Inkslingers Ball (A Forensic Handwriting Mystery)

by Sheila Lowe

  “I’m not a child, you know,” Annabelle replied in her most adult manner. “I’m almost sixteen. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  While Joel went upstairs, she got herself a soda and carried it up to her room. She still could not get the horrific images out of her head. Only this time, the victim she saw was Angel.

  Annabelle stretched out on her bed and tried to read the Twilight book she was reading, but it was impossible to concentrate. Finally, she gave up and put the book back on the nightstand. She tried to think of something fun that she and Monica could do together, but that didn’t work either because the bad thoughts kept intruding. Thoughts she had been struggling unsuccessfully to banish. Thoughts about Viper, a man she had never met, but who seemed to have taken over her mind.

  He can’t get away with it.

  He needs to pay for what he did.

  He has to pay.

  I’ll make him pay.

  Around and around the thoughts went, like horses on a carousel in a never-ending circle.

  She pictured herself walking into the Dragon House tattoo parlor. The man she visualizes as Viper looks at her and all he sees is a fresh piece of ass like Angel and Jamie. Someone to dominate and use however he wants.

  She pulls the gun out of her backpack and his jaw goes slack, his eyes widen with terror. He starts to beg, “Please, don’t shoot me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  But she pulls the trigger anyway. There’s a loud bang and he falls down. She straddles his lifeless body, pulling the trigger again, shooting him in the heart. Then, with a feeling of intense satisfaction, she walks away.

  Her room was a little darker when she opened her eyes and looked at the time on her phone—4:05. She must have dozed off for real. Claudia would be back in a couple of hours with Jamie. Ick.

  Annabelle lay there for a little while, trying to decide what to do next. She imagined all over again what she would like to do to Viper. And as she pictured it, piece by piece, a plan began to formulate.

  She could hear the game going strong downstairs, but Joel was not yelling at the TV as he often did. Annabelle jumped up off the bed, trembling all over, partly with fright at what she was contemplating and partly with sheer excitement.

  Moving silently down the staircase until she could see across the room, she leaned over the banister. Joel was sacked out on the couch, snoring loud, gusty breaths. With the brutal schedule he had been working over the past week, then the long drive back and forth to Pomona today, she knew he had to be exhausted. Good. That suited her fine.

  She ran back upstairs, careful to avoid the squeaky treads, and got her backpack.

  The door was open to the bedroom Joel shared with Claudia when he wasn’t at his own apartment, which was most of the time. Even though she knew he was sound asleep in the living room, Annabelle entered on tiptoe.

  His gun was in its holster on the nightstand where he always left it on his side of the bed. Claudia did not like him leaving it in the open, but his response was always the same: he needed to have it within easy reach, and besides, there were no little kids in the house.

  She knew it was a Glock 9mm because Joel had showed her how it worked. They’d had the Big Talk about how she must never touch it, and she had promised. And of course, Claudia made sure Annabelle heard about it every time there was something on the news about some little kid with irresponsible idiots for parents who had accidentally shot himself or someone else. Or someone had gone crazy and shot up their school or a movie theater or a mall. As if she was that stupid or crazy.

  Next to his holster where Annabelle knew she would find it, was Joel’s key ring. She closed her fist around it so the keys would not jangle and scooped it up.

  It was hidden behind the pants hanging on the lower rail, but Annabelle knew there was a small safe on the floor against the back wall of Claudia’s walk-in closet. Claudia made no secret of it, or the fact that she loathed its contents. But after some of the dangerous situations Claudia had landed in since they’d met, Joel had insisted she have a weapon of her own—a 9mm semiautomatic that he called a baby Glock. Despite the cute name, Claudia had accepted it only under loud protest.

  With the door open, the closet was semi-dark, but Annabelle did not want to turn on the light. She was shaking like jello on a plate, but once she fitted the special key into the safe’s lock, it turned like it was supposed to. She lifted the lid and reached inside. Her fingers found the leather holster and curled around the weapon. She had not made any promises about this gun.

  It was heavier than she had expected. She knew it was already loaded, so she would not have to worry about getting the bullets into the magazine. Leaving the lid of the safe open so she wouldn’t have to use the key again later when she returned the weapon, she made sure the clothing on the railing concealed it and crept out of the closet.

  Before she had time to give a second thought to what she was doing, the gun was in her backpack, Joel’s keys were back on the nightstand, and she was on her way downstairs.

  The ease with which she had accomplished the first step of her plan emboldened her to take the next one.

  Joel was no longer snoring, but his rhythmic breathing told her he was sound asleep. Pretending to herself that she was invisible, Annabelle stole past him to the kitchen. Jamie’s backpack was on a chair. Taking the car keys, she left through the back door, closing it quietly behind her.

  Around the side of the house, then down the street, where the old Honda sat, gathering dust. Lucky for Jamie, she had missed the street sweeper, Annabelle thought sourly. Too bad she didn’t get a ticket.

  Because she was not yet sixteen, Annabelle did not qualify for her driver’s license. She had a provisional permit, though, and had practiced driving the Jaguar plenty of times with Claudia. Before that, when she was twelve her fake father had taught her to drive his golf cart on the private road around his Malibu estate so she could run errands for him. Still, she had to be mondo careful not to get stopped. Claudia would be pissed if she got a ticket for driving without a license. Or stealing Jamie’s car, which reminded her of the times she and Angel had gone joyriding with their gangsta friends, before Claudia came into her life. Thinking of it all, she realized with surprise that she did not miss those days one bit. Besides, going to Juvie was not an experience she wanted to repeat.

  Being several inches shorter than Jamie, the first thing Annabelle had to do was figure out how to move the seat up to allow her feet to reach the pedals. Then the engine gave a little sputter when she turned the key in the ignition, as if it wasn’t going to start. No! There wasn’t time to hot-wire it like she’d watched her former homies do.

  Fingers crossed, she tried again and it sounded a little stronger this time. Maybe the battery had run down after sitting for a few days. The third time, the engine turned over and came to life. The gas gauge showed almost empty, but Dragon House wasn’t far. There had to be enough gas to get there and back. She hadn’t brought any money with her.

  Now that she was in the car, moving the gear shifter into Drive Annabelle felt as calm as the water in the canals down by Venice Beach. She knew where Dragon House was located because Angel and Jamie had told her. Lincoln Boulevard near Rose in Venice. It would take maybe ten minutes to get there.

  Two years ago, she had failed to save someone she loved. Today she was going to make up for that failure.

  Annabelle checked the rearview mirror. She remembered to look over her shoulder and check behind her before pushing her foot on the gas pedal and pulling away from the curb.

  The curving hill that led down to Culver Boulevard seemed even steeper than usual, as if the incline had become almost vertical just to scare her. Conscious of the sheer drop just past the low railing on the other side of the road, she drove slowly, one foot hovering over the brake until she reached the bottom.

 
It only took a minute, then she was passing Tyler’s Coffee House and making a right onto Culver. Her heart started thumping again and she was grateful traffic was pretty light as she drove the half-mile past the Ballona wetlands and turned left onto Lincoln.

  It was a little farther than she expected, but with its painted green dragon roaring across the front windows, Dragon House Tattoos was easy enough to spot. Annabelle parked Jamie’s car on the street around the corner from the studio and turned off the engine.

  Oh my God. What the fuck am I doing?

  What the cops should have done.

  She was here. She was going to do it. With a furtive glance around to make sure nobody on the street was watching, she opened her backpack and checked inside. There was the revolver, its short black grip molded to fit the user’s hand. It kinda looked like a toy, but anyone with half a brain could see it was definitely not that. Annabelle was positive it looked real enough to scare Viper into the confession she intended to record.

  Before leaving the house she had checked her phone to make sure the battery was charged all the way. Now, before climbing out of the Honda, she accessed the Voice Memo feature and got it ready to record.

  As she rounded the corner, for one heart-stopping moment, Annabelle wondered whether the shop might be closed this late on a Sunday. Then she reminded herself that the Dragon House artists at the Expo had said Viper had left to go back to the shop.

  She pushed on the glass door and it opened. Inside, although the lights were on, there was a feeling of darkness. Annabelle got an impression of tattoo art papering the walls, and framed photographs of customers who had come to Dragon House to get inked.

  Her focus sharpened and she saw that the space was divided into four cubicles. Each cubicle had its own metal tool chest like the kind auto repair shops use, a rolling stool, and a chair that looked like it belonged in a dentist’s office.

  A man was sitting in one of the chairs with his eyes closed. When Annabelle walked through the door, he was on his feet in an instant, and coming toward her.

  “What can I do for you, young lady?” he asked in a sort of growl.

  “I—I’m looking for Viper.” She sounded small and weak in the cavern-like space.

  The man, who had the hardest, meanest face Annabelle had ever seen in her life, was not how she had pictured him, but she knew who he was. He looked back at her, unsmiling, and asked, “What for?”

  He was a smallish man, not nearly as tall as Joel. Not even as tall as Claudia. But standing over Annabelle, he wore an attitude that was badder even than her fake father, who was a criminal. Viper moved closer and she could feel his interest in her.

  She made herself think of what he had done to Angel. When she answered, she was pleased to her she sounded stronger. “Uh, because um—because I want to get a tat and I heard Viper’s the best around.”

  “You did, huh? Well, you heard right. But you gotta be eighteen to get work done in this shop, and you are not eighteen.”

  Conscious of the heavy gun in her backpack, Annabelle stood up straighter and jutted her chin. “Jamie and Angel aren’t eighteen.”

  The rest of him remained immobile, but the man’s eyes narrowed to slits in his leathery face. He reminded her of a snake and she suddenly understood why he was called Viper.

  “What do you know about them?” he demanded.

  “Angel’s my friend. She showed me her sugar skull and I wanted one and…” She trailed off, her heart threatening to beat a hole right through her chest.

  “Yeah? What makes you think I’m gonna ink your tender young flesh?”

  “They said you might if I—” She could not make herself say the words. “If I was nice to you.”

  He gave her a long look. “That so? And just how nice are you prepared to get?”

  She forced a sly smile onto her face. “I really, really want a sugar skull just like theirs.”

  “There’s one way you can get that, and it starts with a blow job. How’s that sound, teenybopper?”

  Annabelle wanted to throw up. “Sounds fine. Can we do it now?”

  “You’re in a big motherfuckin’ hurry, aren’t you?”

  “Well—I borrowed someone’s car, and I have to get it back.”

  Viper went to the front door and turned the lock, then flipped off the lights in the shop, leaving it in shadow. “I’ll think about it while we go for a little test drive.” Beckoning her to follow, he disappeared through a door near the far wall of the shop. Annabelle trailed him as though she were sleepwalking. The plan was working just how she had intended, but her mind had gone blank and she was moving on auto.

  “You’re not wearing a wire, are you?” Viper asked, sitting back on a black leather couch in the back room.

  “A—a wire?”

  “Lemme check.” He reached out and grabbed her by the waistband, yanked her to stand right in front of him. There was nothing sexual in the way he ran his hands over her body, moving them across her chest, under her arms, up the inseams of her jeans to her crotch. He did it expertly, like he had done it many times before, but that did not make Annabelle feel any less violated.

  When he was convinced that she was clean, Viper began to unbuckle his belt. Annabelle, who had let her backpack fall to the floor when he grabbed her, picked it up and put it on the other end of the couch. She reached in and pressed the record icon on her phone.

  Viper watched her digging in the bag. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I just need to get something.”

  “You don’t need anything to blow me.” He unzipped his jeans and brought out his penis, which was already getting hard. “Get over here. On your knees.”

  But Annabelle already had hold of the Glock. When she withdrew it, her finger was on the trigger. She took a step back and pointed the gun at Viper.

  “What the fuck?” For an instant, he looked shocked, the way he had in her fantasy. But then—she could not believe it—he laughed. “That’s a nice gun for a little girl like you. Where’d you get it?”

  She stretched the weapon in front of her, the way she’d seen it done in TV shows. The gun was shaking hard and she held both hands around the grip, trying to steady it. “It’s going to shoot you if you don’t tell me what you did to Angel.”

  Viper scowled. “Who says I did anything to Angel?”

  “I know what you did. I just want to hear you say it.” Sadness and anger welled up, blurring her vision with tears, but she couldn’t spare a hand to wipe them away. She blinked several times to clear her eyes. “How could you do it? How could you treat her like garbage?”

  “She was garbage.” Viper held out his hand, making a “gimme” motion. “C’mon now, be a good little girl and put the gun down before you get hurt.”

  His mockery angered her. She would make him take her seriously. “You always get away with shit.” Annabelle had to fight to keep the quaver out of her voice. “You’re not going to get away with it this time. Say it! Say you killed her. Go on! Say it!”

  “You little shit, who the fuck—” Viper flew off the couch, and lunged at her. Before she could react, he grabbed her trigger hand.

  There was a loud explosion and Viper went down.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I have to get up,” Jovanic said with reluctance. Spooning Claudia closer, he put the lie to his words. Drying perspiration cooled his skin and he breathed in her warmth. Over most of the last hour he had savored every inch of her with the passion of a lover separated for a year, rather than just a week of extra-heavy duty rotation. He had kissed her awake at five a.m., apologizing for spending the evening dead to the world, then doing his best to live up to his promise to make up for it.

  She snuggled against him with a small groan of protest. “No, stay here. It feels too good; you
can’t leave.”

  Resting his hand on her hip, he pressed his lips into the warm space between the base of her neck and her shoulder, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. Claudia reached up and gently raked her fingers through his hair, caressed his cheek. Pressing a last kiss into her skin, Jovanic tore himself away and sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned over, resting elbows on knees, trying to clear his head and talk himself into the mood for work.

  “I’ve got to get to the office and see where we are with the trace on Shane Oliver’s phone. If we get lucky, the killer kept it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if it led you right to his front door?”

  “That it would,” he agreed. “Hey, I thought I heard Annabelle vomiting last night. Is she okay?”

  Claudia turned onto her back with a yawn. “Poor kid. She said it was the hot dog she ate at the expo. I think she’s still mad at me, too, for picking up Jamie. She wouldn’t let me in her room when I got home, she was too sick to talk.”

  Jovanic stood up and fixed the blanket for her. “She’ll get over it now that Jamie’s out of the picture.”

  “Yeah. As soon I handed over her keys and backpack, that chick was gone without so much as a ‘thanks for the ride.’”

  “Waste of your time and gas, babe.”

  “I know, you told me so. Yada yada. But at least my conscience is clear.” She watched him enter the closet to select a dress shirt and tie. “By the way, I didn’t get a chance to tell you who the guy was that took Jamie to Lancaster.”

  He came out with his clothes and laid them over a chair. “You were too busy riding me like a circus pony.”

  “Bucking bronco is more like it,” Claudia said with a self-satisfied smirk.

  For a half-second, Jovanic considered jumping back into bed. It wasn’t the sex, which was spectacular. He just wanted to be close to her in a way that he could not remember ever feeling before. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “Mmmmm. Okay, gotta stop that or I’ll be late for work. So tell me, quick. Who was the guy?”