Page 49 of The Killer’s Mark

‘May I see the tattoo?’

‘Cops took my phone.’

‘Why?’

‘They think I took photographs of the crime scene.’

‘Did you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Ah, that’s a shame. I’d love to see it. Not to worry.’ Locke took a sip of his drink. Looked like a negroni. He glanced over Poe’s shoulder. ‘I hope you have a good appetite, Poe. The mutton here is referred to as the Dookers Blue. It’s a play on Tom Sharpe’s novel Port—’

‘I’ve read Porterhouse Blue, Alastor,’ Poe said. ‘Porterhouse is the name of a Cambridge college, and the blue refers to the inevitable stroke brought on by overindulgence in the heavy meals they serve there.’

‘Indeed.’

Poe looked at the meal David had just put in front of him. There was half a kilo of glistening mutton on his plate. Shoulder meat, by the way it was sitting. Cooked for hours in its own juices. There were roast potatoes and cauliflower cheese. A jug of thick gravy, shiny with grease, by the side.

He picked up his fork and speared a roast potato. ‘If anyone asks, I had a salad.’

Chapter 40

Poe couldn’t remember ever feeling so full. David the waiter cleared their plates and brought over a couple of digestifs. Black Russian cocktails.

‘I have a car and driver waiting outside for you, Poe,’ Alastor said. ‘He’ll take you wherever you want to go.’

‘I want to go to Highwood. I want to see my wife.’

‘Then that’s where he’ll take you.’ Locke looked at his watch. ‘David will see you out. Unfortunately, I still have business that requires my attention. Please pass on my regards to Miss Bradshaw and Lady Doyle-Poe.’

After Poe had left the dining room, a forgettable man took his place. The kind of person you could look at all night and in the morning you wouldn’t be able to remember what colour his hair was. He said, ‘Mr Poe certainly enjoys his food, sir.’

‘He’s a man of healthy appetites, Jenkins.’

‘Did you get across what you needed to get across?’

‘I think so.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him, sir?’

‘That the man Buckby had arranged for Poe to meet was found with a bullet in his head not two hours ago?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Because if I had, Poe would have wondered how I knew. He’d have thought he was being manipulated. That he was working for me, not his client.’

‘But you are manipulating him, sir.’

‘He doesn’t know that, though. And it’s gloves-off time.’

‘And Washington Poe is who this needs?’

‘When he understands what’s at stake, he’s exactly the kind of person this needs. They really don’t know who they’ve sucked into their gravity well. I almost feel sorry for them.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course not. What they do is abhorrent.’