Page 103 of The Killer’s Mark

His first review gave him nothing. No new insight into where Océane Blue might be hiding. The facts remained as they’d been the previous day. All that had changed were the stakes. Two days ago, he’d thought Océane was on the run from the FBI because she’d killed her benefactor. Now he knew she was also running from a vicious gang of triads. The kind that made snuff movies and skinned their victim’s feet. Detective Chief Inspector Gilliard thought she might have fled with some evidence, the silver bullet that could destroy the whole sorry organisation. Poe didn’t know about that. He thought if Océane had that kind of evidence, she’d have already used it as leverage. There wasn’t a DA in the whole of the USA who wouldn’t have let her skate on the murder of Vincent du Buk if she’d given them enough to put away the Red Chamber. Cases like that came along once or twice in a prosecutor’s career.

But it didn’t matter what Poe thought. Not when the Red Chamber believed that she had enough to take them down. Their perception was their reality. She was a threat and she needed to disappear. And Poe had unwittingly told them she had fled to England. A week ago, they’d had a globe to scour; now they had a tiny, CCTV-happy island.

He had just started shuffling the paperwork when Esmerée walked in, yawning, eyes crusty with sleep. ‘Hey, Poe,’ she said. She sloped to the Aga and got herself a coffee, then took a seat at the table. ‘What time did you guys go to bed?’

Poe turned the pile of papers upside down. ‘About two.’

‘For real? How come you’re not crazy tired?’

‘I’m not a good sleeper at the best of times. And these—’

‘Aren’t the best of times?’

Poe passed her the sugar bowl, watched as she heaped in eight spoonfuls. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re not.’

‘Where’s Estelle?’

‘Work. Early post-mortem.’

‘Just me and you today, then. Are we heading into Carlisle?’

‘I’m having a duvet day.’

Esmerée leaned over and tapped the pile of papers. ‘What’s this?’

‘Everything we’ve learned,’ Poe said. ‘Which isn’t much.’

‘Why’s it all bunched up like that?’

‘Old detective’s trick. When you aren’t getting anywhere, you throw everything up in the air and start again. Next best thing to looking at it with fresh eyes.’

‘I have fresh eyes,’ Esmerée said.

‘You have eyes like a racing dog’s bollocks, Esmerée. And I can’t let you see this.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because your mom’s in some of them. Naked.’

‘She’s not my mom.’

‘You don’t know that. And you don’t know that because I don’t know that.’

He told her about his conversation with Special Agent Melody Lee. Said he was expecting her to call back today, even if it was to say she hadn’t yet found anything.

‘You’d do that for me?’

‘It was Estelle’s idea. But yes, of course I would.’

Esmerée sipped her sweetened coffee. Blew on it. She looked into her mug and mumbled, ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘You trust her, this Melody Lee?’

‘I do.’

‘I don’t trust anyone.’