Page 54 of The Killer’s Mark

‘That’s her,’ she replied.

‘We can’t know for certain, though,’ he said. ‘I have a tattoo. The design is put on the skin using a stencil. It’s then traced over with the tattoo gun. The stencil acts like a roadmap. In other words, there might be more than one person with this tattoo.’

Esmerée shook her head. ‘Nuh-uh. That’s definitely her. And do you know how I know? Because that’s her goddamn face.’

‘It’s a self-portrait?’ Poe said, astonished.

Bradshaw tutted. ‘I hardly think she tattooed her own foot, Poe.’

‘You know what I mean. This is a portrait of your mother, Esmerée?’

She nodded. ‘She said she had it done just before her twenty-first birthday. And it wasn’t a stencil; the tattooist did it freehand.’

Once again Poe marvelled at the skill of the tattooist. The shades of blue that gave depth, beauty, intrigue. He knew it was a one-dimensional drawing, but it seemed alive. Chance Ryzcek had said she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever performed with. If the tattoo was a true likeness, Poe could well believe it.

Someone knocked at the outer office door. Poe tensed. The idiot who’d come back with his mates for a rematch had been sent packing, but some people couldn’t take a warning. He’d had the shit beaten out of him by Towler, but he looked like a drinker. And drinkers brooded. Made themselves believe they were the victim of a terrible miscarriage of justice. Poe wasn’t expecting round three, but he couldn’t rule it out.

‘Stay here,’ he told Bradshaw and Esmerée.

He left his office, crossed the small reception area and opened the outer door. It was William, the antiquarian book dealer. Indica was with him.

‘Hi, William,’ Poe said. ‘What’s up?’

Which made William go bright red, of course. He stuttered something Poe didn’t catch.

Indica rescued him. She stepped forward. Handed him a six-pack of beer. ‘I never got a chance to thank you for helping me out the other day, Poe,’ she said.

The six-pack looked like IPAs from one of the myriad microbreweries springing up in Cumbria. Poe approved of microbreweries. They were the only ones taking risks these days. Some of their beers tasted like you were drinking piss through someone else’s sock, but that was the price of progress.

‘It wasn’t a problem, Indica.’

‘My clients are usually sane and stable. It’s the scratchers at the other end of town who get the headcases.’

‘I don’t think he’ll be back. My colleague Mr Towler had a word with him.’

‘So I heard. Anyway, the offer still stands: if you ever want a tattoo, it’s on the house.’

‘Thank you. I’ll tell my wife. She’s been wanting us to get matching tattoos for a while now. Butterflies.’

‘I can do that. It’d be my pleasure.’

‘I’ll mention it when I get home tonight.’

‘And in the meantime, if there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

Poe smiled. ‘It’s funny you should say that …’

Chapter 44

Indica stared at the screen without saying anything. It was as though she was under a spell. She looked at each photograph individually, then stepped back and took them all in at once. She leaned in and studied the eyes, the mouth, the hair. Before it could get awkward, she said, ‘And this isn’t Photoshopped?’

‘We don’t think so,’ Poe said.

‘It ain’t Photoshopped!’

‘Esmerée’s seen it in the flesh,’ Poe explained.

‘Then I haven’t ever seen anything like this,’ Indica said. ‘I haven’t even heard of anything like this.’