‘Forget this line of enquiry. Rory, what else could you put the team on?’
Rory cleared his throat and started to speak but the DI cut over the top of him.
‘Sir, I think you should see this.’ Francis pulled the brochure out of his document case. ‘The tattoos that have gone missing were all by artists featured in this exhibition.’
Bradshaw took the leaflet Sullivan held out to him.
What the hell was that? Why hadn’t he seen it?
Rory craned his neck to see what Bradshaw was looking at.
‘This does give us a possible link between the victims, tenuous as it may be,’ continued Francis. ‘Certainly, I’m not basing the entire investigation on this premise, but I think we need to bear it in mind. In the meantime, I’ve got the team investigating and questioning both Evan Armstrong and Jem Walsh’s friends and associates. There doesn’t seem to be any criminal activity that links the two of them, but just because something doesn’t jump out at you immediately doesn’t mean it’s not there.’
‘So you’ve had no success in finding a connection between the victims,’ snorted Bradshaw, tossing the leaflet to one side of his desk, no longer interested. Rory leaned forward to pick it up. It wasn’t hard to guess where this had come from – the boss had seen Marni Mullins. He wondered what Thierry Mullins would make of that. The divorced couple still seemed close, as far as he could tell.
‘We’ve interviewed both families about Armstrong and Walsh’s friends and habits. Burton and Hollins have been following up with the friends, while Hitchins and I have been round several of the pubs they frequented. Hitchins and Hollins are going to their workplaces today, and Angie’s going to look into the Connelly case and check all the victim’s social media feeds.’
Bradshaw snorted at the mention of Giselle Connelly. ‘And the missing head?’
‘Rose hasn’t given us anything solid yet, but she’s had dog teams all over the beach,’ said Rory. ‘They picked up Walsh’s scent in a parking space on Madeira Drive, less than a hundred yards east of the pier, and followed it down onto the beach. It’s obviously strongest around the point where we found the body. It also leads down to the water’s edge, which might imply that the head was thrown into the sea. However, there’s been no sign of it at low tide and I’ve sent divers out further, following the undertow patterns, but they’ve found nothing. If it went into the water, I think there’s very little chance of us recovering it.’
‘Won’t it pitch up at Selsey Bill in a couple of weeks’ time?’ said Bradshaw.
‘Possibly. Possibly not. The coastguard could tell me about the tides, but they didn’t have any real expertise on how a detached head would roll along the seabed over time. Not something you can easily run an experiment on.’
‘In other words, no fucking progress on any front. What are you doing next? Mackay?’
‘Like I said, sir, checking out known associates, workplaces, Giselle Connelly.’
‘No identifiable vehicles in the vicinity of either crime?’
‘Only partial licence plates. We’re working on it.’
Bradshaw frowned. Nothing ever happened fast enough for him. ‘Sullivan?’
‘I’m going to talk to Ishikawa Iwao again. He curated the exhibition. I want to see what he thinks of the three murders.’
‘Nothing better to do with your time? I said to leave that angle alone.’
The boss hadn’t got the hang of managing his superior yet – a basic policing skill.
‘Sir, this is a credible theory and at this point the only theory. I need to follow it up so I can at the very least either disprove it or see if it has legs.’
‘And this Ishikaka character can make a valid contribution?’
‘I believe so.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘This is the guy who tattoos cats, right?’ said Rory, as much to fill the empty space as to make a serious point.
Bradshaw’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.
‘Is that legal?’ he said. ‘Did you report it to the RSPCA?’
Francis shook his head.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Rory, put one of the Tweedles on it to find out what the situation is with regard to tattooing animals.’
Bradshaw inhaled tightly, his nostrils narrowing. ‘You should bring him in for questioning, Sullivan.’
‘Over the cat?’
‘No, over the bloody murders, you idiot.’
‘Cruelty to animals,’ said Rory. ‘It’s where a lot of those fuckers start off.’
‘Get him in.’
Bradshaw’s tone brooked no argument but that didn’t stop Francis.
‘We’ve got absolutely nothing to suggest he’s involved. Better I talk to him informally, make an assessment without raising his suspicions.’
He shouldn’t have opened his mouth. But it was too late now.
‘I said, get him in here.’
‘I’ll do it, sir, this afternoon,’ said Rory.
He didn’t miss seeing Francis’s hands balling into frustrated fists in his lap.
‘Stay out of this, Rory.’ He exhaled angrily. ‘Sir, we might just have one chance to formally question him. Let’s save it for when we have some concrete questions that need answers.’
Francis Sullivan had just said ‘no’ to a direct order. The results weren’t pretty. Bradshaw’s brow lowered and his cheeks reddened. He stood up, signalling that the meeting was over. Rory followed his lead with lightning speed.
‘You bring him in now. That’s an order, Sullivan. You might have made it to DI but don’t get too bloody big for your boots.’
Francis said nothing and stormed out of the office. Brave but foolish.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to it, sir,’ Rory said, closing the door gently as he left.
24
Francis
Ishikawa Iwao bowed to Francis when he came into the interview room. Hugely self-conscious as Rory had followed him in, Francis bowed in return. This time the tattooist wasn’t dressed in a kimono but in a pair of unseemingly tight but expensive-looking jeans and a pale blue Oxford shirt that showed off his impressive pecs. It was clear that Ishikawa Iwao looked after himself physically, and Francis had an immediate mental picture of him martial arts training.
Racial profiling. Stop now.
‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Iwao,’ said Francis. ‘This is my colleague, Sergeant Mackay.’
‘Don’t thank me. I wasn’t given any choice in the matter,’ said Iwao. He ignored Rory, continuing to scowl at Francis. ‘What do you need to talk to me about?’
‘Sit down, please,’ said Francis.
He and Rory took chairs on their side of the table. Iwao seemed hesitant, but when Francis gave him another nod, he pulled a chair back and sat down. He sat ramrod straight, with his knees together and his feet aligned. He rested his hands on the top of his thighs and looked at the two policemen expectantly.
‘I’m going to tape this conversation, if that’s okay with you?’ said Francis, pressing the record button on the tape recorder.
‘Then I will expect a copy of this recording to be lodged with my solicitor’s office,’ said Iwao. ‘I’d also like to know first why you think it’s necessary and what my exact status is in this matter. Do you suspect me of having committed a crime?’
‘Your solicitor can apply to us for a copy of it,’ said Rory, jotting something down in his notebook.
‘Your status is that of a witness helping us with our enquiries,’ said Francis. ‘We’ll inform you if we have any reason to change that status.’
Iwao frowned. ‘Then there’s no reason for you to tape this conversation.’
‘Fine,’ said Francis. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’
Iwao seemed to know his rights.
Francis
and Rory had discussed a strategy while they waited for Iwao to be brought in. Rather than heading in gently with questions about the tattoo exhibition and the tattooists involved, they would start at the other end – with the murders, and more specifically, his alibis for the time-of-death windows.
‘Could you tell me exactly where you were on Sunday twenty-eighth May, between the hours of midnight and six a.m.?’
Iwao looked confused.
‘Please repeat the date.’
‘Sunday twenty-eighth of May. Last Sunday.’
‘Of course,’ said Iwao, recovering from his surprise. ‘Between the hours of midnight and six? I would have been in bed, I think.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘In bed or drawing in my studio. I usually retire between midnight and two, and most evenings I spend drawing. I wasn’t out last Saturday night, or Sunday morning,’ he shrugged. ‘I was either in my studio or my bedroom between those hours.’
‘Is there anyone who can vouch for this?’
‘I live alone.’
Rory and Francis exchanged quick glances. As an alibi, it was non-existent even though it had a ring of truth about it.
‘What about last Tuesday night, between midnight and five a.m.?’
‘The same.’
‘At home, on your own?’
Iwao nodded. ‘I was at home, on my own, on Tuesday night.’ He held Francis’s gaze with steady brown eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to check my whereabouts using my mobile if you need to.’
‘People don’t always take their mobiles with them when they go out,’ said Francis, unwavering in his own stare.
‘I always do,’ said Iwao.
Francis made a mental note to apply for a warrant to investigate Iwao’s mobile phone records.
Rory coughed to gain his attention. ‘Tell us about that cat of yours. The one with the tattoos. Did you not consider that tattooing an animal would be cruel, and probably against the law?’
‘I have two cats like that,’ said Iwao, shifting in his chair. ‘They were already tattooed when I imported them from Japan.’
‘But you think it’s acceptable?’
‘They came from a rescue shelter. It’s not something I would ever do to an animal – it’s obvious, animals can’t consent. I won’t tattoo anyone or anything without consent.’
Francis felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and glanced down at it under the table. A missed call from Marni Mullins. He put it away.
‘Can you prove that they were tattooed before you got them?’ Rory was like a terrier that had scented a rat.
‘Yes, I’m certain there are some pictures in my files that the shelter sent me before I offered to take them.’
‘We’re still going to have to report your cats to the RSPCA,’ said Rory.
Iwao stared at him blankly.
Francis was beginning to sense the entire interview was a wild goose chase. He pushed Marni’s exhibition catalogue across the table for Iwao to see.
The tattooist looked down at it, recognised it but didn’t bother to pick it up.
‘You think all this has something to do with my exhibition?’ he said.
The phone vibrated in Francis’s pocket. It was Marni Mullins again. She would have to wait.
‘Why didn’t you mention it when I visited you with Ms Mullins?’ said Francis.
Iwao’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why should I have done? You asked me about one tattoo. The exhibition didn’t seem particularly relevant at the time.’
‘We think there might be a link.’
‘Between the exhibition and what exactly?’
‘A number of murders.’
Francis could almost see a succession of thoughts pass across Iwao’s face. The questions about his whereabouts, the questions about his cats, a potential link between the victims. His features twisted with disbelief.
‘You think I could be involved?’
‘You were the one that told me about how Yakuza tattoos are removed from the body after death for preservation.’
Iwao pushed his chair further back and crossed his arms and his legs. A classic defensive posture. ‘I want my lawyer. I’ll say nothing more until he arrives.’
Francis’s phone vibrated insistently.
He went out into the corridor and dialled Marni’s number.
‘You fucking bastard,’ she hissed as soon as they were connected. ‘I take you into my confidence, introduce you to my friend and you arrest him?’
‘Marni . . .’
‘First Thierry, now Iwao? What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you find any suspects of your own?’
‘It wasn’t my idea to question him.’
‘Like I give a shit. I’ve called Iwao’s lawyer and he should be with you any minute. That man wouldn’t harm a fly – he’s a practising Buddhist. Can I suggest you let him go and focus your attention on finding the real killer? And you should be warning people with tattoos by those artists that there’s a murderer on the loose instead of pulling innocent men in for questioning.’
She hung up on him. He’d blown his one contact in the tattooing community. And he was beginning to feel now that these killings might somehow be connected to the victims’ tattoos.
Rory appeared in front of him.
‘Iwao’s lawyer is in reception,’ he said. ‘God knows how he got here so quickly.’
‘The tattooing grapevine. Aka Marni Mullins.’
An hour later they were back in Bradshaw’s office, having just escorted Iwao and his lawyer off the premises.
Bradshaw was all bluster. ‘We had one suspect and you let him go.’
‘We had no grounds to hold him,’ said Francis.
‘He had alibis?’
‘No. But . . .’
‘So he’s still in the frame?’
‘Technically, yes. But I don’t believe he did it.’
Bradshaw rolled his eyes. ‘Lord save us from cops who follow their hunches.’
‘We’ve come across nothing connecting him to either one of our murders, or the earlier one that might be linked.’
The guy was weird but did that make him a killer?
‘That’s true, sir,’ said Rory. ‘And he had a slick lawyer. Not worth tangling with that one.’
‘What now?’ said Bradshaw. ‘We’re back at square one, aren’t we?’
‘Sir, I want to propose a press conference,’ said Francis. ‘We need to warn people that there’s a killer on the loose, and that he’s targeting people with tattoos by certain tattoo artists.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Sir?’
‘You want to let the killer know that we’re on his trail for the sake of an unproven theory? Even if there’s something in it, a press conference will push him straight into hiding and we’ll lose any initiative we’ve got.’
What initiative would that be?
‘He’s killed two people in the space of a week.’
‘He could be planning his next killing already,’ added Rory. ‘I think the DI is right about putting out a warning.’
‘And I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, Mackay. This whole serial killer theory is very sketchy. I’m not convinced.’
‘It seems just as likely as three separate murderers, sir.’
‘Well, forget the bloody theories and get out there looking for evidence. You need to find something before there’s another murder.’
‘Jesus,’ said Rory under his breath as they left Bradshaw’s office. ‘You know who he’ll blame if someone else dies?’
The twitch in Francis’s jawline said it all.
25
Marni
‘You’re sitting like a champ!’
Marni’s favourite lie tripped off her tongue as Steve tried not to squirm unde
r the points of the needles. She realised she was being a little aggressive and took a deep breath to calm herself down. It was just that she was so angry about what had happened. But that wasn’t Steve’s fault. It was their third session and she was working on a cluster of chrysanthemums that formed the background to the full sleeve tattoo of a Japanese-style tiger. There would be at least one more session before she finished.
‘Right, we’ll call it a day. I’ve finished this patch and you can come back in a week or two for the final push.’
Steve sat up on the massage bench and swung his legs round to the side, rotating both shoulders to get his circulation going.
‘Thanks, darling,’ he said, looking at the new work with a delighted smile.
Marni dismantled her tattoo iron, putting the used needles in her sharps bin and peeling off the disposable plastic covering that kept it clean from blood spatters. As she wrapped Steve’s arm in cling film, she wondered how old her client was – he was practically bald but his facial features still appeared youthful and his eyes were bright behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He seemed quite old for a first tattoo, but then people were getting them done at all ages these days.
‘Cash?’ he said.
‘Please,’ said Marni. ‘That was three hours, pretty much to the minute.’
While Steve counted out the notes, Marni stripped off her latex gloves and washed her hands. It had been a long day and her fury at Iwao being taken into custody had made her tense. What the hell was Francis Sullivan playing at? He couldn’t seriously think that Iwao had any involvement in the murders, could he? Iwao murdering anybody was even less likely than Thierry having played a part. A lot less likely, to be honest. She worried about Thierry . . .
The bell rang at the front of the shop, announcing a new arrival. Her stomach lurched. Damn, she thought she’d locked the door when she started tattooing Steve. She peered through from the studio and saw Francis Sullivan coming towards the counter. The sight of him did nothing to improve her mood. Was he going to arrest her next?
‘What do you want?’ she said, without preamble.
Behind her, Steve was gingerly feeding his freshly tattooed arm into the sleeve of his jacket. Francis stopped in the connecting doorway, taking in the scene.
The Tattoo Thief Page 13
