Whatever the answer, I couldn’t confront Michael Westlake, at least not until I understood how keylogger software worked. That meant talking to a computer geek, someone who could tell me what was, or wasn’t, possible in 2000. I didn’t know anyone who fit the bill. I got back home, took a quick shower, and then googled keylogger. There were a multitude of generic articles about it online, all interesting, but not specific enough to be helpful. I waffled between asking the rest of the team. It was doubtful that Chantelle, Shirley, or Misty would know someone, and I didn’t want our collective investigative efforts to be biased for or against Westlake.
But I needed a name. In the end, I emailed Chantelle, asking if she could provide me with the name of an IT expert, someone who’d been in the field at least twenty years. I didn’t elaborate, but I knew Chantelle would trust that I’d tell her more when I was ready. That accomplished, I made myself a cup of tea and settled in to tackle the documents from Shirley.
I looked at the four piles: Dave Samuels, Such & Such, Sam Sanchez, and Trust Few. It made sense to work through them chronologically, which meant starting with Such & Such tattoo.
There were only two articles, both brief, both in the Marketville Post, both written by G.G. Pietrangelo. The first one, dated July 17, 1997, was a typical business announcement:
Such & Such Tattoo Opens Doors
Folks looking to get inked no longer have to trek to the city, now that Toronto tattoo artist Dave Samuels has opened his own shop in Marketville. Located at the back of Nature’s Way, Samuels will specialize in custom tattoos, which he designs himself.
When asked how he came up with the unusual name of Such & Such, he admitted it wasn’t part of the original plan. “When I was setting up everything, I’d tell myself, I just need to buy such and such, or as soon as I do such and such, I’ll be ready to go. Somehow it just stuck.”
In addition to designing and giving tattoos, Samuels has a solid collection of original and vintage artwork for sale. “It’s called tattoo flash,” Samuels explained. “Most traditional flash was designed for rapid tattooing to be used in ‘street shops’—tattoo shops that handle a large volume of generic tattoos for walk-in customers.”
The shop’s address, hours, and telephone number were listed at the end. There were no photographs.
The second article was dated August 14, 2003, and announced the shop’s closing:
Such & Such Shutters Doors: New Shop Set to Open
After nearly six years in business, Dave Samuels has closed Such & Such tattoo parlor, which had been located at the back of Nature’s Way. “We just weren’t getting the traffic to justify keeping the lights on,” Samuels said, clearly emotional about the decision. His remaining collection of vintage and original tattoo flash—the term used for the artwork—has been sold to a private buyer who prefers to remain anonymous. Asked about his future plans, Samuels said he was uncertain.
According to the lessor, the premises will be renovated to accommodate Sun, Moon & Stars, a new-age shop that will offer a variety of gifts, services, and handcrafted goods from local artisans.
I wondered who the private buyer was, and suspected it was Sam Sanchez. I opened my notebook and jotted down a reminder to ask her.
The only other mention of Dave Samuels was in his obituary, again in the Marketville Post. Whoever wrote it had kept it simple:
David Alexander Samuels 1950-2003
Passed away peacefully on November 14, 2003 at the Marketville Regional Hospital after a brief but courageous battle with pancreatic cancer. Born in Toronto, Dave was a talented tattoo artist who will be missed by his many friends and clients. If desired, a donation in Dave’s name can be made to the charity of your choice.
The obituary might have been brief, but it was the photograph of Dave Samuels that told the story. He might have been fifty-three when he died, but the resemblance to the age-progressed sketches of a late-thirties Brandon Colbeck was undeniable. The ages also worked. Samuels was born in 1950, making him thirty when Brandon was born. Add to the mix that the man who impregnated Lorna told her his name was Alexander—Dave’s middle name—and I was almost certain that Dave Samuels was Brandon Colbeck’s father.
Which meant that Brandon’s visit to Such & Such couldn’t have been a coincidence. But how would he have figured out the connection? Lorna had told Brandon about his father in the weeks leading up to his leaving home, but she claimed all she knew was that his name might have been Alexander and that he had a large eagle tattoo across the top of his back.
Unless she’d lied to me.
And what about Sam Sanchez? I remembered her slight hesitation when she first saw the age-progressed sketches. I referred back to my handwritten notes.
Me: “Do you recognize him?”
Sam: “If you’re asking if these sketches remind me of the guy who walked in here on an icy March day looking for his first tattoo, I’d have to say, no.”
Me: “What I meant is, have you seen him? The man in these sketches?”
Sam: “That would be another no.”
I’d known, at the time, that Sam had been evasive, but I’d accepted her responses without pushing it one step further. What I should have asked was if the sketches reminded her of anyone else.
Well, I’d be asking her that, and more, but first I’d see what else Shirley had uncovered. I turned my attention back to the clippings. There were a handful of quarter-page ads in the Marketville Post advertising Trust Few as “a tattoo parlor you could trust,” all placed within the first year of business. Sam had either decided that traditional advertising wasn’t a worthwhile investment, or she’d developed enough of a clientele to discontinue the practice.
As with Such & Such, there was a brief announcement.
Trust Few Tattoo Parlor Opens on Poplar Street
When Such & Such Tattoo closed its doors in August of this year, tattoo artist Samantha (Sam) Sanchez found herself out of a job. Rather than seek employment elsewhere, she decided to open her own tattoo parlor on Poplar Street, renovating the recently vacated Handyman’s Haven Hardware Store.
“The name Trust Few comes from a nineteenth-century proverb,” Sanchez told us. “Love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe. It means act independently and decide your own fate. That resonated with me. I was raised by my grandfather, Nestor Sanchez, and we moved around quite a lot during my formative years.”
Sanchez plans to specialize in custom designs, though she encourages her clientele to “think long term,” noting that, “Tattoos are a commitment, and they should be something meaningful to you and your life.”
There was a photograph of a young Sam Sanchez looking markedly different than her current incarnation, her dark hair bleached blonde and cut in a style vaguely reminiscent of Jennifer Aniston’s infamous “Rachel” cut. She was smiling for the camera and I noticed the absence of the diamond chip in her front tooth. But it was more than the hair and the teeth—it was the way she carried herself, then and now, that was the key differentiator. The girl in this picture had an air of innocence about her. Somewhere along the way, the Sam I’d met had lost that. I suppose we all do as the years go by.
Shirley’s search for Samantha and/or Sam Sanchez had yielded no more than a single entry in the Marketville Post, as reported by Jenny Lynn Simcoe.
Marketville Tattoo Artist Comes First in 50K Run For the Homeless
A longtime runner, Trust Few tattoo parlor owner Sam Sanchez exceeded her own expectations by entering—and winning—the 50K Run for the Homeless. Sanchez took on the challenge of the 31-mile race to raise awareness and funds to the growing homeless population in Cedar County.
I could understand Sam’s commitment to the cause but as someone training for their first 30K and deliberating the sanity—or insanity—of that decision, I had to wonder what sort of person put themselves through a fifty-kilometer run. I read on, considering Sam Sanchez in a different light than before. A woman who would do whatever it took to achieve an end
goal.
“My grandfather was an itinerant tattoo artist, and while we were never homeless, we came very close,” Sanchez said, when asked for her motivation. “As the population of Cedar County grows, we absolutely need more shelter spaces, especially during the coldest days of winter.”
When asked for training tips to complete an ultra-marathon, Sanchez suggested following a program that includes back-to-back long runs once a week, for example, three hours on Saturday and three hours on Sunday, planned recovery days, as well as one 10k tempo run midweek, and another day practicing hill repeats for about an hour.
“It’s also important to train on the terrain the race will be held on, and practicing nutrition and hydration during training runs,” said Sanchez. “You’re going to be out there for several hours. You can’t do it on an energy bar and a couple of bottles of water. Find out what fuels your body without causing gastric issues, every runner is different. What works for your buddy may not work for you. Experiment before race day, not on it.”
Sanchez also stresses the importance of having a mantra, a short phrase that you can repeat to yourself when the going gets tough. So what’s Sanchez’s mantra?
“The same as it’s been my entire life,” she said. “Stay strong and carry on.”
Stay strong and carry on. I’d have to remember that, the next time I visited Sam Sanchez.
28
Tuesday morning had me trying to define my priorities. I needed to see Sam, but instinct told me that there was more to find out before I contacted her again. It might not have been scientific, but my gut had never let me down. That left calling Jenny Lynn Simcoe, the journalist who’d reported on Brandon’s disappearance in the Marketville Post, picking up Kavya’s sketch by Nestor Sanchez at the Cedar County Retirement Residence, and paying a visit to Frame Up once I had it in hand. I also needed to set up another meeting with Eleanor Colbeck with the faint hope she’d known about Dave Samuels, and furthermore, remembered him. I thought back to her rigid demeanor when I’d asked why Michael hadn’t adopted Brandon, and referred back to my notes.
E.C.: I can’t tell you why Michael didn’t adopt Brandon because I don’t know the reason. Lorna never discussed the matter, and it wasn’t my place to ask. It was a topic relegated to ‘need to know’ status and apparently I didn’t need to know.
Nothing about Brandon’s biological father being the reason, not that I’d thought to ask her if she knew who he was, or where he might be. I wanted to kick myself. It was such an obvious question. I checked the time. Eight thirty. Reception didn’t open until nine and I wasn’t willing to leave a voice mail asking for a call back. I wouldn’t be Platinum Blonde’s top priority.
I spent the next half hour trying to find Jenny Lynn Simcoe, and coming up empty. Nothing in the way of a social media presence, she wasn’t listed in the online staff directory of the Marketville Post, and she hadn’t contributed anything to the newspaper beyond the two articles relating to Brandon’s disappearance. Interesting, but not helpful. Hopefully Gloria Grace would know something about the mysterious Jenny Lynn. In the meantime, it was finally nine o’clock.
Platinum Blonde—I couldn’t think of her as Stephanie—answered the phone on the first ring, answering with an upbeat, “Cedar County Retirement Residence, how can I help you?”
“Hello, this is Callie Barnstable, Eleanor Colbeck’s friend?”
“Yes, Ms. Barnstable, I remember you,” she said, the frost firmly back in her tone.
I wondered if she treated all the callers like that or whether her disdain was reserved for me. I suspected the latter, thanks to my grandfather’s herculean efforts to stop me from visiting Olivia. I tried to keep my tone light and bright. “I’m wondering if Eleanor is free for lunch today. If so, I’d love to take her out for a nice meal. I thought she might enjoy a change of scenery.”
There was a loud tsk on the other end of the phone. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not a good idea. Mrs. Colbeck gets confused easily. It’s far better if she remains in familiar surroundings. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have another call waiting.”
I wasn’t about to be so easily dismissed. “Is it possible to join her for lunch in the dining room?”
“Thursday at one o’clock would be acceptable for that.”
I wondered why I had to wait until Thursday. “I was hoping to dine with her today. Kavya is leaving something for me at reception.”
“I’m well aware.”
Meaning it is already there for me to pick up, and that she doesn’t approve. “So today would be acceptable?”
“To pick up the envelope Kavya has left with me, yes. To have lunch with Eleanor, no. You may wish to do both on the same day. Which, as I said before, would be Thursday.”
I decided not to push my luck. Thursday was only two days away. “Thursday will be fine.”
“Very well. Let me put you on a brief hold while I consult the menu.”
I waited on hold, the musical interludes interrupted by a message thanking me for my patience every thirty seconds. I was debating which was more annoying when Platinum Blonde came back on the line.
“Sorry for the delay,” she said, not sounding in the least bit contrite. “The special on Thursday is tomato soup and grilled cheese. Shall I order for you?”
I envisioned a single slice of processed cheese in between two slices of over-buttered junk white bread. “Sounds great.”
“If you can, please arrive five minutes ahead of time to arrange payment.” She ended the call without any further pleasantries, but at least I’d gotten a “please” out of her.
I was debating the best way to approach Eleanor about Nestor Sanchez and Dave Samuels when By the Light of the Silvery Moon played on my phone. I checked the call display. Levon Larroquette.
“Levon, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi Callie. I’ve been making calls to all the auction houses and galleries I know of who specialize in tattoo flash. I’d just about given up finding someone who’d heard of Nestor Sanchez, let alone sold his work, when one of my contacts mentioned a place called Light Box Auction Gallery. I’d never heard of them, but I called and spoke to the owner, a pleasant woman by the name of Nicolette Baxter, and here’s the good news. She recently came into possession of some flash signed by Nestor Sanchez, though she didn’t provide any details. She is, however, willing to meet with you.” He rattled off the phone number.
“You’re the best,” I said, writing down the number. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me a thing. Oh, and Callie?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t tell Baxter why you wanted to see the flash, just that you were interested in his work. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted her to know about the investigation.”
“Good thinking. Thanks again. I’ll call her as soon as we hang up.”
“In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t be a stranger.”
I googled Light Box Auction Gallery before calling Nicolette Baxter, and found the company’s website. I clicked on the “About Us” tab, and began reading.
Started in January 2019, Light Box Auction Gallery is an e-commerce venture specializing in vintage and original tattoo flash. Our company name was derived from a tool used by tattoo artists to create custom tattoo stencils. Laying images on a light box makes them easier to trace and modify, allowing the artist to create a tattoo design that is an appropriate size for the body part to be tattooed while meeting the client’s expectations. Whether you’re thinking of consigning or buying, your satisfaction is always guaranteed. Online auctions held twice a year; check back for updates and sign up to receive our latest catalog when available. Gallery is open by chance or appointment.
The recent opening would explain why Levon hadn’t heard of them before now. I entered “Sanchez” into the Search bar, which took me to a page, titled Nestor Sanchez. Pictured were a half dozen colorful tarot-inspired flash, priced between $350 and $1,500. The page included an all-too-brief bi
o that raised more questions than it answered.
Nestor Sanchez was a Toronto-born tattoo artist who lived his life without borders. His work was heavily influenced by his fascination with tarot. Additional examples are available on request.
Three sentences that yielded two important pieces of information: Nicolette Baxter referred to Nestor Sanchez in the past tense and her gallery had been commissioned to sell his flash art. The question was, when had it been commissioned and who had commissioned it? Could Brandon Colbeck be selling his collection? Or was Sam behind this yet again?
I picked up the phone and dialed.
A woman answered the phone on the second ring. “Light Box Auction Gallery, Nicolette speaking.”
“Hi Nicolette. My name’s Callie Barnstable. I understand you were speaking to my friend, Levon Larroquette.”
“Right, Levon. I’ve heard a lot about him from some of my colleagues—all good, I assure you—but we’ve never met. Levon tells me you’re interested in purchasing flash by Nestor Sanchez. We have a few other examples in stock, beyond what you see online. It’s quite an interesting collection if you’re into tarot. I acquired it two days ago.”
Did I tell Nicolette my interest wasn’t in purchasing it but rather finding out who the consignor was? I’d have to, of course, but not yet. Not before I’d had an opportunity to view the art and meet Nicolette in person. “I’d certainly like to see, it,” I said, purposely noncommittal.
“Would you like to make an appointment? I’m in Burlington.”
Burlington was a picturesque city on Lake Ontario, located midway between Toronto and Niagara Falls. The thought of Niagara Falls reminded me of Royce and our unfulfilled plans to visit there. I pushed the thought aside.
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