Page 97 of The Killer’s Mark

‘And the powers-that-be found out he’d kept a concubine. Probably when they were vetting him ahead of the PM making a statement.’

‘That’s not what happened, Poe.’

‘Oh?’

‘His daughter inherited his estate. On his death, she forced open the safe in his office. Found an AegisBox.’

‘A handheld safe that destroys its contents if tampered with,’ Bradshaw said without being asked.

‘Do you want to guess what she found inside the AegisBox?’

Poe’s mouth went dry. He suddenly felt cold, like his office had turned into a meat locker. He closed his eyes.

Gilliard nodded. Realised Poe had worked it out for himself. ‘What do you know about snuff films, Poe?’

Poe opened his eyes. Took his time before he answered.

‘They’re an urban myth,’ he said carefully.

Chapter 79

An urban myth. That was what the late Frank O’Rourke, Mark Buckby’s contact, had said about the tattoo on Océane Blue’s foot. He’d said that it couldn’t exist. He’d got so frightened when he saw evidence that it did exist, he’d tried to leave London. Ended up with five bullets in his head.

Poe thought that when Vice Admiral Boyer’s daughter had opened her father’s AegisBox, she’d found the first documented case of a snuff movie. He felt sick to his stomach. He glanced at Bradshaw and nodded. Silently thanked her for getting Esmerée to leave the room. He didn’t know why, but it felt important. Esmerée knew about murder. She’d witnessed her mother killing Vincent du Buk. And against his better judgement, he’d let her see the photographs he’d taken of Mark Buckby. But no one needed to know that snuff films existed. Stuff like that never left you.

‘There hasn’t been a single verified case of a commercially available snuff film,’ he said. ‘Not just in this country, in any country. Murders have been filmed, but never for profit. You’re now telling me that’s a fallacy? Something we tell each other to make us feel safe?’

Gilliard said, ‘Have you heard the antimetabole, “the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence”?’

‘I have. I don’t know what an antimetabole is.’

‘It’s the repetition of words in successive clauses in transposed order, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. “All for one, and one for all” is an antimetabole. So is “when the going gets tough, the tough get going”.’

‘Ah,’ Poe said. ‘Like “monkey see, monkey do”.’

‘No, Poe. That is not correct.’

‘Regardless, the late vice admiral had a snuff movie in his safe?’

‘He did.’

‘They exist, then. Why does this world never cease to disappoint me?’

Gilliard and Susan looked at each other. They appeared uncomfortable.

‘What?’

‘There was something else in the AegisBox,’ Gilliard said. ‘Something worse.’

Chapter 80

It was Jasmine Gold’s big day. Her forty-first birthday. Payday. For the first time in twenty years, Richard Lloyd, her Red Chamber benefactor, had treated her to breakfast in bed. A pain au chocolat and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Her favourite. He’d given her an exquisite pair of diamond earrings to remember him by, then taken her to lunch. They’d gone to Chicago’s most exclusive restaurant, where they’d eaten Rappahannock oysters and drunk Louis Roederer champagne. They’d reminisced about the last twenty years and discussed her future. She was, as Richard explained, about to become a very wealthy woman. He hoped she would keep in touch. She’d laughed and said her replacement was probably already paid for. Richard didn’t disagree, which kind of hurt Jasmine, but not enough to spoil her mood.

After lunch, Richard took her to see her Red Chamber contacts, the men who had managed her money for the last twenty years. It was an emotional day for them as well, he’d said, but more importantly, she’d need the passwords to her new bank accounts. He had arranged to meet them at a veterinarian’s office thirty miles out of the city. He said that although the Red Chamber guys were always under police surveillance, this was for her protection rather than theirs. If the IRS ever got wind of her money, she’d lose half of it in taxes. Jasmine had replied that the IRS were money-grabbing idiots and she was leaving the US the very next day. She’d planned to have a year in the Bahamas while she decided what she would do with the rest of her life. Richard had said that was a good plan.

He drove his Jaguar fast and hard and they were soon there. He led her into the unlocked veterinarian’s office. Three Red Chamber men were waiting for her. They smiled, seemed glad to see her one last time. To say goodbye properly. One of them handed her a glass of fizz, another opened a briefcase and removed some documents. He passed them to her. The third filmed the event. Richard said it was so he could see the shock on her face when she realised just how rich she was.

She read the top spreadsheet, engrossed in the numbers, which she guessed were now her numbers. They were huge. It was probably why she didn’t hear the snick of the revolver’s hammer being pulled back. She certainly didn’t hear the .22 calibre round that punched a hole in the back of her head and bounced around the inside of her skull, turning her brain into pâté.