Inked Killer (A Tattoo Crimes Novel Book 2)

by A. J. Norris

  “Did anyone find a murder weapon?” Harry asked one of the officers at the scene.

  “Only an axe, and it tested negative for blood,” Ellison replied.

  The nearby creek babbled. He walked over to the small bank and studied the bed. A bunch of rocks lined the sandy bottom. One larger one seemed out of place. Ellison came over.

  “Hey, see that rock?” Harry pointed at the biggest one. “Get it and bag it as evidence.” The uniformed cop gave him a why-would-you-want-that look. “Just get it,” Harry sighed. He had a hunch. The color of the rock didn’t match the others in the water.

  Harry got a plastic bag from a CSI and held it open for Ellison. He handed the heavy bag to the tech, who sealed it shut.

  Harry shrugged. “You never know, could be the murder weapon.” He glanced at his surroundings. A hunter had reported the body. His beagle spotted her first. From where the body lay, you couldn’t see the highway. The next thing Harry concerned himself with was the tracks made by a size eleven boot (according to the evidence marker), leading away from the body toward the creek. The footprints continued onto the other side of the brook. “Did anyone follow these tracks?” Harry asked Ellison.

  “Yes, sir. They stopped at Thomson Road. What’s that, a half mile east?”

  “Yeah, dammit. Must’ve parked a car there.”

  Thomson dead-ended and butted right up against the woods, which meant no one would have seen if there had been a car parked for any length of time. The killer had returned to the scene of the crime. Why? Remorse? Curiosity?

  Harry hated how similar the murder was to the two unsolved he’d liked Lance Wooley for. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, found near or in water, 20–30…shit!

  He walked over to CSI Daniels who’d come up from the site. “Did she have any tattoos?” Harry thought he saw one, but he’d been too busy thinking about his own daughter.

  “Lower back. Some kind of bird.”

  “Can you take a picture when you get back to County?” Mikey might know the work.

  “Always do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Harry trudged through the snow, back to the dozen police and emergency vehicles.

  “Hey, Detective!” Rudy shouted, waving him over to the one person Harry needed to speak with, the hunter. He looked like Elmer Fudd in his red plaid hat, complete with ear flaps. A beagle sat in the passenger seat of an old truck, steaming the window with its anxious panting. The beast whimpered and pranced up and down when Harry reached the pick-up.

  “Tell me how you found the deceased.”

  “Betsy seen her first, she’d ran ahead and—”

  “Who’s Betsy?”

  “My dog. She’s a good dog. I thought she’d seen a rabbit, then I heard something take off, so I whistled for her, thought it might be a deer or coyote, something.”

  “You didn’t get a look at what it was?”

  “Naw. I don’t move as fast as I used to. I’d seen she was into something, sniffing it real good. Took a second to register it was a woman.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1 from your truck or home?”

  “Oh, I called right away from my cell.” Elmer took an iPhone 6 or 7+ from his pocket. Even Harry didn’t have something that fancy.

  “Nice phone,” Harry muttered. He handed the hunter a business card. “If you remember hearing or seeing anything else give me a call.”

  “Will do, Detective.”

  Harry walked to Natalie’s car and sat behind the wheel, jotting some quick notes in his field notebook. Rudy spoke to the Elmer Fudd wanna-be before he also got into his truck and drove away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mikey

  Mikey put the tattoo gun down. “Take a look at it after I clean you off.” He swabbed the woman’s ribcage. She sucked in a breath. “You all right?”

  “Stings a little.”

  “Sorry, nothing I can do about that, but it won’t last.”

  Harry made his presence known as he entered the shop. He opened the door so abruptly the bells over the door banged against the glass. Mikey shook his head. The man looked cross, although he always did. Stress did that to a person. He seemed happier when Natalie was around.

  Angie stood in front of the mirror examining her new mandala tattoo. She smiled. “Now I can tell my friends.”

  “What’s that?” Mikey asked keeping an eye on Harry, not paying much attention to her.

  “Getting tattooed by the guy who got away.” She held her shirt rolled up off the tattoo.

  Harry raised one eyebrow at him and likely because his interpretation was that Mikey had dated her.

  “In the flesh.”

  Harry looked confused and mouthed, What?

  “What was it like?” she asked. “Were you scared?”

  Mikey smoothed back the hair on top of his head. Although being famous for nearly dying at the hands of a serial killer wasn’t what he wanted, the concept of getting tattooed by him drew in customers.

  “It wasn’t fun,” he replied.

  She seemed satisfied with the answer and glanced at Harry who, despite his dislike of tattoos, stared at her mid-section. Mikey snorted, and mouthed, Stop staring.

  Harry straightened and pretended that one of the designs on the wall interested him.

  Another artist clanked his gun down on his table. The client he worked on readjusted their position, squeaking on the chair. The buzzing began again shortly after.

  Mikey bandaged Angie’s side. “Touchups are free.”

  “Cool,” she said as he led her to the counter.

  “We agreed on one-fifty.” In truth he should have charged two hundred for the amount of intricate detail work.

  She handed him two bills. “I love my tattoo. Thanks, keep the change.”

  Mikey smiled and winked.

  Harry watched Angie leave.

  “You never make social calls here, what’s up?” Mikey said to Harry.

  Harry handed him a folded piece of paper. “Take a look at this. Tell me everything you know.”

  Mikey chuckled. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to interrogate me?”

  “Do you recognize it? It’s a bird.”

  “I assume since you’re asking me, it’s a tattoo. You know, a lot of people tattoo birds, not just me.” Mikey opened the paper, keeping his eye on Harry. “This might be harassment.”

  “Will you look at it and tell me if you recognize the work?”

  “Call it art and you have my cooperation.”

  Harry sipped from his paper coffee cup, muttering, “You’re lucky my daughter loves you.”

  Mikey smiled and studied the photo. He pursed his lips. “It’s not my work. It looks like Steve’s from Radiant Images though.”

  The door jangled and his next client entered. Mikey held up his finger, asking for a minute. The millennial took a seat in the waiting chairs by the front door.

  “Steve at Radiant Images?” Harry repeated.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Uh hm,” Harry grunted.

  “You’re in a grand mood today. The person who wears that tat is dead, aren’t they?”

  “What do you know of it?” he stepped closer and whispered.

  Mikey pursed his lips. “Nothing. I’m sorry, Harry.”

  “For what?”

  “Not being more helpful. Man, I don’t know if I could do what you do day in and day out.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “Do you?”

  Harry shrugged. “Need the picture back.”

  Mikey handed him the paper and regarded the detective, his future father-in-law, for a moment. “Make sure you tell Steve I know you before you start asking questions.”

  Harry left without saying another word. Mikey motioned for his next client to join him at his tattoo chair.

  * * *

  Harry

  Harry parked his borrowed car outside Radiant Images Tattoo Parlor. The single building converted from a house sat on one
of the main drags in town, nestled between a few residential homes. The owners still hoped they would receive a large buyout from a developer. If one should happen to come their way. Doubtful, though.

  A commercial glass door had replaced the original one, and like Mikey’s Ink Addiction, a neon sign hung in the window. Two people who didn’t look old enough to be in a tattoo place let alone get one, stood at a counter looking at books of tattoo designs. A woman dressed in tight black jeans and a leather vest lounged on an adjustable tattoo bed with her eyes closed. Tattoos covered one of her arms and the upper half of the other. Her lips were bright red.

  “Let me know when you ladies have decided on a design.” She opened one eye and looked at Harry. “What can I do for you, detective?”

  “How do you know I’m a cop?”

  “Got that look about you.”

  He glanced down his body then rocked back on his heels. “Yeah. Is Steve around?”

  “Get out.” She picked her head up and glared at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “You don’t have to, just tell me where I can find Ste—”

  “I’m Steve.”

  “Oh.” That SOB. “I know Mikey Hardin.”

  She sighed heavily and stood. Her thick soled, chunky heeled boots clomped on the wooden floor. “Let’s speak in the back.”

  He followed her through a doorway with a curtain of beads hung from the top jamb.

  “Need the room for a minute,” she told a blond man with scruff on his face. “You got creds?”

  Harry flashed her his badge. He waited for the man to leave before speaking. He pulled out the picture with the tattoo. “Mikey said you might be able to help me out with this.”

  She took the photo and rubbed a cheek with her fingertips. Her eyebrows raised. “It’s my work. I remember this one well. Took a picture for my website gallery.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Yeah, sweet girl. Mia something. Hold on gimme a minute…Dillon, no…Dixon. That’s it. Mia Dixon.”

  “How long ago was this done?”

  “I wanna say three months, though it could be more or less. I usually remember the ones that bring me their own designs. In fact, I might still have the original.”

  Steve bent over a two-drawer gray filing cabinet. “I keep original drawings if the client allows me to reuse the design and she consented. She’s an artist. Thought it was cool, but I never could bear using it again…”

  Harry listened to her drone on. To his surprise, he wasn’t interested in her ass. Other women just didn’t do it for him anymore. He missed Natalie and couldn’t wait to relax in front of the TV with her later.

  Steve straightened and handed a drawing to him.

  “Thanks. Can I have this?”

  “Keep it. She won’t be coming back for it, will she?”

  Harry shook his head. “Ah, sorry I assumed you were—that Steve was a man’s name.”

  “Forget it, Mikey’s future father-in-law.”

  Harry chuckled. “He had you mess with me.”

  “Only a bit.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Grace

  Grace never thought she was mother material. Maternal instincts that seemed to come naturally to most felt forced to her. At least before she met Brayden. The kid was some sort of enigma to her.

  He sat next to her at the dining room table doing his homework while she finished with a client’s year-end books.

  She felt Brayden’s eyes on her and looked over at him. “You need help with something?”

  “Kinda. I’m not sure I get what the teacher wants.”

  “Let me see.”

  He slid the paper over and scooted his chair closer.

  Grace read the story problem out loud. Fifth grade math was so simple, she hadn’t remembered it that way. She looked at his answer and it was correct. “What’s the problem, you solved it correctly.”

  “I know, but I’m supposed to explain how I got my answer. Why does it matter how?”

  “I’m sure your teacher only wants to make sure you understand and didn’t use a calculator.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Grace smiled. “I know that.”

  “So stupid.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, it was that way when I was a kid too.”

  “Maybe Dad can write a note telling the teacher that this is dumb.”

  Grace giggled. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  The garage door opened and a minute later Mikey came in through the kitchen.

  “How was work?”

  “Uneventful until your dad came in.”

  “What was he there for?”

  “A tattoo.”

  Grace’s jaw dropped. “No way!”

  Mikey chuckled.

  “Don’t tease me,” she said.

  “He asked about a tattoo. There was a murder, I guess.”

  “Oh God,” she said and shook her head.

  “This sounds like an adult conversation,” Brayden said.

  “Then go to your room, it’s past your bedtime anyway,” Mikey said.

  “It’s only 8:30.”

  “So?”

  “My bedtime is 9:00.”

  Mikey looked at the ceiling and blew out a breath. “Then don’t complain.”

  Brayden put his math sheet in a folder and then into his backpack. “You need to put money on my lunch account.”

  “I already did, smarty pants.”

  “Did my dad tell you anything about the murder?” Okay, why was she talking about this with Brayden around? It didn’t seem motherly. “Never mind, we’ll talk about it later.”

  “Nothing to talk about, he didn’t say much. He was upset about it though, even if he didn’t say.”

  “That’s my dad.”

  “I sent him to someone who I’m pretty sure did the work anyway.” He smiled too wide not to be hiding something.

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. He was being grumpier than usual.”

  Grace laughed. “What did you do? I know you guys are always messing with each other.”

  “It’s so easy. Who could blame me?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Harry

  Cedric’s low voice seeped through the wall of Natalie’s garage from the kitchen. Harry inhaled deeply with only his nose and exhaled with a groan. His earlier thoughts of vegging out on the couch watching recorded episodes of How It’s Made seemed impossible now that his best friend sat in the kitchen. Harry loved the man, except now that he and Natalie had finally connected six months ago, after twenty-five years of friendship, he saw Cedric more than ever.

  The door creaked as Harry pushed it open.

  “Hey, there’s the man,” Cedric said. “You lost weight?”

  “You ask me that every time you see me and my answer’s always the same.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “He looks great. Like he did twenty years ago,” Natalie chimed in. She stood and went to Harry. He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Twenty years, huh? What I wouldn’t give to get twenty years of my life back. I may have aged twenty in the last ten.” Cedric laughed.

  “You know, I think you’re right.”

  “You’re supposed to disagree.”

  “How can I? You use that damn cane. If you’d just move a little bit—”

  “Move my ass, I move plenty. It’s this sciatic hip that gives me trouble.”

  “Lying on your back while your women do all the work doesn’t count as moving.”

  “You’re more of a bastard than usual tonight.”

  “I am not…” Harry grumbled.

  “Leave him alone, he got in an accident last night and this morning a girl was found,” Natalie said. She went behind the counter and filled the coffee pot with water.

  Cedric kept his mouth shut for once. Harry welcomed the silence. He sat at the table across from h
is best friend.

  “I know you can’t discuss specifics,” Natalie said, “but were you at least able to identify the poor girl?”

  “Uh huh.”

  The coffee poured into the pot. As it brewed, the aroma filled the air. Harry breathed deeply, and the tense muscles in his lower back relaxed a bit. Arabica beans acted like Valium for him.

  She brought over a steaming mug and put it in front of Harry. He wrapped his hands around the cup. “Why don’t you take your coat off?” she asked.

  Harry shrugged out of his parka.

  Cedric looked as if he was on the verge of saying something.

  “What is it you want to say? Out with it.” Harry sipped his coffee. He always drank it black without sugar.

  “How did the girl die?”

  “You know I can’t say anything until we inform her next of kin.”

  “Do you actually think I have anyone to tell?”

  “I think whoever killed Chelsea Rand just showed back up in town.”

  “Or they never left,” Cedric said.

  “I don’t feel much like socializing.”

  Cedric punched his cane into the floor and lumbered to his feet. “See you, my man, you know where to find me.”

  Harry nodded and remained seated. The other man patted him on the shoulder then showed himself out. After the front door closed, Harry noticed that Natalie had slipped from the kitchen.

  He sat at the table until well after he emptied his mug.

  * * *

  Natalie was in bed reading a book when Harry wandered into her room after midnight.

  “I was starting to wonder if you were coming to bed.” She glanced up from her latest romance novel.

  “Sorry, I…” the rest of his words trailed off into an incomprehensible mumble that he couldn’t understand either. He stripped, and slid into bed buck naked.

  Natalie burped. “Excuse me.” She patted her chest.