Page 53 of The Killer’s Mark

‘Someone was killed? For real?’

Poe nodded. ‘They were tortured first.’

‘How do you know? Did someone tell you?’

‘It was me who found him. I was then arrested for his murder. That’s why I didn’t get in until late.’

Esmerée was quiet for almost a minute. Poe thought that might have been a record. Eventually she said, ‘What was his name?’

‘Mark Buckby. He was a pornographer.’

‘He’s the jerk who filmed my mom?’

‘Not him,’ Poe said. ‘He identified the man in the film, though. Guy called Chance Ryzcek. He told us about Pure Pulse Productions. That’s the company that filmed your mother. Tilly and I paid them a visit. Threatened a sleazy bastard called Toby Knight until he handed over everything he had—’

‘Poe told a fib,’ Bradshaw said, walking into the room.

‘And you ruined his life playing Captain Kirk,’ he said. ‘Call it a draw?’

‘OK, Poe.’

‘Anyway, as soon as you’d confirmed it was your mother’s tattoo on those photographs, I sent a copy to Mark Buckby. Asked him to circulate it to his seedy pals.’

‘And it got him killed?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Pity it wasn’t that Toby Knight asshole.’

Poe didn’t disagree.

Chapter 43

With Poe’s car still being in Carlisle, the three of them crammed into Bradshaw’s Honda Jazz. Poe sat in the passenger seat and pushed it back as far as it would go. Esmerée sat behind Bradshaw in the back. She had plenty of legroom; Bradshaw drove with her nose touching the windscreen.

‘You sure you have a DL, Till-meister?’ Esmerée said. ‘You don’t look as though you can see shit.’

‘Poe taught me to drive,’ Bradshaw replied. ‘And although I’m near-sighted, I play a lot of computer games. My reactions are faster than a Half-Life Headcrab.’

‘Best not to ask, Esmerée,’ Poe said. ‘She might tell you.’

‘How did you and Estelle hook up, Poe?’ Esmerée asked. ‘She’s way too cool for you. Was it drugs? I bet you drugged her bony ass and kept at it until she gave in.’

‘Estelle loves Poe because he has a stout heart,’ Bradshaw said, bristling.

‘I know what it was. She thought she owed you because you helped her beat that murder rap.’

Poe laughed. ‘Are you finished?’

‘Buddy, I’ve barely started.’ Esmerée slapped her thigh. ‘I know what happened – you dragged her back to your cave like those rapey douchebags in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. By the time the townsfolk could rescue her, she had that Stockholm syndrome thing.’

And she kept it up all the way to Carlisle …

When they’d been getting their office equipment, Bradshaw had insisted they purchase a modern interactive whiteboard. The wall-mounted 4K screen was eighty-six inches wide. It was a touchscreen, although Bradshaw said Poe was never to touch it. ‘Your fingers are always greasy,’ she’d said. It had cost the company three grand, and this was the first time Poe had used it for anything other than watching the cricket.

Bradshaw displayed Toby Knight’s photographs on the screen, the ones that had caught Océane’s tattoo. There were four. She had arranged them side-by-side like a police line-up. Even blown up, the images were crystal clear. And the tattoo was just as impressive as it had been on Bradshaw’s laptop.

‘This is definitely Océane’s tattoo, Esmerée?’ Poe asked.