Page 153 of The Killer’s Mark

That was what he’d expected to see. But when he skidded around the corner into the main kitchen, there wasn’t a triad in sight. It was the same four people he’d just left. His wife, Bradshaw, Océane and Esmerée. The reason for Estelle’s panicked shouting was clear as American beer, though.

Because although there were no triads in the kitchen, there was a gun.

And Esmerée was pointing it at her mother’s head.

She was holding it in her right hand. Her alien hand. The gun was chunky and short, black and dreadful. It looked enormous in her small hand. Poe thought it was probably a Beretta 9000. He remembered reading an NCA firearms briefing about criminals liking the 9000 because its size made it easy to hide. It took him a fraction of a second to take this in. Another fraction to understand why Esmerée had asked him and Bradshaw to track down her mother. She didn’t want to reunite with Océane; she wanted to kill her.

This wasn’t your typical mother–daughter spat. The hate between them was real.

‘Where’d you get the gun, Esmerée?’ Poe said, a lot calmer than he felt.

‘Hey, Poe,’ Esmerée said without taking her eyes off her mother. ‘Don’t come too close. I am going to kill my mom, but I need you all to hear why first. I owe you that much.’

‘Where’d you get the gun?’ he asked again.

‘It belonged to the asshole triad who punched me, the one Ladder Legs shot in the knee. I wasn’t just going back for my rubber duck when I went through his pockets. I wanted his gun.’

Bradshaw’s laptop beeped. She glanced down. ‘The Red Chamber’s money is in our foreign currency account, Poe,’ she said.

‘All of it?’

‘I don’t know what all of it is, but fifteen million one hundred thousand dollars has just landed.’

‘Too bad the bitch won’t be around to spend it,’ Esmerée said.

‘Esmerée, this is wrong,’ Estelle said. ‘Whatever she’s done to you, killing her is not the answer.’

‘You don’t know shit, Doc,’ Esmerée said. There was no venom in her voice.

‘Poe, would you like to chip in here? Please tell Esmerée that murdering her mother will be the worst mistake she ever makes in her life. That it will be the end of her life. Please make her see sense.’

Poe said nothing. Unanswered questions were the drumbeat to which this case had marched. They were white noise, always there in the background.

Why had Océane abandoned her daughter?

Why had it taken her all those years to confront Vincent du Buk?

Why had du Buk secretly paid for her sterilisation to be reversed?

And why had Océane said her daughter had ruined everything?

Poe hadn’t been able to come up with a single theory that explained any of it, and although he was a strong believer that perfect was the enemy of good, it had rankled with him.

But now Esmerée was pointing a Beretta 9000 at her mother’s head.

Which Poe thought explained everything.

Estelle tried again. ‘Poe, tell Esmerée to put the gun down. She’s scaring me.’

‘I’m sorry, Estelle, but I don’t think I can.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t think I can ask Esmerée to put down the gun. I think she has every right to kill her mother.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me!?’

Poe ignored his wife, hated doing it. Instead, he faced Esmerée and said, ‘After all, she planned to kill you, didn’t she?’