Page 17 of The Killer’s Mark

‘Who?’ Poe said.

‘He’s a cartoon character from the late nineties,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Loosely based on Elvis Presley and James Dean. He’s a dim-witted, boorish narcissist who lives with his mother. Each episode was about him trying to get a woman to have sex with him.’

‘Sounds shit,’ Poe said. ‘And I’ll be watching this stuff on my own, Esmerée.’

‘Hey, you’re not jerking off to my mom, asshole!’

‘Nor am I watching pornography with a fifteen-year-old girl.’

‘Why? I ain’t no virgin.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

Esmerée scowled.

‘Don’t worry, Esmerée,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Poe doesn’t masturbate any more, do you, Poe? Not now he’s married to Estelle. I imagine they have a very fulfilling sex life.’

Which kinda turned Esmerée’s frown upside down. So much so that she had to leave the room, she was laughing so hard. She returned two minutes later, her eyes still red. ‘Yo, you gotta warn me if you’re gonna say shit like that, Till-meister,’ she said after she’d retaken her seat. ‘I almost peed my pants.’

‘Stop imagining my sex life, you weirdo,’ Poe said to Bradshaw. ‘And when did this “Till-meister” thing start?’

‘Esmerée thought I needed a nickname,’ Bradshaw said. ‘She added the suffix “meister”, which is German for “master”, to the shortened form of Tilly. When I asked her to stop, she made up a rude song about it. She’s quite childish, Poe.’

‘That’s because she is a child, Tilly,’ Poe said. ‘And our laws could not be clearer. Adults do not view pornographic material with anyone under the age of sixteen. I’ll watch everything you send me, and as soon as I see anyone with a tattoo on her foot, I’ll—’

‘The sole of her foot,’ Esmerée cut in.

‘… I’ll get Tilly to screenshot it. Then and only then will I get you to confirm it’s your mother.’

‘And if it is?’ Esmerée asked.

‘Then we’re one step closer to finding her.’

She nodded. ‘Good,’ she said. She slapped her skinny thighs. Rose to her feet. ‘Well, if I’m getting kicked out, I’m hauling my butt to Micky D’s for a burger and shake. Spend some more of that asshole’s money.’

Poe stood. ‘We call it Maccy D’s in the UK, and I quite fancy a burg—’

‘Sit down, Poe,’ Bradshaw said.

‘Ha-ha,’ Esmerée said, pointing. ‘More McNuggets for good ol’ me.’

‘You need to sit too, Esmerée.’

‘Why?’ Poe asked.

‘Well, for one thing, Estelle says your diet has got even worse, and neither of us thought that was possible. If she finds out I let you have food that’s barely fit for human consumption, she’ll have my guts for garters.’

Esmerée sniggered.

‘But more importantly, we need to talk about Esmerée.’

‘We do?’

‘Yes, Poe.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s a ghost.’