Inkslingers Ball (A Forensic Handwriting Mystery)

by Sheila Lowe

  “Except that Annabelle is missing and the girl who was coming to see her has been murdered.” Claudia looked up at him. “What happened to her? Angel, I mean. How did she die?”

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  “Please don’t patronize me, Joel. I have to know.”

  He gave her a long, considering look before giving his answer. “She was beaten and strangled. We’ll know whether there was sexual assault after the autopsy.”

  Claudia sensed that he was leaving out the horrific details. As if what he had said wasn’t horrific enough. “Have you talked to Angel’s boyfriend yet, Mouser?”

  Jovanic’s left eyebrow hiked in that certain way she found so sexy. He said, “You seem to have a lot more information than we do. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me everything you know about Angel.”

  What she knew about the girl was little enough, but by the time she was finished, Claudia could see she had provided some valuable facts that Jovanic could run with.

  “‘Mouser’ could be a gang name. ‘Crash,’ too. I’ll put them into the system, see if anything pops up.” With an apologetic glance, Jovanic leaned down and withdrew a form from his desk drawer and pushed it across to her. “I need you to write out your statement.”

  Claudia couldn’t help giving him a wry grin. “Why? Are you going to have my handwriting analyzed?”

  She finished writing down everything she could think of and left the station. Jovanic had names to run that he hoped would lead to interviews, and she wanted to get back to prowling the streets. The connection between Angel and Travis Navarette, the tattoo shop victim, which Jovanic had just told her about, made her queasy.

  She checked her cell phone every five minutes to make sure she had no missed calls or texts. The hour was still early, but as she cruised the streets of Venice she phoned her friend Zebediah Gold. Annabelle had not required regular therapy for a while now, but maybe he had heard from her.

  Zebediah had not.

  “Put it in perspective, darling,” he suggested in a gentle tone. “This is pretty typical Annabelle behavior.”

  “It used to be, but she hasn’t done anything like this in a long time.”

  “Didn’t you tell me the other day that she secretly got a tattoo?”

  “That’s because of Angel’s influence!”

  “Annabelle isn’t all that easily influenced. She’s pretty strong-minded. She must have wanted the tattoo before Angel set it up for her. Look, sweetie, it’s fine to be concerned, but at this point, I don’t think you need to be alarmed.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, but a girl’s been murdered!” Claudia could not remember ever being angry with Zebediah in their long relationship, but she could feel the heat rising in her now. Her cheeks, even the tips of her ears burned with it. She rang off before he could respond.

  Finally, near tears, she called her closest friend, Kelly Brennan.

  “Jesus,” Kelly breathed. “That kid is a shit magnet. Some people are like that, you know? No matter how good they try to be, trouble follows like a little dark cloud over their shoulder.”

  “Thanks so much, Kel, that’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Well, in Annabelle’s case I’d say she’s got a pretty damn good guardian angel. Look at all the crap she’s lived through, and yet, she’s been doing okay since you’ve been playing mommy substitute. In my practice, I see kids dealing with one-tenth her problems go right off the rails.”

  Kelly was a family law attorney. Much of her work was contracted by the public defender’s office, which at times brought her in contact with the seamier side of society. “What is it you’re afraid of, Claud?” she asked. “Say it out loud.”

  Claudia took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m afraid this guy Crash picked up the girls and killed Angel. That either he’s got Annabelle stashed somewhere, or…” She broke off. Giving voice to her deepest fears was too much like making them a reality.

  “What would his motive be?” Kelly asked, sounding like the defense attorney she once was.

  “People who deliberately kill children don’t have to have a motive. They’re just evil.”

  “You’re right about that. But think about it. This Crash guy had her alone in his van with him for what, an hour or more? He got her drunk. She was in his control. If he planned to hurt her—or worse—why wouldn’t he have done it then?”

  “Who knows? Why would he—or someone—strangle a kid like Angel? Why would Annabelle disappear on the same night Angel’s killed? And why the hell would she sneak out like that?”

  “Listen, Claudia, it’s natural for you to feel a little betrayed. You’ve given her a home and treated her like family. The thing is, she’s acting like family—the only kind she’s ever known—a dysfunctional one. She was doing the same thing long before you knew her, wasn’t she—running off at night?”

  “You’re thinking of when she tried to kill herself. That’s not what’s happened here.”

  “No, that’s not what I was thinking.”

  “What, then?”

  “She knew Angel from her days at Sorensen, that they were in Juvie together, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “They were in Juvie together because they got caught hanging with gangbangers stealing cars. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Not to be obvious, but she’s reconnected with Angel, who is now, well, deceased. Maybe Angel put her back in contact with those gangbangers. Maybe that’s where Joel should start looking.”

  “Much as I hate to admit it, you may have a good point. But bottom line, this is the second time Annabelle has gone missing and someone turned up dead. The first time it was by the grace of God that she escaped. So to tell the truth, Kelly, your scenario doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Want me to come over and wait with you?”

  “No, thanks, I’m gonna drive around some more. It’s better than sitting in the house.”

  “Okay. Call me if anything changes.”

  Claudia promised she would, but after the call disconnected, she flipped her indicator and made a right onto Jefferson, giving in to the realization of how fruitless it was to drive aimlessly around a city as vast as Los Angeles—even this small part of it. Needle in a haystack didn’t begin to describe the problem.

  The dashboard clock showed twenty-seven past eight. On a normal day, Annabelle would be grumbling about having to go to school. Claudia drove past the Ballona Wetlands in a fog of anxiety. The tiny main drag of Playa de la Reina came up fast, with Tyler’s on her left. She made the turn there and drove up the hill and onto her street.

  A few yards down from her house, something caught her attention. A car door opening—an old navy blue Honda Civic that could have benefitted from a paint job.

  A teenage girl she did not recognize stepped out and stretched. Something made Claudia put her foot on the brake. As she slowed to look, the passenger door of the parked car opened and Annabelle exited.

  Chapter Eleven

  Oblivious to Claudia’s presence, the two girls started walking up the block toward the house. She passed them and parked the Jag in the driveway, not bothering to put it in the garage, then climbed out and leaned against the car, waiting for them.

  Annabelle kept shaking her head ‘no,’ at the girl walking with her, who apparently was saying something she did not like. As they neared the house she glanced up and her eyes connected with Claudia’s; her shoulders sagged with resignation and she slouched past without speaking.

  “Annabelle?”

  Annabelle stopped at the foot of the staircase and half-turned, her chin thrust out the way it did when she knew she was in the wrong and intended to brazen it out. “What?”

  “Where were you all night?”

&n
bsp; “Right there!” She flipped a thumb at her friend’s car down the street. “I was in Jamie’s car the whole time. Can we go in the house now?” Without waiting for an answer, she started up the stairs.

  Claudia turned to the other girl, relief jumbled up with anger and frustration. “You’re Jamie?”

  The girl nodded, eyes darting from Claudia to Annabelle, who had reached the front door, then back again.

  Jamie was taller than Annabelle by almost a head, and looked significantly older. Too thin, with bony wrists emerging from the sleeves of the hoodie she hugged around her, dark, pained eyes stood out against the unhealthy pastiness of her skin, like an Animé cartoon.

  Wondering when she had last eaten a decent meal, Claudia extended a hand to indicate that Jamie should follow her friend up the staircase. “Let’s go inside.”

  “…so we decided not to do anything in case we made it worse.”

  The two girls were seated in the breakfast nook with mugs of hot chocolate, eating scrambled eggs and toast as if this were to be their last meal. Jamie hunched over her plate, shoveling food into her mouth in a way that made Claudia think of a prison inmate at chow.

  The food seemed to revive Annabelle and brought a little color to her face. She explained that their plan had been for Jamie to pick up Angel and bring her over to Claudia’s house to return the cell phone and hang out for a while. But upon Jamie’s arrival at the place in Mar Vista where Angel was staying, Angel’s boyfriend Mouser had come to the door and said she wasn’t there, that Big Carl had picked her up earlier.

  Claudia took her coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it out. “Who is Big Carl and why would Angel go with him if she was waiting for Jamie?”

  “He’s Viper’s muscle,” said Annabelle.

  “And who is Viper?”

  At the same time Jamie, who had remained silent until now, shot a venomous look at Annabelle. “Just a guy.”

  Yeah, right. Every guy needs his own personal muscle. What had these girls gotten themselves involved with? Claudia focused her gaze on Jamie. “Tell me, why does Viper need Big Carl for protection?”

  “Claudia,” Annabelle broke in with exaggerated patience, as if Claudia were a child. “I thought you wanted to know what happened last night, not ask a bunch of lame questions.”

  Claudia regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Fine, but we’re not finished with the lame questions. Why did this Viper person send Big Carl to get Angel?”

  “Mouser said that Viper was majorly pissed about something, and Angel was gonna have to pay.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jamie hissed.

  Annabelle blushed scarlet and ducked her head, busying herself with sweeping toast crumbs off the wooden tabletop into her hand. “Sorry.”

  “Any idea what got Viper upset?” Claudia asked, ignoring the outburst.

  “How should I know? Mouser told me to beat it, so I came and got her,” Jamie jerked her head in Annabelle’s direction. “Then we went back over to his place and waited outside for a long time, but Angel never showed up.”

  “So we came back here,” Annabelle added, carrying her plate to the sink. “We sat outside for just about forever, waiting for Angel to call Jamie. It was freezing, but I guess we fell asleep.”

  “Yeah,” Jamie added. “That’s all we know.”

  Jamie was lying about something. Claudia could feel it. She aimed to find out what was going on in the way she knew best. Taking a pad and pen from the counter she slid them in front of Jamie. “Write down Angel’s phone number and address and yours, please.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to.”

  Jamie’s flat black stare radiated a feral suspicion. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “She’s gonna analyze your handwriting,” Annabelle told her with an impudent grin. “Aren’t you?”

  Claudia did a Groucho Marx bounce of her eyebrows. “You never know.”

  “But I don’t like to write.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “Well, yeah, of course.”

  “Okay, write it then. Also, what about Angel’s parents? Do you have their contact information?”

  Jamie picked up the pen and stared at it with revulsion, as if it were a poisonous snake. “Her old man lives in New York. Her mom is in Italy or someplace in Europe.”

  “Just write everything that happened last night.”

  Annabelle sat back down and stirred her hot chocolate with a defeated groan. “I guess I’m in trouble again?”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Claudia said. “You pretty much scared me to bits, disappearing like that.”

  “How’d you know I was gone?”

  “Joel got a call out and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I looked in on you.” She caught Annabelle’s half-smile and smiled back at her. “Took about five years off my life when I saw you weren’t there.”

  The heart-shaped face filled with contrition. “I’m really sorry, Claudia, I am. I promise. When I talked to Angel—you know, on your phone when we were at Tyler’s? She told me to meet her outside at ten last night, but when I went out it was just Jamie, and, well, I was just down the street in her car; I didn’t know we were going anywhere. And you and Joel already went to bed, so I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “That’s not a good excuse, you know that, right?”

  “I guess, but—”

  “You’ve got people who care about what happens to you. Please always remember that.”

  Annabelle looked down, but said nothing. Claudia knew it was going to take a long time for her to accept that she was truly loved. How on earth was she going to break the news that Angel was dead? She knew she had to call Jovanic soon. He would want to interview Jamie in case she had anything valuable to contribute. She hated seeing Annabelle subjected to questioning, too.

  From the corner of her eye, Claudia could see that Jamie had covered about a half-page with just a few lines. “You can also write down anything you know about Viper,” she said.

  Jamie looked up from the pad, where she seemed to be taking great pains with her writing, holding the pen awkwardly between her second and third fingers. “I don’t know anything. We just hang out at his place.”

  “What place is that?”

  “Dragon House.”

  “Let me guess; it’s a tattoo parlor?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Is that where Crash works, too?”

  “Claudia!” Annabelle exclaimed, telegraphing a clear message that told Claudia Annabelle’s tattoo had been arranged between her and Angel alone, and she did not want Jamie to know about it.

  Jamie flashed her a quick look through narrowed eyes. “How do you know Crash?”

  Claudia let the question go. “How old are you, Jamie?”

  “I’ll be eighteen in November.”

  “You like to hang out with younger girls?”

  “Hell, no. Viper told me to keep an eye on Angel bec—” Abruptly, Jamie cut herself off and threw down the pen. She shoved the pad to the center of the table.

  “Because why?”

  “When Viper says do something, you don’t ask questions.”

  “What happens when you ask questions?”

  Jamie shifted uneasily in her seat. “What is this, like, the fifth degree or something?” She picked up the last bit of toast on her plate and shoved it in her mouth, chewing madly.

  “No, it’s not the third degree, but I’m responsible for Annabelle while her father’s out of town, and she was with you, so I’d like to know a little background. What happens when you don’t do what Viper says?”

  “Nothing. He gets mad.”

  “I get that. But what happens when he gets mad. What does he do?”


  “He—he gets real quiet.”

  “And?”

  Jamie hesitated and Claudia could almost see the lie forming in her mouth. “Nothing. He doesn’t do nothing.”

  Claudia noted Annabelle’s expression of disbelief, though she refrained from contradicting the older girl. “What do you like about hanging out at the tattoo studio?” she asked Jamie, intending to put her off her guard. When the girl’s eyes brightened, she knew the ploy had worked.

  “It’s fun. There’s always hot dudes there, and they like me. They take me out on their bikes and shit, er, I mean, stuff. Viper gives me money and I, uh, do, uh stuff to—for—him.”

  Claudia wasn’t about to ask her what kind of stuff. With every answer Jamie gave, the realization was growing that Jovanic would need to interview her. And with that growing realization came the horrifying understanding that these two girls might be in possession of critical information about the homicide. It was time for her to butt out and let the police take over.

  Leaving them at the table, she ran up to her office and phoned Jovanic, who didn’t answer. She left him a voicemail about the developing situation, then returned to the kitchen to check out Jamie’s handwriting.

  The ink trail confirmed her hunch. The handwriting was excessively large, the letter forms as circular as little open mouths waiting to be fed. Claw-like shapes in the e’s and a’s, extra strokes stabbing into the loops of o’s. Jamie had more miles on her than a Mack truck and less common sense than a goldfish. One thing was sure: she had not yet made friends with the truth.

  The girl had been abused early in life in a variety of ways that had interfered with the appropriate development of her ego, Claudia had not a shred of doubt about it. According to her handwriting, Jamie was already emerging as a full blown narcissist who would put her own needs ahead of anyone else’s. Definitely not a companion for Annabelle, who was still struggling to overcome the results of her own victimization.