The Tattoo Thief

by Alison Belsham

  ‘What’s happening in your world, Marni? How’s Alex?’ said Steve, invading her thoughts. She hoped he couldn’t tell she hadn’t been listening all this time.

  ‘He’s good. Just finished his A levels, so life’s one long party.’

  ‘Good times. Remember them well. What’s he going to do next?’

  ‘Uni hopefully – geography.’

  ‘Geography? Not a lot of careers in that. You should send him to have a chat with me about working in programming.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Marni, trying to concentrate on her work.

  ‘What about you? What’s the latest on that tattoo thief killer?’

  Her hand jerked slightly and he winced. At the same moment, she heard the flap of the letter box and Pepper rushed through to the front of the shop barking.

  ‘Give me a minute, Steve. If I don’t rescue the post, Pepper will eat it.’

  ‘No worries.’

  She didn’t really care about the post but it was the perfect excuse not to discuss the murder with him.

  There was only one letter and Pepper was shunting it across the floor in an effort to gain purchase on it.

  ‘Give up, Pepper. It’s not for you,’ she said, stooping to pick it up.

  The French postmark had her clutching at the shop counter for support. Fear prickled across her scalp and tightened her chest as she recognised the handwriting of the address.

  It was another letter from Paul.

  She couldn’t read it. She could hardly bear to touch the envelope. But she looked at the postmark. The letter had been posted in Marseilles. She knew that was where Paul was in prison. She wondered how he’d smuggled it out and who had posted it for him. A bent guard, probably. She felt short of breath, but forced herself to count slowly to settle the rhythm. She put the letter face down on the counter and closed her eyes.

  What did he want? Why couldn’t he leave her alone?

  She felt dizzy and opened her eyes again, fixing her gaze on a black mark on the floor.

  ‘Everything okay out there?’

  Damn! She’d forgotten about Steve.

  ‘I’m fine. With you in a sec.’

  She went through to the studio and shoved the letter into her bag. A long cold drink of water helped, as did an assessment of her work so far.

  ‘Listen, Steve, I don’t think we can finish today. I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted, so I’m not really up for a long session. I’ll book you in for a spot in a couple of weeks, yeah?’

  Steve grimaced. ‘Seriously, Marni?’ He looked down at his arm. ‘There’s hardly any more to do. Please can we get it done today? I’ll pay you extra.’

  ‘It’s not about money. It’s just that if I keep working when I’m tired, you won’t be getting my best work.’ Tired and stressed. And she needed food – her blood sugar was dipping.

  ‘Take a break then. Have a coffee, and then we’ll have a final push. I’d really like to have it finished.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s someone I want to show it to.’

  This Marni could understand. Everyone getting a tattoo always wanted it finished as quickly as possible. She was feeling drained, but she hated to send a client away disappointed.

  ‘Okay. You want a coffee too?’

  It was the last thing she wanted to do but coffee would make it more bearable.

  ‘Sure. Thanks, Marni. You’re tattooing like a champ.’

  xv

  She has a police guard, sitting in a car outside her studio. It makes it easier for me to tell where she is. They were outside her house last night, having followed her home at walking speed from drinks with friends. They discreetly tailed her earlier when she picked up her son from the school sports ground. But, frankly, life would be easier without their constant presence.

  I’ve just had the go-ahead from the Collector. He called to say he wants to push on with the harvesting. He’s trying to sort out a new place for me to set up the curing operation as quickly as he can. He was much calmer than last time I spoke to him – all business, no more recriminations. We have more tattoos to take now, replacements for the skins the police have got hold of, so I have a new list. Marni Mullins is at the top of it – the Collector had told me to wait before cutting her, but now he’s set it as a matter of priority. And it has to be said, her tattoo is a beauty if the pictures of it are anything to go by.

  Giving her bodyguards must have seemed like a necessary precaution once they found her picture at Stone Acre. But the policemen are outside the studio and she’s inside. They’re about ten metres from the shopfront, watching a locked door. I’m watching them while I decide what to do about them. Circumvent them or kill them first?

  It’s all about weighing up the risks in light of the reward. The Collector has set a high price for Marni Mullins’ back piece. But it’s not about the money. I let him down. The police are on my trail and our completion date needs to be set back. It’s imperative that I prove to him that I’m still up to the task, that I’m still worthy of the commission.

  It’s late for Mullins to still be working in her studio. I can watch her if I go into the alley at the back of the row of shops. She’s drawing, designing new tattoos to offer to her clients. All alone at the back, while her minders sit drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes out at the front.

  They won’t have a clue when it happens. In another couple of hours, they’ll be bored and dozy. If the girl works much longer, tonight could be the night.

  I wonder how much she’ll struggle. I wonder how much she’ll bleed.

  45

  Marni

  Finishing off Steve’s tattoo had made it a long day and all Marni really wanted to do was head for home and a hot bath. But she knew she’d have trouble getting off to sleep. Her thoughts were unsettled and there was a gnawing anxiety in her stomach that wouldn’t let go. Instead, after dropping back to the house for a quick supper with Alex, she went back to her studio to work on some drawings. It was the only way to find the peace of mind she so needed. Besides, it was time to bring things to a head.

  For an hour, she tried to concentrate on the drawing in front of her, rather than on the darkness creeping into the corners of her studio. She sat alone, in a small pool of light, with her back to the window. She was wearing a halter neck top which showed off the upper portion of her tattoo – anyone who walked down the alley at the back would be able to see it. This was on purpose, even though the evening had turned the air a little cooler.

  Frank Sullivan was in no position to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. But she felt compelled to do what she could to draw the killer out. She’d been a victim far too many times in the past – the unopened letters from Paul in her dressing table told her that. Now she was going to take control. She wasn’t going to let Paul scare her and she wasn’t going to let the Tattoo Thief scare her. Let the bastard come for her. She’d meet him head on.

  But what if it was someone she knew? Something tugged at one corner of her mind and as much as she needed to find out the identity of the Tattoo Thief, she was also terrified of what that knowledge would bring.

  The drawing. She was letting her mind wander and she needed to focus. A new client had asked her to design a Japanese-style sleeve featuring her mother’s favourite flowers and, as always with commissioned work, it was important to interpret the client’s wishes rather than freestyle with her own ideas. She drew an explosion of overblown peonies, and in her mind’s eye, she could see deep pinks and magentas, set off by a scattering of emerald green leaves at the edges. She added a cluster of butterflies around the top and tucked in a small frog looking out from under the petals at the bottom. When she looked up at the clock an hour had passed.

  But her thoughts turned back to the case, and then to the letters that had come from France, and her pencil faltered. She felt vulnerable.

&nb
sp; She put the peonies to one side and started on a fresh sheet of paper. If she was going to find it hard to concentrate, she should at least give her pencil hand free rein. She started with a series of sweeping curves across the page, then squinted at them through half closed eyes to see what they suggested.

  The sweep of a blade through tattooed skin. A tide of crimson in its wake.

  She opened her eyes fully and looked away from the page.

  Pepper snorted under her desk, so she bent down to scratch his ears. Nothing was going to happen. There was no one out there in the darkness, staring in.

  She rotated the piece of paper on her desk and saw the form of a rolling Hokusai-style wave. She picked up her pencil again and started to draw with more purpose, and this time she was able to quell the anxiety churning inside her. Time passed and the pile of drawings at the side of her desk grew. She took Pepper outside with her when she needed a cigarette, then, after giving herself an insulin jab and with a fresh cup of coffee beside her, returned to the flower design she’d abandoned earlier. It was close to one a.m. and Pepper was grumbling to get home, but now she had hit her stride.

  A loud crack from the direction of the back door unleashed a powerful surge of adrenalin. Her stomach contracted and hair rose along the back of her neck.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, pushing her chair back and rising cautiously.

  Pepper growled and scurried out from his shelter. They both stood staring as the back door of the studio burst open and a black-clad figure flew towards them. Marni saw a flash of silver approaching. Every part of her body constricted and tightened. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t think. Everything went into slow motion.

  The knife was in the attacker’s right hand. His left hand was clutching a balled-up cloth. His face was obscured by a balaclava. Without thinking, Marni moved her feet into a defensive stance. Short, simple, repetitive blows. The mantra ran through her head as she raised her arms to ward off the man.

  Pepper made first contact. He leapt up in defence of his mistress, barking harshly until his mouth landed up against the man’s leg. Marni took advantage of the man’s shock to try and kick his other leg out from under him, but she wasn’t quite close enough to get the drive she needed. The man brought his knife down fast, cutting into Pepper’s back, right between his shoulder blades. The dog let go of the leg with a howl of pain, turning his head away as the man drew the knife out. This gave the cut a wider arc and blood gushed out onto the white fur of Pepper’s back. He fell to the floor with a thud, moaning as the air was knocked from his lungs.

  ‘Damn you!’ shrieked Marni.

  The man lunged at her with his knife and she felt it scrape across her arm. She turned to avoid it and took a step back, trawling her memories for the self-defence techniques she’d learned.

  She knew what to do now. Hard, sharp slaps against the man’s knife arm made him lose focus for a moment. Another kick. But the man stepped back fast and stretched out the arm holding the cloth. He dropped his knife and spun sideways, giving him the reach to pull Marni into a neck lock. She saw the cloth moving in towards her face. Even bunched up it would cover her mouth and nose. She struggled against his arm but he was stronger than her and taller than her by almost a foot.

  Where in God’s name were those bloody police protection boys when you needed them?

  The tang of petroleum caught in her nostrils. The material pressed against her face and Marni knew that if she breathed in, it would be her last conscious breath. She could hold her breath for maybe a minute and a half, less though if she was struggling. She relaxed her body, pressing her weight against the man, pushing slightly. The man was forced to take a couple of small steps back. Marni sensed where his feet were in relation to her own and then stamped down hard on the bridge of his right foot.

  He yelped and in that split second, Marni was able to pull his arm away from around her neck. She turned to face him and they grappled. Marni could still smell the ether residue on her face and it fuelled her anger. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She jacked a knee sharply into his groin but he didn’t loosen the grip he had on her upper arms.

  Pepper grunted and tried to move, making Marni glance in his direction. Around the dog was a slick of blood, black in the half light, spreading across the floor. Taking advantage of her distraction, the man kicked against her legs so she collapsed to the floor in a heap. A second later he was on top of her, straddling her, the hand with the ether-soaked cloth bearing down.

  ‘Why?’ she gasped, struggling under his weight. ‘Why are you taking them?’

  Even though the man’s face was covered by a balaclava, he still bowed his head and turned his face away from Marni, as if to hide his features.

  ‘You sick bastard!’ Anger powered her to fight back. She struggled desperately underneath him, lashing her head from side to side to avoid the ether. She wasn’t going to let it happen to her. She wasn’t going to die here. She wasn’t going to die now.

  But the man was in control. He punched her hard in the side of the head and the room spun. She gasped as through clouded vision she saw the hand holding the cloth descending on her.

  ‘NO . . . NO . . .’

  She shrieked as loud as she could, letting the words become a scream.

  Her mind scrambled for a way out, but her arms were immobilised under his body. She could kick with her legs but they couldn’t bend back far enough to be able to hit him. She writhed underneath him but it was useless.

  The balaclava had two eyeholes and a slit at the mouth. The man was grinning, peering down at her as he bent closer. He was taking pleasure in her fear – she could see it in his eyes as well as his smile. She’d seen this look before on cruel, weak faces.

  She wasn’t going to let this be the last thing she saw.

  She took a deep breath that filled out her chest and clamped her mouth shut as the cloth reached her face. Then, summoning every last reserve of strength in her body, she thrust her head forward and up. Her forehead smashed against his nose. There was a crunch and his head snapped back. The impact hurt like hell, but a high, sharp scream of pain told her it hurt him more.

  The cloth fell away from her face as he put both hands to his nose. She could breathe again. She felt the weight of his body shift and used his distraction to pull her arms free from under him. She rolled to one side, unbalancing him enough to be able to push him off.

  Despite the overwhelming impulse to clamber to her feet and run away, she knew this was the last thing she should do. He would take her down in a matter of seconds. Instead, she scrambled on top of him and grabbed at his arms, effectively pinning him down.

  They were both panting heavily and Marni realised that when he regained his breath, he’d make a more concerted effort to escape. She needed to put him out of commission quickly. She grabbed a handful of the balaclava at the back of his head and slammed his face down into the floor. His cries were muffled by the floorboards. She did it again and then three more times for good measure.

  But she didn’t care. She was in survival mode and his pain meant nothing.

  His struggling slowed down but didn’t stop entirely. Marni glanced around, desperately trying to work out what to do next. Something glinted under her desk. It was his knife. She slowed her breathing to calm down her heart rate, wondering if she could reach it while still maintaining enough pressure to hold the man in place.

  And then what? Stab him?

  There was a noise at the front of the shop and the two police minders crashed through the front door. They quickly took hold of the man and helped Marni off him. As one of them cuffed him, Marni lunged across to where Pepper was lying motionless in the pool of his own blood.

  ‘No, no, please . . . come on, Pepper, please be alive.’

  She gently pulled him towards her and cradled his head. His chest moved with irregular shallow breaths.


  ‘Call a vet, please, please!’ she cried out to one of the policemen.

  ‘In a moment, love.’

  With her assailant rendered harmless, the constables called for backup.

  Marni closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to lose Pepper. She cradled him in shaking arms, her heart pounding, panting hard as her body was still flooded with adrenalin. Within minutes the shop was overrun with police.

  ‘Marni?’ It was Frank’s voice. ‘What the hell happened? Your arm’s bleeding.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said shakily, without bothering to look at the wound. ‘Is it him? Have you got the Tattoo Thief?’

  One of the uniforms pulled the attacker to his feet. Francis stood facing him. The man was far taller and bulkier than Francis – well over six feet.

  ‘Sam Kirby?’

  The man said nothing. Francis stretched up and grasped the top of his balaclava. He pulled it off and gasped.

  They all gasped.

  The Tattoo Thief was a woman.

  46

  Francis

  Sam Kirby. Samantha. The Tattoo Thief. SHE. Francis couldn’t get his head around it. In all this time, since Marni had first found Evan Armstrong’s body, it hadn’t crossed his mind for a second that the killer wasn’t a man. Why hadn’t it? That was easy enough to answer – these killings had been physically demanding. Dead bodies are dead weight and the killer had overpowered the victims, chopped off limbs, flayed skin and then dumped them. If anyone had suggested the murders had been committed by a woman, they would have been laughed out of the department.

  Of course, now he could see it, given the size of Sam Kirby. Tall, broad, muscular. Certainly she probably had the strength for the task – but for a woman to have the necessary aggression? Female serial killers were comparatively rare, and most of those documented used poison or were killing infants or the elderly. He couldn’t remember coming across a female killer who attacked and murdered men in the way Sam Kirby had.