The Missing Ink: A Tattoo Shop Mystery

by Karen E. Olson

  He took my elbow and led me out of the path of the crowd, next to the airplane ride for toddlers. “You’ve got to believe me, Kavanaugh. I had no idea.”

  I studied his face, looking for a lie, but I couldn’t see it.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is, someone took the gun I keep at my shop and apparently planted it with Kelly’s body to incriminate me.”

  “Why do you have a gun in your shop?”

  He chuckled. “Kavanaugh, you don’t have the same walk-in clientele I have. And you don’t stay open past midnight.”

  Point taken.

  “Did someone break into the shop?” I asked.

  Jeff sighed. “My mother forgets to lock the door. No one needs to break in.”

  I remembered how Sylvia had left the door unlocked when I was there.

  “There were latex gloves and needles in the bathroom in that suite,” I said. “Was anything else missing from your shop?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. Gloves and needles? Really?”

  “They confiscated my case.”

  Jeff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Whoever killed that guy didn’t know you were going to be there, but thought I was. I don’t get it. Why set me up? I didn’t even know the guy who was killed.”

  “But you knew Kelly, who had a tie to Elise, who knew the guy who was killed.”

  Jeff made a face at me. “And Professor Plum was killed by a candlestick in the parlor.”

  “Funny, ha, ha.”

  “Yeah, but we’re missing some parts of the story, Kavanaugh.”

  I debated whether I should be the bearer of the bad news, but I had no choice. “Kelly was pregnant,” I said. “Four months.”

  His face turned white, his eyes wide. “That’s impossible.”

  “My brother told me,” I said. “So I don’t think it’s just a rumor. The cops want to ask you about it.”

  He couldn’t seem to get his bearings. His eyes skirted around. “I couldn’t get her pregnant before. Why would they think I could now?”

  “Beats me,” I said softly. “So are you sure it was her and not you—the problems, I mean?”

  Jeff nodded. “That’s what the doctors said.”

  “Did you do an in vitro or anything like that?” I knew my question was deeply personal, but I was curious.

  For a second I thought he was going to tell me to mind my own business, but then he said, “We started the process, but it just seemed too complicated after a while. She was young, not even thirty. She told me maybe it would straighten itself out.” He paused. “I guess it did.”

  “But she left you.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You trained her,” I said. “I found her on the Internet. She was inking some pretty big celebrities.”

  “She was a fast learner. Could’ve used her in the shop.” His expression was wistful as he thought about what might’ve been. Go figure, but I was feeling sorry for him.

  “So why leave you and reinvent herself in L.A.?” I asked.

  Jeff snorted. “No clue. But she got to rub elbows with celebrities.”

  She did more than rub elbows with Simon Chase.

  “What about her brother? You know, I think he’s been following me around.”

  “Following you? Like some sort of surveillance?”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I don’t know.” I told him about the few times I’d seen Matthew.

  When I was done, Jeff said, “I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s been around. Heard he was in a bar fight, almost killed a guy. I’d be careful around him.”

  No kidding.

  “Why don’t you just turn yourself in?” I asked him. “Just tell the police what you’ve told me. Someone stole your gun, probably stole the gloves and needles, too. You’re getting set up, and by hiding, they think you’re even guiltier.”

  “I want to know why I’m being set up before I go to the cops.”

  “Maybe you’re just an easy target,” I suggested.“Spurned ex-husband, you know the drill.”

  “They could get that casino manager for the same reason,” he muttered.

  “Simon Chase?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “You know about him?”

  “A mutual acquaintance told me about it. Like I wanted to know.” Bitterness seeped out of his words. He shook his head. “Listen, Kavanaugh, can you keep your ear to the ground? I’ll check in with you. See if you can find out anything on your end, and I’ll try to see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and he put two fingers across my lips.

  “Give me a day or two, and then I’ll talk to your brother, okay? Just give me that much time.”

  I pulled my head back, away from his fingers. I didn’t see that I had much choice, and what was another couple of days? Kelly and Matt were dead already. Strangely, I trusted his story, the whole thing, from the stolen gun to his belief he was being set up.

  I nodded. “Okay, a couple of days. And do me a favor, too, all right? If you hear anything about Kelly’s brother and why he’s following me, let me know?”

  Jeff grinned. “Deal.”

  “Brett!” I heard my name yelled across the sea of people, and I saw Joel lumbering toward me.

  When I turned back to where Jeff had just been standing, he was gone.

  Chapter 32

  Joel dropped me at the Venetian before taking Sylvia back to Murder Ink. Jeff’s story was swirling in my head, and I had a funny feeling that I had all the pieces, but I still couldn’t figure out how they fit together.

  “Nice to see you,” Ace said sarcastically when I walked into the shop.

  Uh-oh.

  Bitsy slapped his hand. “She had a date with a rich Englishman. How could she say no to that?” She looked up at me and winked. “Didn’t think lunch would take that long.”

  “Had a little encounter with Bruce Manning,” I said. “Apparently I’ve been banned for life from Versailles.”

  Ace chuckled. “What does that mean? Banned? Like, forever?”

  “Yeah. Guess so.”

  “What happened?” Bitsy jumped in.

  “He didn’t like it that I found a body in his hotel. Guess he’s holding it against me personally. He also didn’t like it that I had lunch with his manager, or that Elise came into my shop.”

  “So he’s blaming you for everything that’s going on?” Bitsy asked.

  “Pretty much.” I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore. I just wanted quiet. I went into the staff room and pulled a Coke out of the fridge.

  Ace draped himself against the doorjamb as I settled in to work on a sketch at the light table.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Sorry. About before. But you haven’t been around too much the last couple days.”

  “I know.” I didn’t need to conjure Sister Mary Eucharista for the guilt I was feeling. “It’s just been a little crazy. It’ll get back to normal now.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I smiled. “No.”

  As I sketched, I thought about Simon Chase and Bruce Manning and Jeff Coleman and Kelly Masters.

  And about where Elise Lyon might be. I hoped she was still alive.

  Which reminded me . . .

  I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and dialed Tim’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “What do you want, Brett?” He was working and didn’t want me to bother him.

  “I heard Kelly Masters’s brother, Matthew, almost killed someone in a bar fight.”

  “Are you doing some sort of genealogical tree?”

  “Don’t be snippy. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Have you seen him again?”

  I told him about seeing Matthew at Versailles with Simon Chase. “Maybe they’re in on it together,” I suggested.

  “In on what?”

  Good question.

  “Did he approach you? T
hreaten you or anything?” Tim was asking.

  “No.”

  “Then just try to stay out of trouble. And stay away from Versailles.” It was the way he said it that made me take pause.

  “You didn’t hear from Bruce Manning, did you?” Mr. Big Shot who had friends in high places.

  He was so quiet I thought I’d lost the connection, then, “Just stay away from Versailles, okay? Just go about your life as normal.”

  It was futile to try to explain that my life had been far from normal the last few days. All I could do was agree. “Sure, fine.” I felt compelled to add, “I can’t believe Manning called you.”

  “You ruffled the wrong feathers there, Brett.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I tried.

  “That’s not what he thinks.”

  I sighed. “You know, I really don’t think Jeff Coleman had anything to do with any of this.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “I just do.”

  “Nice that you have a lot of faith in him, Brett, but I don’t. He sent you over there. I’m not convinced he wasn’t trying to set you up.”

  “I don’t know about that—”

  He cut me off. “The victim yesterday? The one you found? He had a tattoo, you know.”

  “I didn’t see one.”

  “You wouldn’t, with the way his body was positioned. But it was there. A heart, with clasped hands underneath it. And the name Elise.”

  Chapter 33

  I tried explaining that anyone could use a tattoo machine. It didn’t have to be a trained tattooist. But Tim seemed to think this was a more professional job.

  “I’d like to see it,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to see the tat. I think I can make that call better than you.”

  “I am not letting you into the morgue. He’s been autop- sied. You can’t see that.”

  “I’m not seven years old, Tim.” Although we were both acting like kids. I forced myself to relax, breathing out of my nose for a second. “All right, I don’t have to see the body, but can I see a picture? You sent me one of Kelly—why not of this?”

  “I don’t want to send it over the phone.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s evidence, Brett. Last time I needed an ID, so it was different. The phone’s just not that secure.”

  “That’s lame. Nothing’s secure these days. Someone could lose the picture in the evidence room.” I’d seen that sort of thing on TV. I continued to make my case: “I could help you. But you’re right about not sending it over the phone. I won’t be able to really see it that way. E-mail it to me.”

  He hesitated so long that I thought I’d lost him, then, “All right. I know you won’t let up until you see it. I’ll e-mail it to you. I can’t do it right now, but within an hour or so, okay?”

  I agreed. But I wasn’t finished with him yet. “So you think this guy was Elise’s lover?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “But why would Jeff kill him? Jeff didn’t know her, so why would he care if Elise was messing around with the guy? There doesn’t seem to be much motive here.” I didn’t watch Law & Order for nothing.

  “Just let us do our job. I’ll send you the picture.” And he ended the call.

  I wasn’t convinced Tim had this figured out. But he had to put on a good show, since it was his job to sort it all out and solve it. Me, well, I just fell in the middle of it, so it didn’t matter what I knew.

  I finished up the stencil in time for my client, and I spent the next hour tattooing the Chinese characters for love, prosperity, and hope on a guy’s upper back, trying to be careful not to get any ink on the white trousers, since my other clothes were in Joel’s car and he was still out. But I managed to be neat, and I could’ve done the tats with my eyes closed.

  Which was almost the case. I was exhausted when I finished. All the stuff that happened the last few days had finally hit me, and the endorphins had disappeared, leaving me dragging. I considered a Red Bull, but I wasn’t sure I needed that much of a boost. A coffee would do.

  I thought about food, too, but lunch still sat in my stomach. I never eat so heavy in the middle of the day.

  Ace ran out to get coffee for all of us, which was when I realized Joel wasn’t in the shop yet.

  “Hey, Bits.” I poked my head into the office, where she was straightening up the file cabinets. “Where’s Joel?”

  She shrugged. “Not my day to watch him.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “But he’s got a client in half an hour, so he’d better be back.”

  I dialed his cell, but it just rang and rang, kicking into voice mail. I left a message.

  I mulled over where he could be. He said he’d drop Sylvia back at Murder Ink. On a whim, I decided to call over there.

  No one answered; there wasn’t even a machine pickup. That was odder than Joel not answering his phone. A business should always have a machine answer if no one was there. And why wasn’t anyone there? They were open till four a.m. Unless having Jeff on the lam was incentive for his staff to take a little vacation.

  I mentally kicked myself for not finding out where Sylvia lived or hung out when she wasn’t in her son’s shop, even though there’d been no reason to until now. A walk through the phone book told me nothing. I pulled up a people search on the Internet, but nothing there, either.

  I decided I should check e-mail while I was online, since Tim had said he’d send that picture.

  He sent three.

  The first was a close-up of the tat. So close so I couldn’t tell exactly where on the body it was; it could be the chest or the back, a place with little body fat and taut muscles. There was no hair, but if it had just been done, the hair would’ve been shaved beforehand. It did look professionally done, not by a scratcher—a disreputable tattooist or amateur. The heart was neatly outlined, the letters in careful calligraphy, the clasped hands incredibly well-drawn.

  It was practically identical to the one I’d drawn for Elise, except her name was substituted for “Matthew” in this one.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think that whoever did this ink had seen my drawing. But my drawing hadn’t been made public until that night, on 20/20.

  I clicked on the second picture, the tat slanted and elongated by the angle. The skin looked otherworldly; it must be from the autopsy. I shivered and clicked quickly on the third picture.

  It was of the crime scene, the bathroom at Versailles, but the body had been rolled back against the back of the tub, the shirt unbuttoned to reveal the tat in the center of Matt Powell’s chest.

  Right in the same place Chip Manning had shown me on his own chest where he wanted the exact same ink.

  It struck me then.

  Chip must have seen my drawing.

  Chapter 34

  Because of the quality of the ink, Chip couldn’t possibly have done the job himself. And I couldn’t be sure whether the tat was done before Matt was killed or posthumously. If the skin was alive, it would be pink around the edges. I didn’t know what it would look like if a corpse was inked.

  I heard heavy breathing.

  Bitsy was looking over my shoulder at the screen. She tapped it with her finger a few times.

  “That’s your drawing. Why does it say ‘Elise’?”

  “Someone stole the idea.”

  “Copycat.”

  No kidding.

  I twisted a little in the chair so I was at eye level with her. “You didn’t show this to anyone else, did you? I mean, besides 20/20 the other day.”

  Bitsy’s chin went up in the air slightly, put out that I would even suggest that. “I didn’t.” It was the emphasis on the “I” that made me take notice.

  “Who did, then?” My attempt to keep my tone light wasn’t very successful, and she frowned.

  “Ace had a difficult client.”

  “Difficult in what way?”

  “Difficult in that the guy didn’t know what he wan
ted except he wanted his girlfriend’s name in a heart. You should be happy. Imitation is the purest form of flattery.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who was the client?”

  She sighed and went back to the file cabinet, dragging that stool after her. She climbed on top of it, pulled out the top drawer, and shuffled around in the papers until she held up a manila folder. “Here it is.” She hopped down off the stool and flipped through the file. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s right. After all the crap he put Ace through, he never did get the ink.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Matthew Powell.”

  I hung my head back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, should I be?” She shoved the folder in front of me, on top of the computer keyboard.

  I glanced at the page of notes Ace and Bitsy had both made, as well as the information Matt Powell had provided. “He had a pretty good memory,” I said, pointing at the screen. “He must have taken the design and had it done somewhere else.”

  Bitsy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s him? That’s the guy?”

  I nodded. “He’s the guy I found at Versailles. When did he come in for the tat?”

  “It was a couple days ago.”

  It could explain how Chip had seen it, but when I thought about it further, why would Matt have shown his devotion ink to his boss when he was messing around with his boss’s fiancée?

  Maybe Chip had seen the ink and killed him. That would explain the blood on his shirt. But I was still stymied as to how he could’ve gotten the tattoo needles. They’re just not something that’s in everyone’s medicine chest or utility closet. Sure, you could order them off the Internet, but that took some thought, and it would take at least a day or two to get them.

  I needed Elise. She held the key to all of this, since she was where it all started. But where was she? Had that actually been her blood in the trunk of Kelly Masters’s rental car? And if so, was she dead somewhere or had she escaped?