by Kristin Cast
Bridget: My mom won’t get out of my ass about sending you this. She can’t work her new phone so here’s the link. I’ll let her know that you got it. I’m almost ready! See you very soon! Bring mace!
Eva clicked on the attached link and the messaging screen promptly traded places with a YouTube app.
“Good evening, I’m Chera Kimiko. We begin with tonight’s Green Country Crime Report. Talia Kirk is live outside the Tulsa County Sheriff’s Office with more. Talia?”
A cute, bright-eyed young woman stood before the camera and, when prompted by Chera, began her well-scripted synopsis of events. “Chera, detectives are working hard tonight to find the person or persons responsible for a recent deadly attack. With the number of violent crimes in Tulsa rising, Chief of Police Gordon Charles had this to say: ‘Our city is expanding at a high rate, but we are confident in our efforts to keep its citizens safe. If you have any information about this attack, or any other crimes, please call our sheriff’s office anonymous tip line.’ Back to you, Chera.”
“Thank you, Talia. If you have any information that might help investigators, please call 596-COPS. Up next, ten tips to stay safe over the Labor Day holiday weekend.”
The clip froze and went silent as a picture of downtown Tulsa appeared on screen. Eva set down the phone in exchange for a bronze eye shadow palette.
“Moral of the story, don’t visit sketchy parts of town.”
Four
“Gentlemen, my official medical opinion is that I haven’t seen anything this fucked up in dog years.” Medical Examiner Catherine Pierce greeted the detectives as they entered through the swinging double doors and into the morgue. Fluorescent lights buzzed from the outdated white ceiling tiles.
Detective Schilling’s gruff Oklahoma twang coated his words. “What do we got here?” He rubbed a hand through his silvering temples before resting his arms on his thick abdomen.
“Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles. There’s a band across her forehead like something was used to hold her head back. Hemorrhaging around the throat. Multiple stab wounds to the right arm, chest, abdomen, and legs. Most of them shallow, but some of them look deep.” Pierce pointed at each part as she delivered her report. Detective Schilling grimaced as he studied the body. His partner, Detective James Graham forced his eyes to stay focused on the woman’s pale corpse. Flecks of dark brown facial hair shimmered as James rhythmically clenched his jaw and circled the exposed, mutilated body. Pierce leaned closer. “Then there’s this.” She motioned to the left forearm, and Schilling and James both knelt to table height.
“Is that a tree?” James asked.
The black, leafless design looked like a shadow imprinted on white plastic. The trunk sprang from her wrist creases. Its intricate limbs gripped her toned arm and reached for her elbow.
James nodded. “The rest of the body is covered in gashes, except this arm. Whoever did this wants all our attention right here.”
Pierce handed James the victim’s file. “Schilling, it looks like the kid is a keeper.”
Schilling grunted. “So the vic was bound, tattooed, tortured with a knife, and strangled.”
“Not quite,” Pierce said. “She wasn’t alive when she was stabbed, but I can’t say the same for the tattoo. It was done around two hours before death. Also, lividity on her shoulders, thighs, and torso points to her being on her back for some time before he moved her.”
James opened the file and thumbed through it. “It says here the deceased was a chemical engineering student at the University of Tulsa with a full-ride track scholarship.” He studied her colorless face. “Must’ve been smart. And fast too.”
“Unfortunately, the suspect was faster.” She disappeared behind Schilling’s stocky frame and reappeared with a pair of latex gloves. She slipped them onto her slender hands and lifted the victim’s arm. “She has defensive wounds on her hands and a few broken nails. I swabbed all of them, but I’m not too hopeful I’ll get anything back. She was washed clean.” Pierce lowered the arm and placed a gloved finger on the victim’s forehead. Her vibrant red nail polish peeked through the latex, making the victim’s skin appear even duller. “The markings you mentioned on her forehead, wrists, and ankles were made by the same type of device. Probably a belt or strap. You can tell by the extensive bruising that they were either very tight, or she struggled against them. My guess is he used them to keep her still while he tattooed her.”
Schilling maintained his stoic posture and asked, “He, why do you think our suspect’s a man?”
Pierce rolled her eyes. “It takes a strong set of hands to cause neck bruising like that.” She stared down at the young woman. “It never gets any easier to look at, Detective Graham,” she reminded.
James’s gaze lingered on the victim’s face. If he ignored his surroundings, she almost looked like she was sleeping. He blinked rapidly and turned his attention to the computer screen glaring down from above the body. A closeup image of the girl’s left forearm seemed to be seared onto the screen.
He pointed at the image. “What do you think that is?”
“What do I think what is?” Schilling searched the screen for some kind of revelation.
James lowered his face to her forearm. “Hm.” He stood up and looked at the screen, paused for a few moments, and then bent over her arm again.
“What is it?” Catherine asked, confused. “What do you see?”
“It’s some type of scratch.” James erected himself. “But it’s a lot easier to see in the picture than it is on her. You guys don’t see it?”
They each shook their head.
James spilled the file onto a nearby empty exam table. “That.” He thrust a finger onto the hardcopy of the picture that appeared on the screen.
“Huh.” Schilling picked up the photo and held it away from his aging eyes. The lines in his forehead deepened, his expression growing more puzzled. “Some sort of strange ridges on top of one of the tree limbs.” He passed the picture to Pierce.
Her cheeks slowly turned pink. “Fuck me. Good eye, Graham. I’m pissed I missed it.”
“You can make up for it by helping me get a better look at those ridges.”
A smile tipped the corners of her mouth.
“We need to see this part of the tattoo.” His finger floated over the victim’s forearm, circling the area of interest.
Catherine rotated the arm so the palm was flat against the table. Gnarled branches continued on the back of the arm, and James examined them closely. “Now they’re easier to see.”
“Looks like they’re supposed to be part of the tattoo.” Schilling’s sour coffee breath hit the back of James’s neck as he spoke. “But you can’t see any ink.”
James lifted his gaze to meet Pierce’s. “Do you have any idea what these marks are?”
Her short bob bounced as she shook her head. “To be honest, I was hoping you would know.”
• • •
James drummed his fingers on his desk as he perused web pages for clues. They came back to the station after visiting the M.E.’s office to fill out some paperwork and so James could get his car. That had been three hours ago. Most of the officers and other detectives had cleared out. Only a few remained hunched over their keyboards sipping energy drinks while quietly mumbling to themselves. Finished for the night, Schilling sat at his desk across from James fidgeting impatiently. James tried unsuccessfully to ignore him.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” he said without taking his gaze off of the monitor. “But if you’re going to sit there, you could always straighten up all of those piles. They look like they’re about to topple over.” The suggestion sounded harsher than he meant, but he didn’t apologize.
Folders, fishing magazines, pale yellow Post-it notes, and newspapers from every day for the past two weeks covered Schilling’s desk. In comparison to James’s neatly organized and labeled workspace, it was a mess.
“You do know pretty much everything you have on there you
can look at online?” James added.
Schilling eyeballed the heaps and grumbled. “Rookie cop mistake number seventy-three.”
“I’m not a rookie,” James said under his breath.
“Look Graham, sometimes you just got to know when to stop for the night. You need sleep. Hell, we both do. Cases like this aren’t solved in one day, so there’s no point in driving yourself crazy searching for needles in haystacks.” Schilling stood and draped his jacket over his arm. “The body’s not going anywhere. We’ll find out more tomorrow.”
“You ever see anything like that before?” he asked before Schilling started for the exit.
Schilling leaned against the back of his chair and thought for a moment. “I’ve seen a lot of things more brutal, but nothing so calculated.”
“It’s going to happen again, and it’s probably happened before.”
Schilling bristled. “Now don’t rush to an assumption. You start doing that, and you’re likely to twist all the evidence to support it. Rookie mistake number forty-one.”
“It’s specific and calculated, like you said. He practically left his signature on the body and washed away any other evidence. That kind of thing doesn’t randomly happen one time. I guarantee it wasn’t his first.” James turned his attention back to the computer screen.
“I will say that he seems to have gone through a lot of trouble.”
“Hey, I think I found something,” James said.
“What is it?” Schilling tossed his coat on his desk and pulled out his chair. It squeaked and sank a few inches under his weight.
“At first I was focusing on the meaning behind the tree, but that led me nowhere. Nothing seemed to make any sense. So I changed gears and started researching tattoos. More specifically, the types of ink used.”
“To explain the ridges found on the vic?” Schilling asked, wheeling his creaky chair next to James.
“Exactly.” James rotated the monitor to accommodate his partner. “And I found a type of tattoo ink that’s pretty much invisible in normal light, but when it’s put under a UV light, it glows.”
“Like those hand stamps they’re giving people at clubs nowadays?”
James nodded. “Let’s see if this clip has more info about it.”
He made a few clicks of the mouse, and a close-up of a hand filled the screen. After a few seconds of silence, the camera panned out for a view of the man and the tattoo parlor he sat in. “Where I work, I can’t have visible tattoos. So I choose to get UV ink tattoos done by Mike here at Tattoo Tavern. Getting UV ink tattoos is a way for me to express myself when I go out to clubs and bars, and not have people judge me when I’m at work or out in public with my kids.”
As the camera zoomed back in on his hand, the tattoo artist took a seat opposite the customer. “You ready?”
The hand gave a thumbs up, and the room went black. “Check that out! My skeleton’s almost done.” On the hand, tattooed bones glowed a frosty white.
“All you’ll have to do is carry a UV light around with you next Halloween, and you’ll be set.” The tattoo artist laughed. His gun whirred to life, and James hit pause.
“That has to be what our guy used on this victim.”
Schilling put his hand on the edge of James’s desk and hefted himself out of his chair. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Right. I’ll send Catherine a message and tell her we’re coming by in the morning.”
“And that we need one of those lights. Don’t stay too late. I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first thing,” Schilling added, reaching to grab his jacket.
“I’ll be ready,” James said.
“Oh, and I’m also going to need you to come to dinner soon. Jeannine won’t stop talking about meeting you. When you get a new partner, you meet each other’s wives. If you don’t do it real quick, wives get pissed. Rookie mistake number one.”
“Tell her thanks, and I’ll think about it.”
Schilling grunted and disappeared down the hall.
James scanned his desk for anything else to keep him busy and away from home.
Mel. His eyes settled on her image, and he carefully lifted the frame. Christmas 2013 was delicately etched in the plain silver border. His throat clenched as he rubbed his thumb over her smiling face. Their matching flannel pajamas and her shimmering Santa hat almost mocked the despair burrowed in his chest. We were so happy. God, I wish you were still here.
Five
“Bridget? Bridge? BRIDGET!” Frustrated, Eva ended the call and tossed the phone into her sparkly clutch. The music was too loud in the hotel bar for Eva to hear the directions her best friend tried to give. “I’ll just wander about until I find her. The place isn’t that big.”
She started the trek from her car to the Ambassador Hotel and scanned her surroundings. Tulsa was like living in a bigger version of a small town. Everywhere she went, she saw someone she knew, and they talked as if no time had passed. They seemed to still know everything about each other. Sure, a lot of that could be attributed to countless hours Instagram stalking, but it made Eva feel comfortable. Tulsa was another trusted constant in her life.
The click of her mother’s stylish, but uncomfortable shoes penetrated the calm and cool August night. Eva couldn’t wait for fall to sweep the golden leaves from the trees. There was no better sound than the crunch of dried leaves on the streets of the city she loved. Her phone vibrated and started to sing, snapping her back to the present. Bridget’s smiling picture bounced on the screen.
“Sorry I hung up on you. The only thing I could hear was the bass in the background.”
“Oh my God, I had to go outside. I couldn’t hear you at all!” Bridget said with a slight slur. “Camden hired some new deejay, Skee or Sky or Skat or something, and he’s suuuuper loud. Tomorrow everything’s going to sound like we’re hearing it through cotton balls.”
“Great.”
“But, you know, temporary hearing loss is a small price to pay for such an amazing event. Why aren’t you here yet?”
“I’m almost there. I have less than a block to go.” She spun around to look at the street sign. “I just turned down Fourteenth Street.”
“But I don’t see you. Did you finally get a new car and not tell me?”
“Like my mom would ever cosign for that,” she joked. “No, I’m walking. I had to park forever away.”
“Because you’re shit at parallel parking.”
“I am. I’m total shit at parallel parking.”
“You are worthless at parking.”
“I don’t even deserve to parking live.”
“Yeah, you fucking suck at parking. What a nightmare. It’s an absolute must that we go over parallel parking one-o-one, because apparently you missed that day, like a decade ago in driver’s ed.” Bridget giggled uncontrollably.
“You’re entirely too honest when you drink,” Eva said. “Wait, I see you. Turn around!”
Eva watched Bridget drop the phone from her ear and turn. “Finally!” Bridget squealed and trotted over to Eva, meeting her with outstretched arms. “You’re looking hot. Now, let’s get shots and find you a man.”
She squeezed Eva, her blond curls muffling a response. “Thanks, but I don’t need a man. I don’t have time to start anything right now.”
“No one is talking about starting anything. We need to get you laid so you can unclench a little. You’re always so uptight and roboty at parties until you relax. But that’s nothing a good old fashioned roll in the sheets, or on the floor, or in the elevator can’t fix.” Bridget’s sharp alcohol breath made Eva’s eyes burn. “Before you say no, at least check out the prospects.” She opened the door to The Chalkboard, the hotel’s restaurant and bar. Music electrified the hair on the back of Eva’s neck, and the powerful bass made the inside of her chest tickle with the rhythm. Strangers squeezed by Eva, knocking her into barstools littering the edge of the dance floor. Bridget grabbed her hand and pulled her into the crowd. A man in a
too-tight shirt rubbed his body against hers, brushing his hand against her ass. She inched back to give him room to pass, but he stayed pressed against her, nodding like they shared some kind of secret.
Bridget threw her arms up in the air, pouted her lips, and moved her hips in slow, sexy circles. “Relax,” she mouthed.
Eva tried to mimic her and sway with the crowd, but felt like she was impersonating a pouting toddler. Maybe she did need a drink and a one-night stand.
“Look!” Bridget’s yell was barely audible over the remix of Maroon 5’s newest pop song. Eva followed her friend’s outstretched finger, and her gaze landed on a gaggle of half-naked gyrating women. Her face scrunched, and she looked back at Bridget.
“No, not them. Him!”
Eva’s eyes grew to alien size when she finally saw the person Bridget pointed to.
Spencer.
Eva couldn’t even count the number of times she’d made up excuses to walk by the Kappa Alpha fraternity house on campus in hopes that Spencer would be hanging out outside (and preferably shirtless). That had been during her first sophomore year of college. Since then, and an additional attempt at making it to junior status, they’d had two classes together. One each semester. Almost 365 days of meaningless flirtation. Now that she thought about it, she sounded a tad bit obsessed. But he was really flirty the last few times we talked. He even said that we should go out soon. I’m not obsessed, just persistent.
“Go!” Bridget said, her mouth pressed against Eva’s ear. “Look how big his feet are.” She gave Eva a slight push in Spencer’s direction.
Eva inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. You can totally do this. Just have a conversation. Smile and nod. Smile and nod. Simple. He can’t even really hear you in here.
Eva flipped her hair, rolled her shoulders back, sucked in her stomach, and walked toward her crush.
“Spencer! Hi!” she shouted, even though barely two feet separated them.
“Hey, Eva!” He bent down and hugged her tight against his chest, picking her up a couple inches off the ground. With the side of his face pressed against hers, he spoke into her ear. “Come up to the lobby. I want to talk to you.”
