Page 105 of The Killer’s Mark

‘These are the ones to focus on,’ she said. ‘These Red Chamber dickwads might know stuff about my pretend mom, but we don’t know what that is, and at the minute we have no way of finding out. But this porn actor dude and the asshat who made the film might know more. Stuff they didn’t tell you, or more likely stuff they’d either forgotten or didn’t think was important.’

Poe was impressed. He’d pretty much come to the same conclusion. He rifled through the pile she’d made. Pulled out a picture with a Post-it note on it. Chance Ryzcek was standing behind Océane Blue. He tapped it. ‘The tattoo on her shoulder,’ he said. ‘That’s a question we haven’t asked yet. You say she didn’t have it when she lived in New York?’

‘Definitely not,’ Esmerée said. ‘And I’m not guessing. She spent most of her life butt-naked or semi-naked. I’d have seen a tattoo on her shoulder.’

‘OK, this is a question we can kick around for a while. Your mum – because we don’t know for sure she isn’t your mum – is running for her life. She manages to get out of the States. For some reason she flees to England. England’s a small country. Parts of it have saturation CCTV coverage. But she feels compelled to get a new tattoo. Why? Exposure like that is a risk. A way to be remembered when that’s the exact opposite of what she’s trying to achieve. What was important enough to take that risk?’

‘Maybe she was covering up a scar?’ Esmerée said.

‘Tattoos don’t work like that. Scar tissue doesn’t absorb ink the way skin does. Anyway, if the scar was bad enough to be covered up, it would be bad enough for a tattooist to remember it. Maybe even report it.’

‘Like doctors in the US have to report bullet wounds.’

‘Exactly.’

Esmerée nodded. Looked thoughtful. ‘I wish we could wave a magic wand and get a better look at it. It’s all out of focus in these photographs.’

‘Detectives don’t wish for things to happen, Esmerée, they make things happen. But go on, I think you’re on to something.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’

Esmerée flicked through the pictures until she found the clearest one. She unlocked her new iPhone and took a photograph of the tattoo. She then pinched out and expanded it. Her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘It ain’t writing,’ she said. ‘If it’s an “I Hate Esmerée” tattoo, she’s used emojis.’

‘It’s a drawing,’ Poe agreed.

‘My pretend mom belonged to that Vincent du Buk asshole, right?’ she said. ‘She was like his property or something. She even had a brand on the sole of her foot.’

‘Right.’

‘So what if she tried to make it on her own but didn’t know how to? What if she’d gotten so used to having everything done for her that she became like retarded when it came to managing stuff for herself?’

‘Retarded isn’t a nice word, Esmerée,’ Poe said. ‘But go on.’

‘Are you messing with me?’

‘I’m not. If this is going where I think it’s going, it’s a line I haven’t considered.’

‘OK, well what if my pretend mom didn’t like living under her own steam. What if she went out and found herself another Vincent du Buk. And what if this new asshole also wanted her to wear his brand. Or maybe he’s a pimp and she’s one of his whores. Either way, you have something to check. Maybe you can speak to your old contacts. See if there are any pimps in the UK who tattoo their women.’

Poe nodded. It was a good idea. ‘I’ll make some calls.’

Which was when his phone rang. It was Melody Lee. He showed Esmerée the screen.

She shrugged. Faked being casual. ‘Go on, answer it.’

Poe did. He listened for a bit, spoke for a bit. After a minute, he said, ‘OK, thanks, Special Agent Lee.’ He ended the call. Looked at Esmerée. ‘Seventeen years ago, Vincent du Buk paid for Océane Blue’s tubal ligation reversal.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘It means she is your mother.’

Chapter 86

Poe thought Esmerée took the news well. Her alien hand flipped out, smashed some mugs and spilled some coffee, but that seemed fair enough. She’d just got used to the idea that the woman she had thought was her mother wasn’t her mother, until Poe did the old fliperoo and told her she’d been right all along – in all probability, Océane Blue was her mother. Poe didn’t have an alien hand but even he felt like smashing something. Instead, he told her to grab a pair of Estelle’s wellies while he made some sandwiches.

They spent the rest of the day with Edgar, wandering the grounds of Highwood. Esmerée searched without luck for Towler’s guys. Poe thought he’d seen one of them, but it could just as easily have been a red deer.