Page 134 of The Killer’s Mark

‘I was a slave in all but name. I accompanied him to social events, sometimes as his PA, sometimes as his out-of-town niece, and I occasionally cooked for him, but my main role was to satisfy his urges. Essentially I was his live-in, highly skilled whore.’

‘You couldn’t leave?’

‘I could leave the house. Meet friends for drinks and lunch. But I wasn’t allowed to do anything without his permission. And honestly, until I discovered what I discovered, I had no reason to. He took care of me, and his bedroom needs were pretty vanilla.’

‘OK, so you found out, or you suspected, that you were never going to get paid. What did you do?’

‘I endeavoured to learn as much as I could about the Red Chamber. I knew what was in my bullshit contract, but I didn’t know what was in Vincent’s. Unfortunately for him and the assholes he bought me from, I’m highly skilled at manipulating men. They’d trained me to be. To anticipate his needs before he even had them kind of thing. It wasn’t hard, particularly when he got blackout drunk every Saturday night. I soon found his contract and I got the rest of the story piece by piece. It didn’t take me long.’

‘What did you discover?’

‘You know what I discovered. The Red Chamber had no intention of giving me my money. They were keeping it for themselves and I was scheduled to die the day my contract finished. At which point Vincent would sign a new contract for a new girl. Another fresh-faced, corn-fed dairy queen.’

‘You started gathering proof?’

She patted the conference folder. ‘As much as I could. Copied what he would miss, stole what he wouldn’t. There was enough for me to know I had to do something, but not enough to go to the feds and demand protection. I don’t know what it is you think you can do with it that they can’t.’

‘Let me worry about that,’ Poe said. ‘I have my best people on it. You stayed with him for a long time after you discovered what the Red Chamber had in store for you. By our reckoning, at least another fifteen or sixteen years?’

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

‘I figured I was safe until my contract was up. More than enough time to think of an exit strategy. Preferably one that didn’t have me looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. And I did. I came up with the perfect out. I was happy with it. Vincent was happy with it. I would leave with some money and the Red Chamber wouldn’t suspect a thing. We’d even set a date.’

‘It didn’t go as planned?’

She shook her head, angry again. ‘It didn’t.’

‘What happened?’

‘What do you think happened?’ Océane said. ‘Esmerée fucking killed him.’

Chapter 110

Which certainly explained why Océane had abandoned Esmerée in New York. Why she still held such animosity towards her daughter. She had found a way out. Maybe it was a loophole, maybe it was something else. Then Esmerée had ballsed it up by sticking a knife in her benefactor’s neck. That was the way Océane explained it anyway. Poe suspected there was more to it, but he didn’t force the issue. They still needed her help.

Towler pulled into a service station and they took turns to use the facilities. They bought coffee and doughnuts, fuelled the car, and were back on the road in fifteen minutes. Towler finished his coffee and threw the empty cup out of the window. He burped, then said, ‘So, Mrs Porn-McPorny, who put the Wednesday Addams bun in your oven?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard. Which sad sack knocked you up?’

Poe hid a smile. Towler wasn’t bothered who he upset or when he upset them. He was very much like Bradshaw in that regard; although for him, upsetting people was half the fun. Bradshaw rarely noticed.

Océane leaned forward and glared at him. She may as well have glared at one of the Easter Island heads. Towler didn’t care. He really didn’t like her. Poe knew why. Towler’s daughter was around the same age as Esmerée. He couldn’t get his head around the idea of abandoning your own child. It didn’t matter what they had done.

‘I assume it was Vincent du Fuck who forgot to put his rubber on,’ he said. ‘Otherwise he was paying a million quid a year just to stir another man’s porridge.’

Océane sank back in her seat. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she said.

‘And you’ve been rattled more times than a beggar’s tin.’

She scowled.

Chapter 111

Towler left the M6 at Junction 40. He navigated through Penrith and turned into Booths, the Waitrose of the north. A black Range Rover flashed its headlights. Towler parked next to it. He turned in his seat. ‘This is where we leave you, Poe,’ he said.