Chapter 104
‘Smallholding’ was a bit of an exaggeration for the Midnight Beekeeper’s honey empire. Océane didn’t live in a house; she lived in a static caravan – maybe the first ever static caravan – on the edge of a small orchard.
The caravan was near, but not too near, her beehives.
Poe counted them. She had twenty that he could see, but he suspected there were more he couldn’t.
Even at this time of night he could hear the low rumble of nesting bees.
It sounded like vibration, which didn’t make sense, but it was the best description he had.
Bradshaw had explained that although individual bees did sleep, the hive didn’t.
Night-time activities included keeping the hive warm, processing that day’s nectar and pollen, cleaning up debris. Some other stuff he couldn’t remember.
‘Would you eat honey made by a porn star?’ Towler had asked on the way.
‘Probably,’ Poe had replied. ‘You?’
‘Exclusively.’
Océane’s business vehicle was a panel van. A Peugeot. Chance Ryzcek had said she’d been driving a car when he’d met her. She’d clearly upgraded. Poe could see the magnetic bee logo. He thumbed Bradshaw a text. Told her they’d arrived.
Towler walked around the caravan. When he came back, he said, ‘There’s an escape window at the back in case there’s a fire; otherwise she has nowhere to go.’
‘Do you want to cover it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, it’ll take at least thirty seconds to open, so we’ll have plenty of time. Best we just knock on the door and see what she has to say.’
Which was exactly what they did.
Except Towler did it and he didn’t seem to have a subtle bone in his body.
He thumped the side of the caravan with the flat of his fist. Sounded like he had just belted a marching band’s bass drum.
The noise coming from the beehives changed.
Became angry. Anxious. Towler didn’t care, though.
He kept hammering until a light came on.
‘Who is it?’ a woman on the other side of the metal door said. American accent.
‘My name is Washington Poe, Océane,’ Poe said. ‘This is my friend Matt. We need to talk to you about your daughter, Esmerée.’
She didn’t respond. Poe hadn’t expected her to. Not immediately. He reckoned Océane was a name she’d hoped never to hear again. Towler repeated his thumping on the side of the caravan.
‘My name is Donna Reed,’ she said eventually. ‘I think you must have the wrong caravan. There’s a static site on the other side of Tarring Neville. You’d be better looking there.’
‘Can you open the door, please, Océane? You’re quite safe. We’re not the police and we’re not the Red Chamber.’
‘I told you; my name is—’
‘Donna Reed. But it used to be Océane Blue and before that it was Brandy Calhoun. You were born on a trailer park in Wheeler County, Georgia. You fled after your stepfather repeatedly attempted to rape you. You ended up in North Dakota working for a family-run honey business. One year you were gifted the complete works of Sherlock Holmes, which inspired your dream of keeping bees on a farm on the South Downs. You volunteered to be a Red Chamber concubine, presumably to get the start-up capital. At some point you found out that being a concubine was a death sentence. That the Red Chamber didn’t share the money as per the contract; they killed the women and kept it for themselves.
You stuck a knife in Vincent du Buk’s neck and fled the country.
Came here, which is as near to the South Downs as you can afford.
You are, or you certainly were, supplementing your honey-business income by making porn films. The porn film is how we found you.
’ Poe waited half a breath. ‘Have I missed anything, Matt?’
‘Other than me being eighty-five per cent certain I could pick her bare arse out of a line-up of bare arses, I don’t think so.’
‘I think I’d like you to leave now,’ the woman said, her voice quavering and cracking. ‘If you don’t, I’ll call the police.’
‘OK, we’ll wait,’ Poe said.
‘I’m not bluffing.’
‘Neither am I.’
The woman said nothing. It seemed she was pacing her caravan. Probably wondering what to do. Eventually she said, ‘I’m calling the police right now.’
‘And handing yourself in for the murder of Vincent du Buk?’ Poe said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘OK,’ Poe said. ‘But I should probably warn you that we’ve just caught a cop who the Red Chamber had on their payroll. I doubt she was the only one.’
Silence.
He pressed his advantage. ‘She’s handcuffed to the radiator in my office. What does that tell you?’
‘That you’re a really shitty person?’
‘It should tell you that we’re not cops.’
‘You could be Red Chamber.’
‘We’re not.’
‘And I couldn’t be a triad,’ Towler said. ‘Beansprouts give me the wild shites.’
‘I’m not opening this door,’ the woman said.
‘You’re in a tin can. If we were triad fuckheads, we’d have already set a fire underneath it. So do me a favour, love. Get dressed and open the fucking door. If you don’t, I’ll piss in one of your beehives and I won’t tell you which one.’
‘Don’t you touch my bees!’ she yelled.
The lock clicked. The door opened a crack. Light spilled out like a laser. Océane Blue peered at them. Still suspicious. ‘What’s Esmerée done this time?’ she said.
‘The Red Chamber have her,’ Poe said. ‘They’re going to kill her in a little over twenty-four hours.’
‘And what’s that got to do with me?’
Poe and Towler glanced at each other.
‘They want to do a swap,’ Poe said. ‘You for her. Obviously we aren’t going to let that happen, but we do need you to come with us.’
‘I can’t,’ Océane said. ‘I have a farmers’ market at nine o’clock, then I’m meeting with a deli owner at four. The owner might put in a recurring order for the Midnight Beekeeper’s premium range.’
‘Did you not hear Poe say they’re going to kill your daughter?’ Towler said incredulously.
‘I heard,’ she said. ‘I just don’t care.’
‘You don’t care?’ he repeated woodenly.
‘Why would I?’ Océane Blue said, opening the door. ‘That little bitch ruined everything. I hope she rots in hell.’