Chapter 18
The cabbie dropped them off right outside the pub and they found a table near the back.
They were early. Bradshaw opened her laptop and logged on to the staff Wi-Fi network.
‘I still have work to do for Alastor Locke,’ she said.
And with that short and simple statement, she disappeared into Bradshaw-land.
Poe removed his notebook from his battered old travel satchel and reviewed what he knew about Esmerée’s case so far, using bullet points.
The problem with writing everything down as a narrative was that it became linear.
You fell into the post hoc ergo propter hoc trap – ‘after this, therefore because of this’.
There was a chronological timeline, but it didn’t mean everything was linked. So Poe used bullet points. Always had.
Esmerée’s mother, Océane Blue, was living with Vincent du Buk, a private equity firm manager. Their relationship is unclear, but it might have been a sugar daddy/sugar baby arrangement.
Vincent du Buk is dead. FACT. Esmerée claims he was murdered by Océane Blue.
Vincent du Buk might have been involved with unsavoury characters. MAYBE HE WAS MANAGING THEIR MONEY? CHECK WITH FBI CONTACT?
Océane abandons Esmerée in New York and flees.
Esmerée grabs some loose cash and flees too. She makes her way to England and ends up on the outskirts of Carlisle.
Esmerée believed her mother was dead. Killed by du Buk’s associates.
Adam Malloy forces Esmerée to watch a pornographic film. She sees her mother in the film. She is masked, but Esmerée recognises her by the tattoo on the sole of her foot.
Océane might have a new tattoo on her shoulder.
Poe tapped his pen against his teeth. He added another bullet point.
Esmerée has alien hand syndrome.
He was wondering if the last point was relevant when Flynn arrived. She wasn’t alone. Poe stood up to greet his old boss. He then shook hands with her colleague. She introduced herself as Susan Hawksworth. She was National Crime Agency as well.
Poe nudged Bradshaw. ‘Say hello to the boss, Tilly.’
She looked up from her laptop and blinked in surprise. ‘Oh, hello, DCI Stephanie Flynn.’
‘Come here, you geeky idiot,’ Flynn said, grabbing and hugging her. ‘You still watching what Poe eats?’
‘If by that you mean watching him consume his own weight in black pudding, yes, I am watching what he eats.’
Flynn poked him in the stomach. ‘I don’t know how you’re not the fattest man on earth, Poe. Scientists should study your metabolism.’
‘Anger burns calories,’ he said.
‘A salad won’t kill you, though, mate.’
‘I’d rather eat wasps.’
Bradshaw cleared her throat. ‘According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, the world’s population will have reached nine billion people by 2050, so insects will form part of everyone’s diet.’
Poe considered this. ‘Well, let’s hope we’re both dead by then.’
Bradshaw nodded in agreement. ‘Insects are gross.’
Flynn put her arms around them both. ‘I’ve missed you guys,’ she said.
‘What’s it like being a private enquiry agent, Poe?’ she asked after they’d ordered food. Pie and mash for Poe, garden salads for everyone else.
‘Slow,’ he said. ‘But I’m enjoying the change of pace.’
‘Poe refused twenty-two cases before he accepted this one, DCI Flynn,’ Bradshaw said. ‘And it wasn’t even him who accepted it, it was me. Poe was downstairs having a fist fight.’
Flynn raised her eyebrows.
‘I stick to my strengths,’ Poe said.
He spent fifteen minutes outlining everything that had happened since the start of the week.
He didn’t mention Océane by name, and he didn’t mention Esmerée at all.
If what Esmerée had said was true, Vincent du Buk’s associates might be looking for her as well.
But he made it clear he was trying to track down a woman, and the only lead he had was that she might have recently starred in a pornographic film.
‘Was it a professional film, or home-made?’ Susan asked.
‘I’m no expert, but I think maybe semi-professional.’
‘There were no credits at the start or the end? No indication of who produced it? No actors’ names?’
‘It was just a clip. They were naked when it started, and it ended when the blond guy … ended.’
‘Any indication where it was filmed? Was it a studio or a hotel room? Maybe a private residence? A lot of Airbnbs are rented to shoot porn films these days.’
Poe looked at Flynn. Raised his eyebrows.
‘Susan works for Organised Crime Command,’ Flynn explained. ‘They keep a watching brief on the porn industry as it’s occasionally used to launder money. And we keep a watching brief on it as some of the women have been trafficked to the UK for the express purpose of making porn films.’
Flynn worked for the Modern Slavery and Human Trafficking Unit.
Had done since the Serious Crime Analysis Section had been reorganised after a murder-by-stoning case two years earlier.
She liked it. Was good at it. Her office was closer to where she lived.
Instead of a two-hour commute, she could be at home with her partner and their son in forty-five minutes.
‘You know how I think, boss,’ Poe said. ‘You know how Tilly works. You know how much I dislike London. If we could have identified the film by the background information, we wouldn’t be sitting here.
We couldn’t figure out who made it, where it was filmed or who starred in it, and Tilly says it was illegally uploaded to the website by some random fool a while ago.
She can get me an address, but it won’t help us. ’
‘Calm down, Poe,’ Flynn said. ‘We just need to know who to send you to. There’s no point putting you in contact with the CEO of one of the megacompanies, like Brazzers or Naughty America, if it was just a bunch of doggers in a Bradford car park.’
‘Steph said you were a cranky bugger, Poe,’ Susan said, laughing. ‘It seems she was underplaying it.’
Poe was rescued by the food. His plate was hot and steaming, with rich gravy spilling over the lip. He looked at his pie and mash. Rubbed his hands together in glee. He saw Flynn watching him. ‘Obviously, if Estelle asks, I had the garden salad as well.’
‘What about Tilly?’
‘She doesn’t like pies.’
‘You know what I mean. Will she not grass you up?’
‘Probably, but it’s the boy who cried woof with her. She bubbles me so often, it’s like white noise to Estelle.’
‘It’s the boy who cried wolf, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘And Estelle believes everything I say because I don’t tell fibs.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘This morning you told that man on the train you were partially deaf.’
‘He wanted to talk to me about his cycling holiday, Tilly. His cycling holiday. Anyway, that was politer than what you did. You stuck your tongue out and blew a raspberry.’
Flynn snorted. Shook her head. ‘You two have to be the most socially awkward people in the whole country.’ She checked her watch. ‘Anyway, eat up, Susan and I have real jobs. We can’t stay in the pub all afternoon.’
Poe picked up his fork and stabbed a lump of pie crust. It was thick and glistening with fat. Londoners might not know how to brew beer, but they made proper pies. This was as good as he’d had.
After they had finished their meals, Susan said, ‘I’ll make some calls.
Get you a name. And while I’m at it, I’ll check if my request for intelligence on Vincent du Buk has been approved.
See if he was involved in anything shady.
If he was, his passport will be flagged in case he wanted to enter the UK. ’
Poe raised his eyebrows again.
‘I searched du Buk last night,’ Flynn explained.
‘The moment you told me why you were coming down. And because he managed a private equity firm, his murder is being investigated by the FBI. The search triggered an alert. Susan came to see me this morning. Wanted to know why I was sniffing around a murder in New York. That’s why she’s here. ’
‘Did I get you into trouble?’
‘No, but Susan did have a right to know why I was interested in him.’
Which was Susan’s cue to leave the pub to make her calls. As soon as she’d gone, Flynn said, ‘OK, out with it, Poe. What’s up?’
Poe, right up until that point, hadn’t realised anything was up.
‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘I’m getting an uneasy feeling about this case, boss, and I don’t know why. On the surface, it’s a straightforward misper.’
‘But?’
‘But I don’t understand Océane Blue and Vincent du Buk’s relationship. If it’s transactional, I can’t see how. And I don’t know where the kid fits into it at all.’
Poe was happy discussing names in front of Flynn. He trusted her the same way he trusted Bradshaw and Estelle.
‘You’ll get there; you just don’t have enough data yet.’
Bradshaw looked up from her computer. She always did when someone used words like ‘data’ or ‘software’ or ‘program’.
She was like Edgar. He could sleep through a war, but if you picked up some crisps in a completely different part of the house, he was at your feet before you’d opened the packet.
‘We don’t have enough of anything yet, DCI Flynn,’ she said.
Susan returned. She slipped Poe a bit of paper.
‘This guy’s been in the porn business his entire life,’ she said.
‘Started out making low-budget films before moving into distribution. He’s legit.
Or as much as you can be in that business.
He knows all the movers and shakers and he’s expecting your call. ’
‘He’ll take it?’
‘He will. He occasionally throws us some intelligence, so he’s not anti-police.’
‘Is he in London?’
‘A thirty-minute walk from here.’
Poe grunted his thanks. ‘And du Buk?’
‘Squeaky clean, both sides of the pond,’ Susan said. ‘He doesn’t even have intelligence markers against his name, and you know how rare that is. If he was involved in something, he was doing it well below the radar.’
Poe finished his drink and stood. He wanted to get going.
They were on the 7.30 p.m. train back to Carlisle and he didn’t want to miss it.
Flynn and Susan needed to get back to work as well.
He paid for their lunch, and was just about to say goodbye when his phone chirped.
A text from Estelle. It said: HOW WAS YOUR GARDEN SALAD?
Flynn winked at him. ‘Estelle and I don’t have secrets,’ she said.