Tattooed

by Pamela Callow

  “Yes, I do.”

  “They will keep questioning you.” He gave her a warning look over the top of his glasses. “They can stick their faces into yours, they can lie to you, they might try to tell you that you were seen at the crime scene that night—” Was that an imperceptible stiffening of her shoulders? “—they can tell you that your mother told them everything and they have proof you killed Heather.” He kept his eyes locked on hers. “But whatever they say, don’t respond. Be polite, but don’t answer any questions.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  “It’s easy to say right now, but when you are seventeen hours in and feeling exhausted, you might be tempted to say something—especially if they seem really sympathetic.” He leaned toward her. “Look away and keep your mouth shut. Every time they ask a question, say nothing. If you feel the need to say anything, just tell them ‘I am exercising my right to remain silent. Please stop questioning me.’ It won’t stop them, but it will be on videotape for the judge to see.”

  She nodded and flexed her fingers.

  She had, Eddie realized, beautiful hands with long, elegant fingers. He noted the tattoos. “That’s kanji, right? What do the letters spell?”

  She gave a wry smile and lifted her left hand. “Tranquility.” She raised her right hand. “Strength.” The right hand covered the tattoo on her left thumb. Then her finger began its odyssey up her arm. “Haven’t seen too much of good ol’ tranquility since I came to Halifax.”

  “Tonight you see won’t any of it,” Eddie said. “But if you can hold on for twenty-four hours without saying a word, you’ll have a much better chance of regaining it later.” He stood. “Call me anytime. If you can’t reach me, tell the police that I am your counsel of choice and you do not wish to see duty counsel.” He dropped his card on the table and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Just hold tight for tonight.”

  “Did you see Finn?” Her remarkable eyes searched his. For the first time, he saw some emotion in them.

  “Yes. He has been pacing the foyer of the police station.”

  “Does he have Foo?”

  “He told me he did. Finn is excellent with dogs. Foo is in good hands.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears.

  Uh-oh. Not a good sign. If the police hammered away at her concern for her dog, she could crumble.

  He patted her hand. “Foo will be fine. Remember, don’t say anything. Then you’ll see him tomorrow. Otherwise…”

  She exhaled. Then she nodded to herself. “Got it.”

  His last glimpse of Kenzie was of his client staring at the wall, her fingers tracing her tattoo, navigating the waves of a hostile sea.

  36

  The police had removed the table, leaving two chairs in the concrete room. One for Kenzie and one for the uptight guy, Detective Drake. He positioned his chair next to her. He was so close, she could feel the warmth from his arm. She shifted away. Nice try, Detective.

  “Kenzie, we spoke to your mother.”

  She stared at the wall.

  “She says she forgives you.”

  Kenzie knew they would try to unbalance her emotionally. She had steeled herself. And yet, despite her resolve to remain untouched, the detective’s pronouncement stung her. She stared at the table. “I am exercising my right to remain silent.”

  The detective lowered his voice. “Listen, Kenzie, you were only seventeen when you killed Heather. We know that. You were young. It was Mardi Gras. You’d been drinking. You got angry.” She glanced up. And regretted it.

  Detective Drake’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression sympathetic. But she had had many, many clients under her hands over the years. She could judge as well as he when someone was being sincere. Or not. “You didn’t know how to control yourself,” he continued. “You killed her, and then panicked. But you’ve had to live with it for seventeen years. Seventeen years while her family wondered where their beloved daughter had gone—”

  Unlike her own mother.

  “—seventeen years of worrying and waiting.”

  I’ve kept quiet for seventeen years. You don’t think I can handle another twenty—she glanced at her watch—twenty hours and thirty-nine minutes?

  “I am exercising my right to remain silent, Detective,” she said.

  She closed her eyes.

  37

  “Come on in.” Kate held the door open for Eddie. “I’m putting the salmon in the oven. We just came back from visiting Enid at the hospital.”

  “How’s she doing?” Eddie asked as they walked into the kitchen.

  “Better.” Kate smiled at Muriel, who trimmed green beans. “Right, Muriel?”

  The elderly lady nodded. “Yes, she’s coming home soon.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Muriel.” Eddie settled into a chair and let out a sigh of pleasure. “I don’t know how you do all that gardening. It’s killing my knees.”

  Eddie, Kate noted with a smile, still wore his gardening clothes. She wondered what the police made of that.

  “Wear knee pads,” Muriel said. “I have some you can borrow.”

  “Good idea,” Eddie said. “My knees thank you.”

  Muriel put down her paring knife and slipped on a pair of large green rain boots. “I’ll go find them. They are in the shed outside.” She hurried out the door, her cat not far behind.

  “She seems to be holding up,” Eddie said, watching the elderly lady stride to the potting shed.

  Kate measured rice into the steamer. “Barely. Corazon has really been a godsend. But thank goodness Enid will be sent home shortly.” She placed the lid on the pot. “How did it go at the police station?”

  Eddie leaned back in the chair, seemingly relaxed. But his eyes missed nothing. “Business as usual, Kate.”

  “Do you think she did it?” Kate pulled a can of coconut milk out of the cupboard.

  Eddie gave her a recriminating look. “You know I’m not supposed to talk about my clients.”

  “I know.” Kate opened the fridge and examined a piece of gingerroot. It wasn’t too wrinkly. She began to peel it. “But after what you told me about how Heather Rigby’s disappearance affected you, I wondered what you thought.”

  Eddie’s gaze met hers. “I can’t think about that, Kate.”

  “Why not?” Kate dug around in a drawer and produced an ancient knife. She began to dice the ginger.

  “Because it doesn’t help.”

  “It doesn’t help who? The family of the murder victim?”

  “Kate, I’m not representing them. I’m representing Kenzie.” His tone was patient, but she sensed a hint of agitation beneath his manner.

  Perhaps this case was getting under the rumpled unflappability of her mentor. It certainly got under her skin. She put down her knife. “Did you know Kenzie was staying with Finn?” That discovery still hurt.

  His gaze met hers. “Yes.”

  “Did she tell you why?”

  “I presume it’s the age-old reason—boy meets girl.”

  “Finn is way too trusting. She will ruin his life.”

  Eddie threw her a look. Kate resumed chopping. “You haven’t seen Kenzie for seventeen years. She was just a teenager when your sister died. She may have changed. You have to give her the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

  Kate shook her head. The ginger was stringy, resistant to the knife. She should have used a sharper one. But she had developed a mild phobia of sharp knives since last year… . “I don’t have to give her the benefit of anything.”

  “Well, I do, Kate. I’m her lawyer. And I’d like to remind you that even if you personally cannot give her the benefit of the doubt, the law presumes she is innocent. As do I.” Alaska tore himself away from the possibility of food falling from the kitchen counter and meandered over to Eddie’s feet. He leaned down to pat the husky. “I’m surprised at you, Kate. I thought you believed in those principles.”

  “I did.”

  “But you don’t now?”

  She sho
ok her head. “Not when it comes to Kenzie.”

  “I think you are blinded by your anger, Kate.” Eddie’s tone was gentle.

  “Eddie, you yourself told me how much Heather Rigby’s case affected you. She was found in a bog with a Halloween mask on her head. She was murdered. She never had a chance to say goodbye. She could have had an argument with her parents, or been mean to her friend, and she never had a chance, Eddie. Kenzie stole that from her.”

  “Kate—” Eddie exhaled. “I know you have reason to believe the worst of Kenzie. But she was still a teen when you knew her. How do you know she hasn’t felt remorse about what happened to your sister?”

  “You didn’t see the look in her eyes at Gennie’s funeral.”

  “Kate, seventeen years is a long time. She might feel very differently now.”

  “Or she might simply be evil, Eddie. An evil teen who grew into an evil woman.”

  “That is for the courts to decide. But you know, Kate, just because she had a problem with addiction doesn’t mean she’s a killer.”

  Kate flushed. Eddie had struggled with alcoholism for years.

  “I know. But you don’t know her, Eddie. She is just…bad. And besides, there is a lot of evidence to suggest she killed Heather—the tattoo, the proximity of the crime scene to her house, the fact she left Halifax the day after Heather was killed…”

  “There was overwhelming evidence that Randall had killed Elise.” Kate’s mouth tightened. She’d known Eddie would bring up Randall’s case. But this was different.

  Eddie’s shrewd gaze was a bit too penetrating for Kate’s comfort. “You know better than anyone else how easy it is to slap a biased interpretation onto the facts. How do you know Kenzie wasn’t a witness?”

  She raised a brow. “How do you know she wasn’t the killer?”

  Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can’t assume she’s guilty of murder because she gave your sister some coke seventeen years ago.”

  Kate forced the knife through a particularly stubborn piece of ginger, narrowly avoiding nicking her finger. “She’s dangerous. She’s a Dorian Gray pinup girl.” Her voice had an embarrassing tremor to it.

  Eddie’s gaze softened. “Listen to yourself, Kate. Why are you so angry? Do you have feelings for Finn? Is that it?”

  Kate scooped the ginger into a bowl. “Yes. I do. He’s like a brother to me. I’m scared for him, Eddie.”

  “He’s a grown man, Kate.”

  There was nothing to say to that. She knew she was being illogical. But she didn’t care. Kenzie Sloane was a totally different beast than the usual criminals that Eddie dealt with.

  She just hoped the prosecution had a damned good case.

  * * *

  Ethan pushed his chair back and strode out of the interviewing room, his movements deliberately abrupt. Kenzie didn’t move.

  He shut the door behind him and entered the monitoring room. Ferguson sat behind the microphone that connected to his earpiece. She had been murmuring suggestions to him off and on for the past three hours, but Kenzie hadn’t bitten. Ferguson removed her headphones. She pointed at the monitor. “Check this out. Sleeping Beauty has finally awoken.” Kenzie had hopped off the chair in the interview room and had begun to do a series of yoga poses.

  He turned away from the monitor in disgust.

  “She’s got to be hiding something. She hasn’t said a word since her lawyer left.”

  Ethan nodded. “I know. But nothing’s working on her.” The sympathy angle didn’t work. He and Lamond had tag-teamed and that had no effect, either. He rubbed his jaw. “I want to show her the sketch that was left in Kate Lange’s house last night.”

  Ferguson shot him a skeptical look. “We don’t know those incidents are connected.”

  “I know. But the sketch was really good. Professional quality. And pinup girls are popular tattoos.”

  “So you think whoever did the tattoo on Heather was the guy who left the sketch for Kate?”

  God. I hope not.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what the connection is. But I think there is one. Maybe Kenzie broke into Kate’s house and left the picture. Maybe she doesn’t like the fact that her mother is trying to kill herself.” That seemed a stretch, but who knew. “Or maybe Kenzie would recognize the work of the person who did it and be willing to do some negotiating.”

  Ferguson put the headphones back on. “Do it.”

  Ten minutes later, Ethan had retrieved the sketch from the incident report. Merely holding the drawing made him remember the mortification in Kate’s eyes when she had seen herself depicted in that pose. Knowing she was the object of some pervert’s fantasies had killed him. Heat flushed his neck.

  Easy, Drake.

  But he slammed the door behind him anyway when he entered the interview room. Kenzie started. Then she stretched her arms over her head, giving him a contemptuous glance, and threw herself back in her chair.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Nice work, Kenzie.” Ethan sat down opposite her.

  She ignored him.

  Ethan crinkled the evidence bag. “I’m surprised you would stoop this low, though.”

  Her eyes remained closed. But he sensed her interest. “I mean, you’d have to be pretty desperate to draw a picture like this. And I never thought you were the desperate type.”

  The muscles around her eyes tightened. She wanted to open them—and was forcing herself to keep them closed. “But we thank you for leaving this for Kate Lange. It gives us another piece of evidence to present to the judge tomorrow.”

  Kenzie’s eyes slowly opened. “Why would I leave anything for Kate Lange? I haven’t seen her in seventeen years.”

  This was the longest Kenzie had spoken since the detention began. Ethan forced his excitement not to show on his face. “You tell me.” He held up the sketch. “This is a pretty cheap shot. Not worthy of you, Kenzie.”

  Kenzie gave it a dismissive glance. “You guys had better up your game if you want to solve any of these cases. I don’t do pinups.”

  Ethan leaned forward. “Then who does?”

  “Detective, if I wanted to be a cop I would have joined the force. I’m not doing your job for you.” Kenzie closed her eyes.

  Anger pounded in Ethan’s veins. He wanted to shake Kenzie Sloane, force her to open her eyes and tell him who the hell had done this to Kate.

  “Time out, Drake.” Ferguson’s voice was soft in his ear. “Let her think about it.”

  You need to cool down was the message. His anger must have shown on his face.

  And that would only lead to disaster.

  He strode to the door, forcing himself to appear relaxed. As soon as he left the room, he checked his watch. He needed to call Kate and check in with her. Make sure that Finn was with her.

  A thought snaked through his head. What if Kenzie had drawn the sketch—and sent her new boyfriend to deliver it?