Chapter 82
‘These addictive-as-crack things should be illegal,’ Esmerée said, chewing noisily, her open mouth spraying bits of pastry everywhere.
‘Also, they should be called sausage flats because they certainly ain’t roll-shaped.
’ She pulled one of the sausage rolls apart.
Held it up so they could see it. ‘And what the hell is this pink gunk in the middle supposed to be? Because if it’s part of a pig, it ain’t a part you’re supposed to eat. Probably ears and assholes.’
‘Well now I want another one,’ Poe said.
They were in Highwood’s back kitchen, drinking tea and eating their Greggs straight from the bag.
Estelle was with them. Bradshaw had stayed in Carlisle.
She needed to talk to Alastor Locke. Review what the NCA’s ill-advised eavesdropping operation might have overheard.
Edgar was scrabbling around on the slate floor, hoovering up shards of flaky pastry.
Esmerée took another bite of her sausage roll. Grimaced. ‘And what gives with the way they serve it? The first one I ate was hotter than the goddam sun, the second one was colder than a whale’s butt.’
‘It’s a tax loophole,’ Poe said. ‘Because Greggs don’t keep their food hot, they don’t have to pay VAT. Means they can sell them cheaper. It was a whole thing a few a years ago. They called it the pasty tax.’
Esmerée yawned. ‘Sounds exciting.’
‘Wait until he tells you this a seventh time,’ Estelle said.
‘Ha-ha,’ Poe said. ‘But I will be calling them sausage flats from now on.’
‘Come on, off to bed,’ Estelle said. ‘You and Poe have had a bit of a day.’
‘You can say that again. We ambushed those feds, then I found out my mom isn’t my mom.’
‘Which Poe will get into first thing.’
‘Can I come with you to Cowie House tomorrow, Poe?’
‘You’ll have to,’ Estelle said. ‘I’m still doing restricted-access post-mortems.’
‘Cool.’
‘Do you want anything to drink?’ Poe said. ‘I can put the kettle on.’
‘Got milk?’
‘Yes,’ Estelle said. ‘We get it fresh from the dairy farm next door.’
‘Er … no. Got milk. It’s a saying.’
‘Not in this house it isn’t,’ Poe muttered after Esmerée had disappeared up the back stairs.
‘Do the NCA know she’s your client?’ Estelle asked.
‘If they haven’t worked it out by now, they’re stupider than a box of potatoes.
They don’t know who she is, though. I think that really has them stumped.
When Steph’s friend Susan Hawksworth ruled out her being related to Océane Blue, it kind of threw everyone.
It certainly threw Esmerée. We had another alien hand incident.
She punched herself this time. Split her lip and bent her nose.
That’s why there’s blood on your old T-shirt. ’
‘Tell me exactly what Susan said.’
‘One of the things the women are required to do before starting their Red Chamber contract is get sterilised. Turns out that the kind of men who would pay a million quid a year for what is essentially a live-in sex slave aren’t interested in having children with them.’
‘Did she say what procedure?’
‘Why?’
‘Because some are more easily reversed.’
Poe told her what he knew. That the Red Chamber women had their fallopian tubes tied.
‘That poor girl,’ Estelle said when he’d finished.
‘She was struggling with her identity anyway, and now she doesn’t know who her mother is.
She has no one to anchor herself to. If we don’t fix that, she’ll drift away.
’ She sipped her wine. ‘Look, I know we can’t be responsible for everyone, but do you think—’
‘What do you need me to do?’
‘Find out who her mother is, Poe. The best thing we can do for her right now is to give her a name. If Océane Blue isn’t her mother, then someone else is.’
‘The answer is likely in the States.’
‘And you have a good friend in the FBI.’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s one a.m. That means it’s only eight o’clock in DC. Why don’t you give her a call?’
Poe couldn’t think of a reason not to. He scrolled through his phone, found the right number and pressed call.
‘FBI, Washington field office,’ someone said.
Poe asked to speak to Special Agent Melody Lee. He said she wasn’t expecting his call, but she’d probably take it. He was asked to hold. He turned on the speakerphone function and set the phone on the kitchen table.
While they waited, Estelle said, ‘Oh, and thanks for telling Tilly to ask me about her sex drive conundrum. That wasn’t an awkward conversation at all.’
Poe grinned. ‘How’d it go?’
‘I doubt there’s been a birds-and-bees discussion quite like it. She had blood test results and hormone level charts, more tests than I run on suspicious deaths.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing to do with you, mister. Gal talk. I will say one thing, though, having a fifteen-year-old here is good for Tilly.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Esmerée talks to her about things we don’t.’
‘Or won’t,’ Poe said.
‘Exactly. She asked Tilly if she had a boyfriend, and when she said no, she asked why not. I doubt Tilly’s ever thought about that before.’
Poe picked up his tea. Blew on it and took a sip. ‘And now she is.’
‘Yes,’ Estelle said. ‘She’s even talking about her legacy.’
‘Legacy?’
‘Children, Poe.’
Poe spat tea all over his shirt. ‘Children?’
‘She doesn’t want her intellect to die when she does.’
‘But how …’
His question died when someone with a strong Louisiana accent said, ‘Washington Poe, why am I not surprised to be hearing from your lily-white ass?’