Inked Killer (A Tattoo Crimes Novel Book 2) Read online

  “Was she or not?”

  “Yes. There was evidence of that.”

  “I didn’t sexually assault her, so why not? You got a cup?” He grinned.

  Harry rubbed his forehead. “We swab the inside of your cheek.” He tipped his cup back once more, hoping for one last drop. For years, he’d hidden his addiction by sneaking Jim Beam into his coffee. Long gone were those days. “So let me get this straight. You admit to having sex with Heidi—”

  “Oral.”

  “You had oral sex with Heidi Merlow. Did you have any contact with Mia—”

  “Never seen her before until you showed me her picture.”

  “You’re positive? Come on, maybe once.” When you killed her…

  “I’m positive I didn’t know her. And I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “You’re looking guilty from here.”

  “Because you want me to, not because I am.”

  Harry stared at Cam, narrowing his eyes. He clenched his jaw. They guy had a point. “You keep popping up on my radar.”

  “Don’t know what to tell ya. I’m being set up.”

  Pfft. If Harry had a dollar for every time he’d heard that line. Someone knocked on the door. “Dammit, Rudy,” he muttered. “Just a minute!” Harry lowered his voice, “Who do you think is setting you up?”

  “Probably the person who ran your daughter off the road. I’d start there, if I were you.”

  The door swung open. “I said—”

  Rudy escorted a young man who didn’t look much older than twenty-five into the room. The blond-haired newcomer wore a navy pinstriped suit. His clothing reminded Harry of a gangster from the forties, like it had been borrowed from a costume shop.

  Don’t tell me, this ass-clown is an attorney?

  Gangster stuck his hand out. Harry shook it.

  “Stan Ipkiss.” He handed Harry a business card with perforated edges. It looked like the print-from-your-home-computer kind.

  Where had Harry heard that name? It had a familiar ring to it. He studied the card so he didn’t have to look at the ridiculous suit.

  “Are you charging my client?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m advising Mr. Blackwell not to answer any more of your questions.”

  “He agreed to a DNA swab.”

  Ipkiss looked at Cam. “That true? Because you don’t have to unless he has a warrant. Shouldn’t have arrested—”

  “I arrested him for probable cause.” Gangster should know Harry hadn’t violated Cam’s rights on that one. Had Ipkiss passed the bar and had anyone checked his credentials?

  Cam waved his lawyer off. “I’ll do it. It’s not a thing.”

  Ipkiss’s face paled.

  “One more thing, if I may?” said Harry.

  “Ask away,” Cam said.

  “What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Ten and a half.”

  Harry nodded, except there wasn’t much difference between ten and half and eleven. He left Cam and fancy pants in the room and asked the evidence collection guys to send someone in for a swab.

  “Letting him go, Harry?” Rudy asked from his desk in the squad room.

  “Did you check his lawyer’s credentials?”

  “Of course. Are you letting him go?”

  Harry grumbled in response. After collecting his coat, he headed for the exit.

  “Harry?”

  “Yeah, let Blackwell go.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Harry

  Harry settled on Cedric’s plastic covered sofa. The seat creaked until he found a comfortable position. Although he never actually got into a good position. Instead, he accepted where he sat. One arm rested on the armrest with his fist curled around a Styrofoam cup. The other lay on his left knee with a second cup of coffee.

  “Back to two-fisted drinking, I see,” Cedric commented.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have all the murders mapped out on your wall.” Last summer when the Tattoo Killer, aka Lance Wooley, was terrorizing Webster, Cedric had taped a map of the city to the wall with all the locations of the bodies diagramed, complete with newspaper clippings.

  “Got an app for all that now.” Cedric held up his iPhone.

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “What ever happened at the sentencing hearing for Cody?”

  “Lance. He got two consecutive life sentences without parole.”

  “Sounds about right. Of course, he’ll be serving an eternity in Hell anyway after his death.” Harry’s best friend watched him sip his coffee from the cup on the right. “How come you never bring me any?”

  “‘Cuz I’m a selfish bastard, why do think?”

  “Man, you’re out of it. What’s eatin’ you?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “No.”

  They sat mutely and Harry drank his coffee. That was the thing about Cedric; the man was content just to sit in a room with him. No talking, only breathing and being. Thinking was optional. Several minutes passed.

  “S’ppose you arrested Cam.”

  “You know I can’t discuss an ongo—”

  “Oh, here we go. We both know you’re gonna tell me about it. Have I ever said anything to anyone?”

  “Chelsea Rand.”

  “All right, except for Rand’s parents.”

  Cedric had interviewed the girl’s parents. How he’d been able to get them to talk to him was a mystery Harry didn’t want solved. Impersonating a police detective came to mind. Chelsea had been found a year and a half ago and was believed to be Lance’s first victim. Her parents had told Cedric she knew someone with the first initial “L” about the time of her death. They couldn’t recall his name.

  “I promise not to go interviewing anyone. The stuff interests me though.”

  “What stuff?”

  “True crime. And right here in boring Webster.”

  The mid-western town of Webster had a population of roughly 45,000. Neighborhoods ranged from upper class to some poverty level, and a large middle-class in between. Cedric said he lived in an economically challenged area. However, a developer had bought and tore down a lot of the vacant homes then built new ones, completely changing the face of the neighborhood.

  “This place isn’t boring.” Harry said. “I wish it were.”

  “Maybe not for you.”

  “Can’t understand it, thought I was pretty sure about Cam.”

  “And now you have doubts?”

  “Asshole was more than willing to give up a DNA sample.”

  “I love DNA testing. Only wish the shit’d been used during my investigation and trial.”

  Harry wished it had been too. Cedric could have been acquitted before spending ten years in prison for crimes he hadn’t committed.

  “You still like him for running Grace off the road?”

  “Yeah, but Gracie thinks he’s her savior and was just there at the right time.” Harry’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that convenient? Shows up right then. Perfect timing.” Harry’s voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Yeah, right.”

  “On the other hand…”

  Harry finished the coffee in his right hand and got up to nuke what remained in his left-hand cup. “On the other hand, we wait for the DNA results.”

  “Then you’ll know if he killed those women.”

  Harry sighed into his coffee before sipping. It was still too cold after microwaving it. He spat it into the cup and shoved it back into the zap box. “Lance never sexually assaulted the women he killed,” he said absently.

  “What about Chelsea?”

  “I don’t think he killed her.”

  Cedric’s brows raised. “You don’t? Since when?”

  “The weapon used was different. Left a different impression than the sledgehammer used on Cynthia and Jennifer.” Right at that moment, Harry realized that he usually referred to the homicide victims by first name, like he personally knew them. He supposed he did, they just weren’t a
live. Maybe this was why every murder he investigated haunted him. Sometimes he dreamed the “unsolves” were ghosts who led him to their killers, only he could never see who they showed him. He’d wake up in a cold sweat.

  “Blunt force trauma is blunt force trauma, ain’t it? Them women’s skulls were smashed with something damn heavy.”

  Harry snorted into his coffee cup. “Yeah, a big fucking rock.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Cody again?”

  “Lance. He made it clear he wouldn’t help find Chelsea’s or anyone else’s killer.”

  “What if I talk to—”

  “Don’t even think about it! No. That’s a dead horse.”

  Cedric chuckled. “Okay, okay, I won’t. So you don’t want to know what he said then?”

  The microwave dinged.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Mikey

  Mikey unlocked the shop’s door at ten after ten in the morning. Cam arrived as Mikey put his jacket away. He hooked his car keys on his belt loop. His first client should arrive at 10:30.

  Cam clocked in using the computer in the back of the shop. Without hesitation, he printed out the day’s schedule of appointments and sat on a stool behind the display counter.

  Mikey readied his tattoo station for Derrick. Today would be his last session for the kneeling angel that spanned the guy’s entire back.

  “Hey, uh, I got someone coming in later to check out the space for rent,” Mikey told Cam. One of the artists that had rented space left after the murders last summer linked to Ink Addiction. Mikey didn’t blame the guy. He even thought about closing this location and finding a new place on the other side of town.

  The door chime went off and in walked Zeke, one of Needles’ regulars. He was a lumberjack looking dude and a friend of Mikey’s from high school. Zeke had this scary vibe going on, but in reality was usually laid back.

  “If you’re looking for Needles, he’s not here,” Mikey told his friend.

  Zeke towered over Mikey’s 6’4” frame. The man had to be at least 6’8”. Without a word, only a glare, he took off his fleece-lined flannel and the red t-shirt underneath and turned around. Beneath the black and gray eagle spanning his shoulders, the word ‘Strength’ scrolled across his lower back.

  “Cool tat, man,” Cam said.

  “Cool? Look closer. Do you see it?!” Zeke said.

  “What’s wrong with—”

  “Aw, shit,” Mikey said, rubbing his forehead.

  “Saw it, didn’t you?”

  The word had been spelled incorrectly—instead ‘S-T-R-E-N-G-H-T’ was inked.

  Mikey sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Please tell me someone other than Needles did that and you’re here to have it fixed.”

  “Oh, I’m here to have it fixed, all right.”

  “I’ll fix it, no problem, but you got choices. You either get the last two letters removed first or I do a cover-up. Only with that black ink, you’re better going the removal route.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Tell that sonofabitch he owes me a hundred and fifty.”

  Mikey recoiled. “He charged you how much?”

  “One fifty,” Cam piped in. “Only…” he tapped on the keyboard at the computer, “says here you paid a hundred.”

  Zeke’s red face turned purple and his fists clenched. “I paid one-fifty!”

  Mikey decided against asking the guy if he had checked out the work in the mirror before he left. “I take it Needles freehanded this?”

  “Yes. I trusted that mutha—fuck!” Zeke knocked a display of branded t-shirts off the counter. The small wooden crate they’d been stacked in clattered to the cement floor, splintering apart. His fist came down on the glass counter and formed cracks, spider-webbing out.

  “Take it easy!” Cam warned. “It’s not Mikey or the t-shirt’s fault. Or the counter, man.”

  Needles walked in, the chime signaling his arrival. He glanced at the broken box. “What’s going on in here?”

  Zeke stomped over to Needles and grabbed him by the throat.

  “Hey!” Needles pounded Zeke’s arms. “Get off me,” he squeaked while his face turned red.

  Mikey glanced at Cam before they both pried at Zeke’s hands.

  “Killing him isn’t gonna help anything,” Cam said.

  It might, Mikey thought. Ned had been scheduling fewer and fewer clients, which meant less rental income. And now this? He prayed the artist looking for space to rent worked out. Mikey was leaning toward telling Ned to clear out his stuff.

  Cam released Zeke’s arm and came around to the guy’s back. He jumped up and placed him in a chokehold. Zeke’s hands flew to Cam’s arms. Ned dropped to his knees, gasping for air. His face had turned purple. Zeke was a big ass dude.

  Zeke’s arms flailed, then lost their fight. His knees buckled. Cam eased him onto the floor.

  Mikey pursed his lips. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “Eh, pressure to the carotids for a few seconds usually does the trick.”

  “Nice trick,” Derrick said.

  Mikey hadn’t noticed his 10:30 client standing by the display counter. Mikey clapped palms with him. “Hey, man, good to see ya.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “Looks that way, huh?” Cam asked.

  Everyone looked at Zeke, who moaned. “What the hell? Did you put me out?” His focus wandered over to Cam.

  “Whatever beef you have with Ned, you both need to settle it outside the shop,” Mikey said to Zeke.

  Zeke labored to his feet. “Sorry about all this.” He swooped the air with his hand.

  “Yeah, I’ll send you a bill for the glass.”

  Zeke eyed Mikey. “Start by taking what Ned owes you for overcharging me and underpaying you.”

  “Oh, hold up. I never overcharged you. Is this what this is about?” Ned said.

  “Show him your back, Zeke,” Cam said.

  Mikey braced himself for another fight.

  “You fucked up his back, man. Spelled ‘Strength’ wrong,” Cam told Ned.

  Why the hell did he say that? Mikey narrowed his eyes at Cam and mouthed, What are you doing?

  “Bullshit!” Ned shouted.

  “You did,” Mikey said, hoping to defuse the situation.

  “And you wanna explain to Mikey about charging Zeke $150 and only recording a hundred?” Cam asked.

  Mikey put his hand up.

  “This is bullshit!” Ned said.

  Mikey puffed his chest.

  “You calling me a liar?” Zeke asked.

  “Damn right!” Ned stood less than two feet from Zeke. The men glowered at each other. Derrick went and stood by Mikey’s tattoo station.

  Mikey knew this couldn’t be the first time Ned had cheated him. He wasn’t all that concerned about what the guy charged his clients, except they had a contract. Mikey received 20% of the fees, capped at a certain dollar amount, for leasing space to Ned. “How much? How much, you been shorting me?”

  “You’re gonna believe this asshole over me?”

  “I’ve known him a lot longer than you. So yeah.”

  “This chump is the only one,” Ned said, keeping his eyes on Zeke.

  “Pfft. I wouldn’t believe that,” Cam drawled.

  Cam was provoking his uncle in a not so subtle fashion. Why? Even though Mikey wanted Ned out, he didn’t want to part on bad terms either. Mikey dragged his palms down his face.

  Zeke and Ned glared at one another, neither one ready to back down.

  “Oh for fuck sake’s, get out of my shop, both of you!” Mikey snapped. He had a tattoo to do.

  Zeke gave Mikey a stiff nod and backed away from Ned toward the front door. At the exit, he motioned with his head at Ned, who followed him outside. They wandered down the strip mall, out of Mikey’s view.

  Derrick audibly blew out a breath. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

  “Not today,” Mikey answered his client.

  “Go
od.”

  “Can you give me a minute?”

  Derrick shrugged one shoulder. “Take your time, I’m in no hurry.”

  Mikey asked Cam to the back of the shop. “You were purposely egging your uncle on. Why?”

  Cam rubbed his jawline. “I don’t like him.”

  “Since when?”

  “Always, he’s…” Cam looked up, “he’s not who he seems, all right? You don’t know him like I do.”

  Mikey’s forehead crinkled. “Something happen between you two I should know about?”

  “Heidi Merlow,” Cam said.

  “The dead w—” Mikey cleared his throat, “waitress from Cocoa?”

  Cam cocked his head and smirked humorlessly.

  “What are you saying, you think he killed her?” Mikey whispered.

  “I didn’t,” Cam whispered back. “Can your friend handle himself?”

  “I thought so, until you put him to sleep.”

  “I’m trained.”

  Mikey was definitely going to speak to Harry about this conversation. “What are you trained for, MMA fighting?”

  Cam chuckled. “Among other things.”

  “What other—never mind. I’ve got shit to do and that interview later.” Mikey waved Cam off.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  Harry

  Cedric laughed hard at Harry’s expression.

  “You didn’t…”

  “Anyone can have a visitor in prison, even Cody,” Cedric said.

  “Lance.”

  “That’s the name he prefers.”

  “I don’t care what he prefers. Did you really go see him?”

  “Nope, wrote him a letter.”

  “He wrote you back?”

  Cedric used his cane to get up from his recliner with a groan. “Oh. These aching joints.”

  “You should move more.”

  Cedric went into the kitchen and returned with an envelope.

  “Incredible.” Harry stood and snatched the letter from Cedric. He read it to himself. Disgusted, he let the paper fall to the ground. “Do you believe this shit?”

  “Cryptic, ain’t it?”