Page 48 of The Killer’s Mark

‘Why do I frequent it?’

Poe nodded.

‘Because things are agreed here with a handshake more binding than an international treaty. Because on Fridays they serve steak and kidney pudding. And because Dookers is safe. There will be no eavesdropping here. We can talk freely.’

‘Let me guess, you want to know why I’m interested in Vincent du Buk.’

‘According to my counterpart, du Buk was a grubby man. He was in bed with some nefarious characters, but no one who threatens these shores.’

‘You’re not interested in du Buk?’

‘I’d never heard of him until Miss Bradshaw called me.’

‘The NCA are interested in him.’

‘Well, they’re an excitable bunch.’

‘That they are,’ Poe agreed. ‘But if we’re not here because of Vincent du Buk, then who are we here for?’

‘I was asked to intervene by Miss Bradshaw.’

Poe didn’t get a chance to force the issue as David arrived with the drinks and the potted shrimp. The beer was bitter and hoppy with a strong foam; the brown shrimps came in a ramekin and were sealed with clarified butter. Before he dug into both, he said, ‘Don’t let me stop you from explaining yourself, Alastor. I’m here for a reason. Out with it.’

‘What do you have, Poe?’

‘On the case I’m on?’

‘Yes.’

‘Next to nothing,’ he admitted. ‘I was hired to find a woman and all I had to go on was the tattoo on the sole of her foot. I identified a porn film she’d starred in and eventually tracked down the lighting photographs. They’re the photographs taken before filming starts, to ensure the lighting rigs are in the right place.’

‘Well I never,’ Locke said. ‘You and I operate in very different worlds, Poe.’

‘Don’t you lot use honeytraps?’

He laughed. ‘Touché.’

‘Anyway, I got a good photograph of the tattoo and I sent it to the pornographer I’d spoken to.’

‘Mark Buckby?’

‘That’s right. He said he would spread it around. Tilly and I were on the train back to Carlisle when he called me in a panic. Said the tattoo’s an urban myth. That it can’t exist. Told me there was a man, a proper hard case apparently, who took one look at the photograph and decided to leave London. I made my way back to Elephant and Castle, where I’d arranged to meet them both. Buckby was dead when I arrived. Tortured.’

‘And his hard-case friend?’

‘He was a no-show.’

‘Which doesn’t bode well for him.’

‘No, it does not.’

‘Who hired you?’

‘Not saying.’

‘And I imagine Miss Bradshaw will say the same if I ask her?’

‘She won’t tell me what she does for you, even though I ask her every single day. She’s a vault.’