Page 50 of The Killer’s Mark

‘He no longer wields a badge, though, sir.’

‘Which means he’s no longer bound by rules,’ Locke said. ‘That will be a sight to behold.’ He chuckled. ‘Washington Poe versus a sadistic organised crime gang with virtually unlimited resources. Where’s your money, Jenkins?’

‘I’m not taking that bet, sir.’

‘Then your mother raised a very wise man.’

In the back of the Range Rover, Poe picked up the car phone and rang directory enquiries. He asked for Cowie House in Carlisle. The phone rang ten times. Monica Costelloe would be long gone, but Poe reckoned Bradshaw would still be there. He thought she would realise his phone had been confiscated and he didn’t have her number. That calling Cowie House was the only way he had of getting in touch. If she heard the phone in reception, she’d either run down and answer it, or, more likely, she’d know how to transfer the call to herself.

He was right. She did.

‘Matilda Bradshaw, gumshoe for hire,’ she said. ‘This is not Cowie House reception. I repeat, this is not Cowie House reception. If you want one of the other businesses, I suggest you call back in the morning. Unless you want the ghost hunter, in which case I suggest you re-evaluate your life.’

‘Tilly, it’s me,’ Poe said.

‘Gosh, Poe, wherever have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all night.’

After Poe had updated her, she said, ‘This is all very … strange.’

‘You don’t know the half of it, Tilly,’ he said. ‘That sneaky bastard Alastor Locke is manipulating us again.’

Chapter 41

Poe didn’t get back to Highwood until three in the morning. Bradshaw was waiting for him. Poe didn’t think he could remember ever being awake when she was asleep. He wasn’t even sure she did sleep. She said Estelle had wanted to wait up as well, but she had a complex post-mortem first thing in the morning and needed her wits about her.

‘Why do you think he’s manipulating you, Poe?’ she asked.

‘It’s what he does.’

Bradshaw nodded. She was aware of Locke’s duplicity. ‘But why do you think he’s manipulating you on this occasion?’

Poe hadn’t elaborated in the car. He’d assumed Locke’s driver would report back on his side of the conversation.

‘Because he asked to see the tattoo photographs. Alastor never asks a question he doesn’t already have the answer to, so he’ll have known the cops at Elephant and Castle took my phone. Yet he asked to see the photograph anyway. Why?’

‘Perhaps he forgot.’

‘Really?’

Bradshaw paused a moment. ‘No, you’re right; he’s manipulating us.’

‘The tattoo is important to him. Or maybe it isn’t. Perhaps he just knows it’s important to us but didn’t want to step on any toes. I imagine all sorts of intelligence passes across his desk.’

‘You have no idea, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘He receives daily reports from more than a hundred agencies. And he reads them all.’

‘And not all of those reports can be relevant to national security.’

‘Only a tiny percentage.’

‘So it’s not implausible he’s read something relevant to Esmerée’s case but wasn’t sure how to tell us. His intentional slip about the tattoo was his way of doing it.’ Poe blew on his tea and took a sip. ‘So, we have a senior spook talking about the tattoo, we have someone telling us the tattoo is an urban myth, and we have a dead pornographer.’

‘Was Mr Buckby definitely tortured?’

Poe nodded. ‘They wanted something from him. As soon as they got it, the torture stopped.’

‘They must have wanted the name of his contact. The man who told him the tattoo was an urban myth.’

‘That’s what I think too, Tilly.’