all-terrain warrior. King of the hill. With an eight-speed gearbox maximising pulling power over even the roughest ground, it had the climbing ability of a mountain goat. The wheels were massive, the treads thick and chunky. The engine growled like a dragon with toothache. If Poe’s plan had been to pull off a snap ambush, their countermeasure would have been to drive straight through Farmer Maggot’s fields and make for the M6 as the crow flies. Get into some fresh vehicles and disappear for good.

Leave Esmerée in a ditch somewhere.

Poe parked at the edge of the stone circle. Next to one of the daughters. ‘You’ll stay in the car?’ he said without turning round.

‘As we discussed, Poe,’ Towler said. ‘And remember, they think they’re in charge. Let it play out like that until you’re ready. The more time we can give my guys, the better.’

Poe took a deep breath. He got out of his car. Stood by the driver’s door and arched his back, rolled his shoulders. Like he was about to do some yoga. The triads looked on in amusement. He approached the Wranglers, blood pounding in his ears.

A familiar face got out of the nearest vehicle. Dongyang Dong, the man with the boss-eyed dragon tattoo. Unlike his men, he was jacket-less. He wore a plain white T-shirt and a gold medallion that was so big it looked ceremonial. Like he was mayor of some manky seaside town. He said, ‘Mr Ex-Policeman, you were supposed to come on your own. Yet I see that you haven’t.’

‘You already knew that,’ Poe said, his voice flat. ‘And the reason why.’

‘Tell me again.’

‘Océane really doesn’t want to be here. I needed a minder.’

The triad glanced over his shoulder at Towler. ‘He looks like a football hooligan.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Poe said. ‘I’m more into cricket.’

‘Do you have what she stole from our client?’

‘The late Vincent du Buk?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s all in the car.’

‘You’ve made copies?’

‘Of course.’

‘You were asked not to.’

‘Yet I did anyway.’

‘Bring her to me. And what she stole.’

‘Not until I see Esmerée.’

Dong smirked. ‘You don’t make demands, Mr Ex-Policeman. We’re in charge, and I want the woman. You’ll bring her to me now. If you don’t, we’ll take her by force, and you’ll never see that foul-mouthed brat again.’

Poe smiled politely. ‘I think you’re labouring under the illusion that you’re in control here.’

‘We are.’

‘You were. You aren’t any more.’

The triad’s smirk faltered. ‘I really—’

‘Shouldn’t your guys have joined you by now? The ones manning the road signs?’