Double Vision

by Colby Marshall

  Of course she had. Good grief. Before this case, Jenna wouldn’t have thought the ways a trio of the number three could manifest in everyday life would be this numerous or this varied. But then again, before this case, why would she? The Triple Shooter was set off by a combination of variables that most people wouldn’t even ever notice.

  “Is it just me, or do you guys now find yourselves intentionally avoiding that integer in all facets of life, too?” Teva said. “I almost jumped out of my skin this morning when I got out of my car to fill up my gas tank and noticed I was parked at pump three. Jumped in the car and moved one over. Stupid, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  Saleda laughed. “Not just you. I added an extra topping to the pizza I ordered yesterday solely to make sure the toppings didn’t add up to the bastard’s favorite number, because God knows I’ve got plenty of sins under my belt for him to punish me for if I catch his eye.” She looked to Jenna. “How’d it go with half-pint and Methuselah?”

  Jenna glanced around the room. “Where’s Irv?”

  Teva pointed toward the door to the side office Irv often inhabited. “In his Irv Cave.”

  Without answering Saleda, Jenna pushed past and into the office.

  Irv looked up from where he was frantically pecking away at the keyboard in front of several monitors. “I’m looking for seventh heaven around Brooklyn as fast as my fingers can fly, but unfortunately she was born in May—”

  “I don’t need Brooklyn’s birthday or astrological sign or bingo score—”

  “She was a college student. I doubt she played bingo,” Irv cut in.

  “Whatever,” Jenna replied. “I need to pick your brain about a tattoo.”

  “Better than my nose.”

  She took the picture Eldred drew out of her pocket and unfolded it. She laid it in front of the tech analyst.

  “Whoever did this tattoo charged too much—”

  “This was drawn by the Alzheimer’s patient who witnessed the grocery store killings,” Jenna said. She gave all of the details Eldred had conveyed that he couldn’t show in the drawing, like the tiny variances in colors and the appearance of the dragon ripping through the man’s skin on his side. “The Triple Shooter lives or at least spends a lot of his time around here. Granted, he might’ve grown up thousands of miles away, but unless his parents were into finding tattoo parlors that liked to illegally ink minors, I’m pretty sure he didn’t get that massive dragon tat until his adult years.”

  “Yeah and it had to be pretty recent to still come across so well. If he’d had it done when he was super young, his skin would’ve changed, even if just slightly, enough to affect the look of a tat designed to have that kind of 3-D effect,” Irv said, swirling in his chair.

  “Right. So where around here would he have had something of that caliber done?”

  Irv frowned. “He wouldn’t have, necessarily. People will go way out of their way to get a tat they want, or if he needed privacy, there are some people who will travel to them. No hard and fast rules . . .”

  “And no one who specializes in dragons?” Jenna asked.

  Irv leaned back and crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t bark up the specific graphic preferences tree. It more often depends on what the client is looking for in quality or fine points of the design they’re seeking. I’d focus in more on the detailing. The shading skill involved in the effect you’re describing gives you a loose profile of the artist who had to have done it. I know I’m the guy behind the desk and not the biggest profiling professional in this room, but I know enough about the world to tell you that much. If you’re looking in this area for who could’ve done something that takes that sort of skill, there’s only one place anywhere near us that could. I’d go to Glory.”

  47

  Yancy sat in Raine Tyler’s living room with CiCi and the very quiet Raine. They’d decided to wait a little longer before dragging Eldred home. He didn’t get out much as it was, and he seemed to be enjoying himself in the kitchen with Molly, so they’d left them to it for now. Raine was okay with it, she said. She seemed happy enough with just having some company. Yancy wondered if her mother had lived with them before she died.

  They sat around in silence, watching the television play through an old episode of The Andy Griffith Show that none of them laughed at. God, what it must be like to be a child in this home . . .

  As the familiar whistle of the theme song sent them into the credits, Molly meandered into the living room. She stopped as she came closer to the couch and stared at them all, confused.

  “Where’s Mr. Beasley?” she asked idly.

  Yancy looked at CiCi, then jumped up, his body in overdrive. Oh, no . . . oh, no, no, no . . .

  He ran into the kitchen. Eldred’s chair was painfully empty, the coloring paper still at its place where Eldred had been working on it moments before. He ran back to the living room.

  “Molly, where did he go?”

  Molly blinked at him like he was stupid. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “That’s why I asked. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he was gone. I thought he came in here.”

  Shit.

  Yancy ran back to the kitchen, CiCi on his heels and cussing.

  He glanced around the room. Nothing. He went to all the doors to the other rooms inside the house, looked out the windows. No sign.

  Something caught his vision at the front door.

  A smear of blood on the doorframe.

  Oh, God, please no . . .

  He reached to his leg and in a second had the gun out. He’d promised Jenna not to use it unless someone tried to take Eldred. The hairs on Yancy’s arms prickled. What if this was that moment . . .

  “CiCi, call nine-one-one,” he said, pushing the door open. He realized uncomfortably that it was loose, like it hadn’t quite been pushed closed all the way.

  “Oh, my God, Yancy . . .”

  “Do it!”

  He rushed out the door.

  • • •

  “Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Jenna said. She could hardly understand Yancy’s frantic words. It sounded like he was running.

  “Eldred is gone. Jenna, I . . . I think someone took him,” he panted.

  “What? Why do you think that?”

  He huffed harder. Yes, he was running.

  “Molly went to the bathroom, and when she came back, he was gone. There’s blood on the doorjamb. It looks like he might’ve been dragged . . .”

  Jenna’s mind reeled like the spin of the SUV’s tires on the freeway. “Did you see a car?”

  If this was UNSUB B coming back for Eldred, he couldn’t have made it far lugging an unconscious grown man anywhere on foot.

  “No, no, I didn’t,” he said.

  Through the phone she could make out the sounds of cars in the background, sirens.

  “Which door?”

  “Front,” he said. “It was ajar. I didn’t see a vehicle, but I have no idea how long Molly was in the bathroom. They could’ve made off before we even knew they were gone.”

  “Ask her,” Jenna blurted, frustrated.

  “I can’t,” he said. “She’s at the house. I’m . . . well, I’m looking . . .”

  “Yancy, I doubt someone came in and took him without you guys hearing anything,” she said.

  The whoosh of air that had been passing over his phone as he moved around stopped. He must be standing still.

  “Jenna, stealth exists. I mean, what if this person has some kind of training . . .”

  His voice trailed off, hesitant.

  A salmon color she couldn’t readily place flashed in, but she shoved it back. She’d worry about that later.

  “I hear sirens, so I’m guessing you already called help. Right?” she asked, just making sure.

  “Yeah, yeah, but, Jenna, we have to find him!” he said, panick
ed.

  The salmon flashed in again.

  “We’re going to. Stay put, and tell the cops everything you can when they show up. I’ll call Victor in case there’s anything you can’t tell them,” she said, thinking vaguely of Yancy previously not wanting the local cops involved where Eldred was concerned. “He might’ve just wandered off. Not that we don’t need to find him either way, but people with Alzheimer’s do that, you know.”

  “But, Jenna, the blood—”

  “I know,” she said, her heart racing. If UNSUB B knew to come and get Eldred at Molly Keegan’s house, it would mean UNSUB B had been following them all along . . .

  None of this made sense. God, what she’d give to be able to run this by Dodd. When the hell would he get back from Chicago anyway? Surely they wouldn’t keep him away from this important of a case indefinitely. His being gone left the team shorthanded and short-minded. In the BAU, minds were everything.

  Jenna’s brain tried to tease out what reason the second UNSUB could possibly have for going after Eldred. He couldn’t exactly silence him. Not anymore. They already had what they needed from Eldred.

  Then again, UNSUB B wouldn’t know that. They had to find the second UNSUB, and fast.

  And to do that, they had to find the first UNSUB.

  “Keep looking. Whatever you do, make the responders understand this is no normal missing person, and they have to search even if he hasn’t been gone long. If UNSUB B took Eldred from the house, he couldn’t have gone far. As long as they close the net, they’ll keep both Eldred and UNSUB B in it,” Jenna said, feeling the looks from the other team members.

  “Jenna, what if I’ve screwed this up worse than anything I’ve ever done—”

  “Don’t,” she cut him off. Then, before she could stop herself, “I know you, Yance. You can find him.” She should let the other cops handle it, but right now, she knew Yancy was there and she wasn’t.

  “Jenna—”

  “Go. I’m sending Victor. I have to find the Triple Shooter.”

  48

  Walking into Glory was like entering a strange combination of an art gallery and a dentist’s office. The dark brick walls of the open, cement-floored space were plastered with abstract paintings, and some of the countertops could pass for wet bars in a different context. As it was, they were covered in spray bottles and canisters of cotton balls. Black lounge-style chairs were set every few feet like stations in a hair salon, but the buzzes of the equipment sounded more like dental drills than blow-dryers.

  “Welcome to Glory,” a brunette with streaks of dark burgundy through her pigtails said. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Jenna glanced around at the bustle throughout the studio. A girl with the strap of her tank top pulled down sat smiling as a guy with a shaved head inked her shoulder. A middle-aged man lay back perspiring as a girl with a messy blond ponytail worked at his wrist.

  “Um, not exactly.”

  She pulled out her badge and she felt Porter do the same behind her. “We need some information about a certain tattoo. Specifically, whether or not someone here might’ve inked it.”

  The girl blinked, wide-eyed, at the badges. “Sure thing. Let me get Wren.”

  She walked away and disappeared behind a back curtain. Porter stepped toward the counter, flipped a page of the book of designs set out for perusal. “Did she say ‘Wren’?”

  Before Jenna could answer, a guy who could’ve passed for The Rock’s brother stepped from behind the back curtain, the pigtailed girl following him.

  “I’m Wren,” he said, stretching out a hand. “I own the joint. How can I help?”

  A little ashamed in the face of the brilliant work in the flip book in front of them, Jenna held out the modest drawing of Eldred’s. She quickly explained the story behind it, then filled in the other specifics that weren’t in the sketch, just as she had for Irv.

  “We were told this was probably the only place around with artists who could pull off those sorts of colors and details,” she said, hopeful.

  He held the drawing, studying it. “As much as I hate to say this, no one around here did this. We do mostly black-and-white stuff here. We’re boss at cool shading. But while we do keep some colors on hand, like I said, we’re almost only black-and-white. Any color access we keep is strictly to complement those black and whites in a very limited capacity. The variation you’re talking about wouldn’t be something we could pull off with our supplies.”

  “Color access?” Jenna repeated.

  “Yeah. It’s not particularly sanitary to mix ink colors, so a studio like this one is limited in color ink we have available. If the tat had a lot of subtle differences in colors like this guy said, the person commissioning it would need someone with skill and a massive assortment of colors.”

  The parlor owner’s brow furrowed again. The raspberry color Jenna associated with recognition flashed in.

  Wren gestured to the red and pink streaking Eldred had drawn to indicate the ripping effect the artist had tried to achieve. “I’ve seen this somewhere. A guy a couple towns over who does some specialty work turns out a lot of 3-D effects. I’ve sent people to him who’ve come in here wanting something in colors we didn’t have. He’s done some things like this.”

  Jenna’s pulse picked up. They had to find the Triple Shooter now so that they could find the second UNSUB who was after Eldred. If UNSUB B had tried a second time to quiet the old man, at this point, he wouldn’t stop.

  “How do we find the guy?”

  Jenna had called Saleda the second she and Porter had left Glory and Wren to tell her team leader they needed to get to Richmond. They could drive it, but flying would be quicker. The team had also sent field agents to Molly’s house, despite Yancy’s protests that he had it under control. She should’ve done it all along, damn it. Something about this whole thing didn’t sit right. A pink-tinged orange color kept creeping into Jenna’s psyche, but she pushed it away each time. It’d have to wait until after they talked to this tattoo artist.

  As the chopper clipped high above the city, Jenna and Porter filled Saleda and Teva in on any details about Glory they hadn’t heard yet. Jenna couldn’t explain why, but she suddenly wanted to keep Saleda close by and up to speed. Her gut said this thing was about to break wide open, and when it did, her team leader needed to be on hand and ready to roll.

  Once they were on the ground and had power walked the few blocks to the joint owned by the tattoo artist Wren had mentioned, Saleda pushed open the door. Jenna followed her in while Porter and Teva waited outside. Jax Hallenbrand’s studio looked a lot less modern than Glory, and a lot less clean to boot.

  The mohawked Jax looked at Eldred’s picture for about ten seconds. “Yeah, I remember this. Guy was here for a good twelve hours. Normally I’d break that up into a few sessions, but he was traveling, so I told him I’d do it in a sitting.”

  Yes.

  “Do you remember his name?” Saleda asked.

  “Oh, God, no,” Jax said, scratching the back of his neck. “That was a good while back. I don’t forget a tattoo, but I can forget names plenty. As long as he paid me, I probably wouldn’t have ever thought about him again if you hadn’t come in.”

  Normal guy with nothing particularly extraordinary about him to make him stand out. Everyday customer, other than the out-of- town part.

  Out of town.

  “Did he drive here?” Jenna asked.

  Jax stared at her for a moment like she was speaking a foreign language. Then he cocked his head.

  “Come to think, yeah, I do remember that. It was the reason he couldn’t come back for multiple sessions. Didn’t have access to his own vehicle. He was on company time. Drove a big delivery truck. Some furniture place or something.”

  That’d explain how the Triple Shooter saw Ainsley Nickerson’s address.

  “Jax, we ne
ed the name of the company. Did you see the truck?”

  The guy rubbed the nape of his neck again, a thinking tic. “Nah. I can’t remember it. I’m sorry. It was so long ago . . . I’m talking months . . . maybe a year.”

  Fuck.

  Saleda thanked him for his time. Jenna followed her toward the door, disappointment taking her over.

  It’s not over. It’s just not easy.

  She stopped just short of the glass door where she could see Porter and Teva lingering outside. “We know somewhere he’s parked recently,” Jenna muttered to Saleda.

  Phone out, Jenna texted Irv:

  Need video surveillance footage from Harford Suites the day of and leading up to Pesha Josephy’s death. We’re looking for a delivery truck.

  She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, returning Saleda’s nod of a job well done. Saleda pushed the door open, the bell on it jingling.

  From behind them, Jax called out.

  “By the way, if it makes a difference, it wasn’t a dragon, exactly. It was more specific than that. He wanted a three-headed hydra.”

  49

  The clip of the helicopter blades filled Jenna’s ears, drowning out whatever it was her brain was trying to piece together. Something about the second UNSUB knowing where to find Eldred. The salmon in conjunction with the knowledge. She’d seen that color before, but it wasn’t coming to her.

  She’d called Victor to send him to the house of Molly Keegan and the Tylers, hoping he could sort out any mess there. She didn’t know why she trusted him. For all the fighting she’d done with herself to realize she should trust Yancy, somehow the newfound confidence in the police officer had slipped in, unnoticed. Maybe it was because he was Hank’s brother. Maybe it was because he was protective of Ayana. Either way, she couldn’t question it right now. She wasn’t on the ground, and he was all the help she had to send Yancy at the moment.

  Her cell blinked.

  “Aren’t you supposed to turn that thing off in the air?” Porter yelled sarcastically.