Chapter 4
Poe was in a slightly better mood as he jogged back up the stairs.
William had offered him a free book and Indica had offered him a free tattoo.
He’d declined both. For now. He was always looking for his next read, and William had some decent hard-boiled American crime fiction on his website, and Estelle had mentioned getting matching tattoos a few weeks ago. Maybe he could surprise her.
‘We’re in here, Poe,’ Bradshaw called out as soon as he stepped into the office.
We?
He pushed open his office door. Bradshaw and a weird goth girl were sitting at his meeting table. Bradshaw was sipping a fruit tea. She wasn’t supposed to drink fruit tea in his office, just as he wasn’t supposed to eat pies in hers. The girl had a can of Coke. Full fat.
‘Hello, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Indica had another idiot customer. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Good. This is Esmerée Blue.’ She held his eye. ‘She’s our new client.’
‘She is?’
‘Yes, Poe. She is.’
The girl rolled her eyes. Said, ‘Is this asshole the other gumshoe?’
‘She says the bottom thing a lot,’ Bradshaw explained.
Other than that it was American, Poe didn’t recognise her accent. It wasn’t one of the obvious ones like Boston or the Deep South. It might have been New York, but if it was, it was refined. Wall Street not Skid Row.
‘How old are you, Esmerée?’ he asked, taking a seat.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Because if you’re under eighteen, which you clearly are, you can’t legally sign a contract. And if you can’t sign a contract, you can’t hire a PI.’
‘I’m twenty-one.’
‘Of course you are.’
Esmerée produced an award-winning pout. ‘I have money,’ she said. She pulled a leather wallet from the pocket of her hoodie. Showed Poe a bunch of tens and twenties. ‘How much do you charge? I need you to find my mom.’
‘A thousand pounds a day plus expenses,’ Poe said.
She fanned the money and counted it. ‘I have ninety pounds.’
‘Then you don’t have enough.’
‘I have a credit card.’
‘Of course you do; you’re twenty-one.’
Esmerée nodded. ‘Right,’ she said. She flipped the wallet and rooted through the cards. Didn’t seem to know what she was looking for. Eventually she found a Barclaycard. She shielded it from view. ‘Do you have a machine? I’ll just read out the number.’
‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen,’ Poe said. He looked over Esmerée’s shoulder. ‘What the …?’
She turned in her seat. Poe pinched the wallet.
‘Hey! Give that back.’
He rooted through until he found a driving licence. ‘Adam no-middle-name Malloy. This is you, is it?’
Even under her harsh make-up, Esmerée blanched.
‘So you’re a liar and a thief?’ Poe said. ‘You’re not twenty-one and you’re not a middle-aged man.’
‘I’m not a fucking thief,’ she snarled.
‘We don’t swear in front of Tilly,’ Poe said automatically, returning the wallet to Esmerée.
Bradshaw tutted.
‘What?’
‘You swear in front of me all the time, Poe. Only last night you said that the F-word chippy had better still be F-word open.’
Poe took a moment. ‘We try not to swear in front of Tilly,’ he said eventually. He softened, remembered he was talking to a child. ‘Look, if you and your mum have had an argument, or if she’s kicked you out, there are people who can help.’
‘I don’t need their help. I need your help.’
‘To find your mum?’
Esmerée nodded.
‘Where is she?’
‘If I knew where she was, I wouldn’t be talking to you.’
Poe said, ‘Fair enough.’
He got up and walked to his desk. Tried to remember how to work the secure phone system. Bradshaw rattled off a list of instructions. Poe followed them without remembering them. He dialled a number. ‘Children and Families, please,’ he said.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Esmerée demanded, alarmed.
‘What Tilly should have done the moment you stepped into our office. I’m calling Children’s Services. We aren’t equipped to deal with this; they are.’
Esmerée began to weep. Didn’t look like she was working an angle. ‘You’re an asshole,’ she sniffed.
‘Yes, I’ll hold,’ Poe said into the phone. Then, ‘Look, you’re a mixed-up kid. You don’t need a private investigator; you need a social worker. They’ll either contact your mum or they’ll—’
‘They can’t contact my mom!’ she yelled.
‘Social workers have almost as much power as police officers,’ Poe said. ‘They can certainly track down an errant mother. Whether she likes it or not, she has obligations. She can’t just abandon you, Esmerée.’
‘She can if she’s dead.’
Which wasn’t what Poe had been expecting her to say. ‘What do you mean, she’s dead? Why would you want me to look for a dead woman?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Yet you don’t have time. You have from now until the duty social worker gets on the phone.’
‘My mom isn’t dead,’ Esmerée said. ‘What I meant was, I thought she was dead.’
‘Why did you think she was dead?’
She squirmed in her seat. It made her look like she had worms. She didn’t answer.
‘OK, let’s try an easier one: why do you think she’s alive?’
‘Because I’ve seen her.’
‘If you’ve seen her, why didn’t you speak to her?’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she was in a goddamn porn movie!’ she yelled. ‘Are you happy now, asshole?’
Something else Poe wasn’t expecting her to say. Without thinking, he said, ‘Why were you watching your mother in a porn film?’
She flung the wallet at him. It hit him on the shoulder. A load of wallet tinsel fell out. A couple more credit cards. Some loyalty cards. The usual stuff.
‘Because that goddamn pervert Adam Malloy made me watch it with him.’
‘Kyle Samson, duty social worker,’ said someone, Kyle Samson presumably, at the other end of the phone. ‘How can I help you?’
Poe gently placed the phone back in its cradle. ‘How old are you?’ he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and flat.
‘I’m twenty-one,’ Esmerée replied sullenly.
‘How old are you?’
‘I’m twenty-one!’
‘Esmerée,’ Poe said gently. ‘It’s important I know. How old are you?’
‘You can trust Poe,’ Bradshaw said.
‘I’m sixteen,’ she mumbled.
Poe waited.
‘OK, I’m nearly sixteen.’
Poe took the bundle of cash she was still holding. He passed it to Bradshaw. ‘Give Esmerée a receipt for ninety pounds, Tilly.’
Esmerée looked up. ‘Do you mean …?’
Poe nodded. ‘Consider us hired.’
She let out a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said. She wiped away a tear, then picked up her can of Coke and started beating the shit out of the table.
Poe stared, astonished.
‘Oh, one other thing, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘Esmerée has alien hand syndrome.’