“Only one I could see. Maybe something on the other side that wasn’t visible.”
“He may have been a one and done dude. Given the age of the ink, too. He hasn’t refreshed it, so it might not be important to him anymore.”
“What does that mean?” I inquired.
“Well, collectors like to show off what they got. A dude gets something tattooed to his dick, he’s gonna flash it every chance he gets. Every time I tattoo a girl’s titties, I know they are going to be out all the time. That’s how an enthusiast would recognize another tattoo. Someone would have seen it. This guy doesn’t take care of his, so he may not be out flashing it around.”
“So, you may not find anyone that knows it?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean it. Maybe dude is poor and can’t afford to refresh it.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said. “You have actually educated me.”
“No worries, dude. I hope you find whoever killed that girl. She looks so familiar to me. How old was she?”
“Early twenties. Not sure.”
“Sorry, dude. I can’t say where I know her. Don’t think I inked her though?”
“I didn’t see any tattoos.”
“Unless you got her naked, you might not. Girls like to hide the first couple.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah, especially around here. The southern girls of the Bible Belt are repressed, but once you get them to let loose, woowee, better hang on tight.”
“The South’s gonna rise again,” I quipped.
“You better believe it.”
My phone started ringing. “Thank you,” I told the guy as I pulled the phone out. He gave a wave that said, no problem.
“Hello,” I answered as I stepped out of the tattoo shop.
“Mr. Sawyer, this is Elizabeth Warlow.”
“Yes, Ms. Warlow. How are you?”
“I’d be willing to talk to you. Have you had lunch yet?”
“No, but it was getting high on my agenda.”
“Great. You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” I said with all the southern gentility I could muster.
“You do like burgers?”
“Who doesn’t?” I asked.
“Vegans. Vegetarians. Glutenphobes.” She seemed to communicate with a sarcastic wit.
“I do like burgers.”
“Then, meet me at Staggs Grocery. It’s on Huntsville Street. Say twenty minutes?”
“See you then,” I said, but she had already hung up.
It took less than ten minutes to get to Staggs Grocery, including typing in the address to Google Maps on my phone. Staggs was at the end of a row of buildings, and it looked a little better than decrepit. The other end of the building was The House of Vacuums, a shop I could only assume sold vacuums. That seemed like a business that should have gone out with television repair shops.
I parked on the street and debated waiting or going inside. Meeting Warlow was a debate anyway. Not really knowing how much I should share with her, I was conflicted on the practicality of it. My hope was that she might have some resources that could help find out more about Morgan. Particularly, who could be close enough to Morgan to be invited into his perversion. If I found any of these guys, I wasn’t even sure what I would do about them.
And I was still thinking about Lauren. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Not really. Maybe it was the stitches that were beginning to irritate my scalp, but I suspected it was more. She had a spirit to her that I would never get to know. She was damaged and to what extent, I might never know. I wanted to know who did this to her. I wanted revenge for the fact that I would never know her.
Saying it sounds stupid. Perhaps it’s the last year catching up to me, and Lauren’s death was the final straw. I don’t know, but now I was invested. Those kids on the videos, Lauren, and who knows who else, need justice.
A blue Mazda parked three spaces from me, and a small, red-haired lady stepped out. She was in her thirties. Dressed in a smart pants suit with thin glasses, she portrayed a down-to-business demeanor. The seriousness she portrayed was just that, a portrayal. She was fighting to be in a man’s world. I was reminded of something Lisa Day once told me about being a woman. Lisa said that every woman had to decide if they were going to be judged as pretty or smart. A woman could never be seen as both at the same time. She could alternate between the two. In a man’s world, a woman can only survive as one or the other. Being anything else is too threatening, and threats are generally eliminated.
At the time, I didn’t agree. I’m not sure I do now.
“Ms. Warlow?” I asked as I got out of the car.
“Mr. Sawyer.”
“Please, call me Max. Mr. Sawyer was always my father.”
“So, far, I like your father better.” Tough crowd.
“Had you known him, there would be no doubt you would have liked him better.”
“Sorry, I tend to say whatever I think.”
I shrugged. “No worries. Don’t apologize to me for it. Just keep doing it.”
“It doesn’t usually get me anywhere,” she said. “Let’s go in.”
Inside Staggs was more simple than outside. A small counter with a cash register was to the right as we entered. Three women stood behind a grill flipping burgers and dropping French fries into the fryer. A white board with plastic letters showed the menu. There didn’t seem to be a single grocery to be bought, and I assumed the burger side of the business had taken over as big grocery stores moved into town. There were a couple rows of folding rectangular tables and three large round tables. This seemed like communal seating.
The menu board boasted a breakfast and lunch side. Lunch consisted of mainly burgers in either single, double, or triple patty servings. The choice of cheese was American and American. There was a fried bologna sandwich on the menu, too. This is the South, after all.
“What’s good here?” I joked.
Warlow side-eyed me. “You do that a lot?”
“What?”
“Think you’re cute.”
I gave a half smile. “Pretty much the only schtick I know.”
“It is less than endearing. Get a burger and fries.”
I sighed. My charm just wasn’t for everyone.
Warlow shouted, “Cheeseburger, fries and Coke.” I raised two fingers to indicate, I’d have the same. Turning, I saw that Warlow had a Styrofoam cup and was heading to the fountain drink station. The man behind the counter handed me a cup as well.
“Thank you,” I said, and he nodded.
Warlow sat at a rectangular table near the window, and after filling my cup, I sat opposite her.
“So, I checked out your Jackson Morgan.”
“What did you find?” I asked her.
“Seems he does have a knack for getting off scot-free. So I’m intrigued. He has at least three cases of assault and one case of armed robbery that disappeared when the victims decided that maybe he wasn’t the guy. Another case was dismissed when the witness disappeared. There was some interest in the disappearance, but the witnesses family stated that she had moved out of the country.”
“Seems pretty strange, huh?”
“Yeah, so that brings me to the question: What do you want out of this?”
“He murdered a girl in Memphis the other day. Gave me a scalp full of stitches before he did.” I pulled my hair back to show the wound.
“So, you want justice, huh? What are you Don Quixote?”
“I want answers. I only knew this girl for an hour. I didn’t even get her last name. I want to make sure her family knows what happened. Mostly, I want to find out why Morgan hunted her down like he did.”
“Yeah, well, Morgan was interesting. But I also researched you.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I said, “Oh, yeah. I’m not as interesting as the my Facebook page makes out.”
“You were the subject of a true crime book.”
“I wasn’t really the subject. I was the
re. My girlfriend, at the time, may have played up a lot of it.”
“Then your name came up in a DEA raid in some little town in Arkansas called Carina.”
“I had nothing to do with the raid.”
She smirked, “So it seems. There was only one mention of you being questioned.”
“Complete misunderstanding.”
“Whatever,” she sighed as our hamburgers arrived. “I’m intrigued. Morgan seems to be a bad guy who has gotten away with a lot. I can’t imagine what he hasn’t gotten caught for yet.”
“I’m hoping you have better contacts here than I do. I’m not going away, but if you help me, then I can share whatever I find.”
“Okay,” she said biting into her burger. Chewing, she continued, “Limited partnership.”
I nodded and took a bite. It was a good burger.
12
I sat at the table in my room scrolling through the videos from Morgan’s computer looking for Lauren among the hundreds of videos. So far, she wasn’t in any of them. Lauren was in her early twenties, and she looked thirteen, maybe fourteen, in the video. A decade had passed since that only video I had found of her. What had she done in that time? Did she get to
o old for Morgan and his cronies.
I clicked to the picture of her in Blues City Cafe. I had saved it to the computer. She had been running that night. I could tell at the time that she was, but I didn’t care. Not that I didn’t care, I didn’t know I needed to care.
Warlow and I established a “limited partnership,” as she put it. She was more right than she knew. I wanted everyone in that video, and I didn’t think bringing her into that loop yet seemed wise.
She was going to help look into Morgan. I gave her a copy of the picture of Lauren too. Maybe she could find out who she really was.
I wondered if Lindsay would be back tonight. I had a feeling she might. She was definitely a good distraction, not that I think I’m much more for her. Perhaps, she would like to take me to one of the other clubs or bars where twenty-somethings hang out. I could see if I could find any of Lauren’s friends.
It was nearly five in the afternoon, and I wasn’t hungry yet. However, a bourbon on the rocks would help my head. Mostly, I only noticed the stitches itching. However, after looking at the computer screen for a few hours, my head had a slight throb that may still be a result of the concussion. I called room service and ordered two bourbons: one on the rocks, the other neat with a glass of ice. No point letting the second one get all watered down.
I stared at the computer for a minute just letting my mind drift. I stared at Lauren’s face, and I thought about Lisa for the first time in days. We hadn’t talked in months. I sent her a message every few weeks, but she hadn’t responded. At first, I let myself believe that the trauma she endured last year was why. She was still scarred. So, I waited. I called her and sent her messages, and at first, she responded. We would talk. Until she told me I had to move on. I didn’t think that was something I was capable of doing.
Until, for a brief moment, the other night when Lauren kissed me as she left the booth. That very instant, I thought that I might be able to move on. Maybe that’s what hurt, not getting that chance. Maybe it was the mystery of Lauren. I know more already about Lindsay, but I don’t feel the same connection.
A knock on the door startled me from my thoughts. Room service was quick today.
I opened the door to see Warlow standing there. Pissed. She didn’t try to hide it.
“What the hell is going on?” she said angrily as she pushed past me.
“What are you talking about?”
“After lunch,” she spouted, “my editor comes and tells me that ‘this Morgan story doesn’t have any teeth.’” She used air quotes with more rage than I had seen before.
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“He took me off the story. He assigned me to cover the damn flower show this weekend.”
Warlow sat down at the table.
“He took you off the story? Why?”
“Said it was all unsubstantiated.”
“How did he even know you were doing anything? You couldn’t have gotten much done.”
“I didn’t. After you called this morning, I pulled up the archives on Morgan. Then I called a buddy of mine at the police department who pulled his record for me, unofficially. I would have gone and done it through the proper channels if I needed to. That was it.”
I sat down across from her. “That’s weird. Did you argue with him?”
“Oh, did I. Went round and round with him. He threatened to put me on the sports page if I didn’t do this flower story instead.”
“I don’t understand. We are talking about a guy with assault and robbery charges.”
“The thing is, Trevor is a great guy. He’s usually good to let me dig around on stuff.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
She released a line of expletives that translated to, she was going to do what she wanted.
“I used to work for the paper in Memphis. The reason I don’t anymore is that I had a great story about a big company in Memphis that was covering up an accident that badly injured a man. I had the goods and was writing the story when my editor quashed it. The company was one of the biggest advertisers in the paper. They threatened to pull all advertising. Called the owners of the paper, because the owners of the paper and the company were all members of the same country club. My story got yanked, and the poor guy that was injured never got justice.”
She stared at me. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the days of the media being able to police the world are gone. It’s been bought and paid for by someone.”
“Now you tilt at windmills?” she asked.
“No, most of the time, I don’t start it.”
“I’m not backing down,” she said. “Whatever this is, must be big.”
“Okay, it might be worth figuring out why Morgan is a sore subject for your editor.”
“My thoughts, too.”
“You do know, that you could put your job on the line here.”
Warlow shook her head. “Whatever. I hate flowers.”
The knock on the door startled her.
“Room service,” a voice said.
Opening the door, Cole came into the room carrying a tray with three highball glasses.
“How are you today, Cole?” I asked.
“Great, Mr. Sawyer.” He was getting to know me.
“Please, call me Max.”
He set the glasses on the table. Cole paused for a second, and I noticed him looking at the computer where Lauren’s picture was still showing. He finished setting the glasses down and handed me the ticket.
I signed the check, adding another ten percent gratuity to the room service charge.
When Cole left, Warlow reached over picked up the straight bourbon and drank it down.
“That was a single barrel bourbon. What is it with you girls from Alabama shooting good whiskey like it’s Jager.”
“First, I’m not from Alabama. I’m from New York. Second, I’m looking for affect. If you are going to buy a girl a drink, don’t complain about how she drinks it.”
“For the record, I bought me a drink. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Standing, Warlow gave me a wink. “No, I’m leaving. I have plans.”
“Be careful. I don’t want you to lose your job.”
“Eh,” she muttered as she walked out the door.
I glanced back at the computer screen. Then I picked up the phone and dialed room service again. I ordered two straight bourbons. I took my drink to the balcony and waited.
Ten minutes passed before I heard the knock again. I let Cole back into the room.
“Already drank them both?” he asked jokingly.
“No, my friend drank my second one. She’s gone, so I figure I can have a couple more.”
“Man, I got them for you,” he said pla
cing the glasses on the table and picking up the empty.
“Cole, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Do you know that girl?” I asked nodding to the picture of Lauren.
“Uh,” he said nervously.
“Listen,” I started as I pulled my wallet out and took out a hundred dollar bill, “I really need to know who she is.”
I handed him the bill and took the check from him to sign it. When I gave it back to him, he was looking at the picture.
“Yeah, I know her.”
“Do you know her name?” I asked.
“It’s Becca.”
“Do you know her last name?”
He shook his head. “She used to stay here a lot.”
“Really, at the hotel?”
“Yes. In this suite.”
“Oh,” I was surprised. “Here.”
He bobbed his head affirmatively.
“She stayed here alone?”
He shook his head. He was definitely nervous.
“Do you know who she stayed with?” I pulled another hundred out and gave it to him.
“Dr. Kerry. But I didn’t say anything.”
“Who is Dr. Kerry?” I asked.
“Man, he’s like a billionaire. He owns a bunch of stuff in the town. All over the state.”
“Like what?”
Cole shrugged. “I don’t really know. He’s just a really big deal. He’s mean though.”
“Was Becca his daughter?”
“Oh, no. She wasn’t his daughter.” Then he stared off into space for a second. “I mean, I don’t think she was.”
“His girlfriend, then?”
“Not really. He’s married and all. She would come in late at night or through the side entrance. No one knew she was staying here. I would bring her room service.”
He had a look in his eye. “Did you like her” I asked.
He nodded. “She was so friendly. She hated Dr. Kerry, though.”
“Why was she here then?”
A shrug was all I got as an answer.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah.”
“She was murdered.”
“Oh, man!” he exclaimed.
“Are you sure her name was Becca?”
Crimson Blood (Max Sawyer Book 4) Page 7
