Inked Killer (A Tattoo Crimes Novel Book 2)

by A. J. Norris

  “Do you mind if I pick him up after school and take him to your house?”

  “I’ll call the school and let them know.”

  * * *

  Harry

  The school parking lot was a congested bowl of crap, like he felt. However, a harsher word than crap was likely more apt here. Harry pulled into the circular drive student pick-up zone. He put one of Natalie’s loaners into park, and flopped his head back on the seat.

  Brayden came out of the school smiling and talking to a couple of other boys. They stood off to the side, hovering over his phone, laughing. Probably watching a YouTube video. After another two minutes the kids waved goodbye to each other. One of them got into a car in front of Harry and the other hopped onto a bus.

  Brayden stayed where he was with his arms crossed.

  Harry rolled down the window. “You’re gonna catch cold, come on,” he called to Brayden.

  Mikey’s son came forward so slowly Harry questioned whether the kid moved at all.

  “Sit in the front seat, I wanna talk to you.”

  “Isn’t that against the law?”

  Harry sighed heavily. “Just get in and stop giving me a hard time.” Brayden slid in the front seat. “So, I hear your birthday is coming up.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking about what you said—” The car behind them honked. “Yeah, yeah, screw you.”

  “You’re supposed to pull forward when the car in front moves.”

  “Anyway,” Harry said stepping on the gas. “About what you said, that grandfathers are supposed to teach their grandsons things. I was thinking you and I should go fishing this spring, maybe up north. Natalie has a cabin by the river with good fishing.”

  “I’ve never fished before.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll teach you how.”

  “Will it just be the two of us?”

  “If you want. That’s up to you. Your dad, Grace, and Natalie can come.”

  “I think it should be a man’s weekend.”

  Harry laughed. “So we’re going to leave your dad at home?”

  “Ha ha, funny…but yes.” Brayden smiled from ear-to-ear. “He doesn’t fish.”

  “Great, I’ll make arrangements.” Harry pulled out of the lot and they rode in silence for a while.

  “I forgive you,” Brayden said.

  “I didn’t say I was sorry yet.”

  “I know. My dad told me why you were picking me up though, and asking me on a fishing trip is way better than some stupid ‘I’m sorry’.”

  Even though Harry was happy, he set his lips in a thin line so he wouldn’t tear up. Brayden was better than a grandson, he was the son he’d never get the chance to have.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Harry

  Reluctantly, Harry went back to work after dropping Brayden off at home. Mia’s killer must be found. He had a feeling the killer wasn’t done.

  Harry stared at his computer screen. What was he going to find there? The tips from the crime report email weren’t useful and mostly garbage. He did his best work in the field. “Rudy?” he yelled out into the squad room from his office. “You still here?”

  Rudy pushed his desk chair backward toward Harry’s open door. “Finishing some paperwork.”

  “Take a ride with me. You’re driving.”

  “Gladly.” Ryan Rudy was the type of cop you wanted around. He was always willing to help Harry out or volunteer for an extra shift. It was obvious Rudy loved his job, although Harry had to wonder if the guy just didn’t like being at home. Alone. His wife had been killed a few years ago, something Harry related well to.

  They rode in a squad car to the crime scene where Mia had been found. Harry remembered to change into boots before they left the station. Rudy parked his cruiser on the side of Thomson Road at 4:35 PM. Harry jotted the time in his field notebook.

  The pair traipsed through the two inches of snow. Some melting had occurred over the weekend and reduced the snow accumulation. The sun hung low in the sky; they had maybe an hour of daylight.

  Yellow tape still surrounded the spot where Mia had lain. A triangle, strung between three trees. A portion of the tape draped near the ground like something had stretched it out. Or someone.

  Harry stayed outside the marked off area and squatted.

  “Find something?” Rudy asked.

  Harry pointed at the ground. “These tracks weren’t here before.”

  “Are those snowshoe tracks?”

  “I’d say so. Odd though, considering the snow isn’t deep enough to need them.”

  “Could just be some kids checking things out. The scene has been cleared, not even sure why this tape is still here.”

  Harry tilted his head to the side. “Whoever it was wanted to cover their tracks.” He stood and walked to the edge of the creek. More snowshoe tracks marked the small bank. Scanning the area, he found a trail of the prints leading to and from the area. One half led in the direction of the highway where Harry had lost the boot prints the day the body was discovered. And the other pointed toward the Hunter’s Lodge, a bar and grill local hunters frequented after hunts. He knew the owner, they went to school together.

  “Rudy, follow the tracks across the creek, then meet me at the Lodge with the car.”

  “Getting dark soon.”

  “I know, so hurry up. You got a flashlight and a gun. See any coyotes, shoot into the air. They’ll run off.”

  “I’m not worried about me.”

  “Get out of here. I can handle myself, all right?”

  Rudy headed across the creek. Harry took off too, although he had less ground to travel, so he didn’t run like Rudy. They guy was much younger and faster.

  The sun dipped below the horizon when Harry reached the Lodge. The tracks ended at the back of the faux log cabin building, where a pair of snowshoes leaned against the wooden siding. He snapped a picture with his phone. A cement walkway surrounded the building on all sides. The snowshoes were dry and so was the pavement beneath them. What the hell, maybe this was the work of some meddling kids. Harry smirked, picturing the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Do.

  Harry walked around to the front door and went inside.

  Soft country music played from overhead speakers. Cardboard beer signs hung from the ceiling. A bar with eighty coats of varnish ran nearly the entire length of the back wall.

  Pete, the bar owner, glanced up from the glasses he cleaned. He recoiled his head slightly. “Fall off the wagon? What brings you here? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Funny. And no.” Harry didn’t want the half dozen men in the joint to hear this conversation. He sat at the bar in front of Pete, who set down the glass he wiped with a towel.

  “Can I get you something?”

  “No thanks.” Harry leaned in closer. “You hear about the woman that was found dead near here?”

  “Yeah, I did. Is that what brings you by?”

  “Tell me, you know anything about the snowshoes out back?”

  “Snowshoes? Where?” Pete’s eyes widened.

  Harry showed Pete the picture he took.

  Pete pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “This picture was taken in the back of your bar just now.”

  “I can see that. But I have no idea who they belong to.”

  “Thanks, if you hear anything…”

  “I can ask around if anyone knows whose they are.”

  “Would you? I’d appreciate it.” Harry slipped his cell back into his inside coat pocket.

  “Yeah. Hey! Anyone know who belongs to those snowshoes out back?!”

  That wasn’t what Harry meant by asking around. He cringed.

  A man in a red flannel and full beard said, “Who’s asking?”

  “Me,” Pete responded. “Are they yours, Zeke?”

  “Nope. Not sure whose they might be.” Zeke was a large man with an unstable look about him, Harry could tell even with the man seated.

  The other men either
shook their heads or said ‘no’.

  “Thanks a lot,” Harry whispered to Pete, rolling his eyes.

  “Well, you asked.” Pete shrugged.

  Harry walked outside and wandered the perimeter of the building. The sun had gone down completely. He put his leather gloves back on and inspected the shoes as best he could with the light provided by the only spotlight attached to the building above his head.

  He was standing with the shoes in his hand when Zeke stepped around the corner. Harry scanned the woods on the one side of him. There wasn’t much to see except darkness. If Zeke decided to get nuts, that escape route looked bleak. The man before him towered over his own 6’ 2” stature. He’d been taller, but was shrinking lately. Harry moved his free hand to the open flap of his coat. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You a cop?” Zeke asked.

  Harry’s fingertips brushed the hilt of his Glock.

  “I overheard you talking about that woman who was murdered.”

  “Oh, yeah, what’d’ya hear?”

  “That they’s police are looking for suspects. Found any yet?”

  Not a lot of rednecks lived in Webster, yet Harry found one. Where the hell was Rudy?

  Gravel crunched beneath a set of tires and headlights pointed toward the woods. The light revealed falling snow. A car door slammed.

  “You taking them shoes?” Zeke asked.

  “They yours?”

  “I already told you they wasn’t.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind me taking them with me.”

  “I can tell you one thing, no hunter killed that woman.” Zeke pronounced the last word whoa-man.

  “How do you know that?”

  “No hunter would trash the land around here. We all a tight-knit group besides, and word would’ve gotten out.”

  Rudy appeared behind Zeke, the uniform cop’s holster unsnapped.

  Thank fuck!

  “Listen, Zeke, you’ve been very helpful this evening.” Harry wanted to ask him if they were so tight-knit, would they also cover for one another too? He opted for no bloodshed, if he could help it. They guy didn’t look like he cared one iota Harry was a cop.

  Zeke appeared as if he was contemplating something stupid, yet he stepped aside. “You find who killed that woman.”

  “We’ll do our best.” Harry walked past Zeke, relieved Rudy was there for back-up. “We need to bag these.” He held out the shoes to Rudy.

  “Got one in the car, should fit.”

  By the time they settled into the car, Zeke had gone back inside.

  “What was that all about?” Rudy asked.

  “Not a clue. I think making sure we’re doing our job. Find anything?”

  “No, tracks ended at the road. You think that guy knows anything?”

  “Who knows? I don’t think he would tell us if he did.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. He desperately needed his bed and a bottle of Jim. Not a good sign.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mikey

  After twenty years, Sam, Mikey’s sponsor, added a second AA meeting during the week, Monday at 8:00 PM. Some of the members from the Friday meeting overlapped with this one. Six months ago, Mikey nearly tumbled from the wagon, so he started back attending meetings every couple of weeks. This past Friday at the concert had put a scare into him. He stood at the bar too long, his mouth watered too much. That club had been a regular hangout during in his hardcore drinking days.

  Less than a dozen cars littered the community center parking lot. The center had been converted from an old elementary school. The halls still smelled like paste and chalk. The AA meeting was held in the old library. Most of the books had been donated to other area schools or sold off.

  Mikey grabbed a cup of apple juice and what the hell, a few Oreos from a paper plate. How fancy. He snorted. This place always gave him an attitude, probably because he loathed that he needed to come here at all.

  He slumped down into a chair that was part of a circle. Mikey kept his head straight, peering around the room. The only face he recognized besides Sam’s was Chuck’s. Pain in the ass Chuck. Or Chuck PITA.

  Sam started the meeting with the usual serenity prayer. Harry announced his arrival by barging into the room and bumping into an empty chair. The legs squeaked on the floor. If Sam was annoyed, he didn’t show it. Mikey rolled his eyes. Harry acknowledged him by nodding in his direction.

  “Who would like to share?”

  Mikey flashed his palm. Sam indicated he had the floor with a Vanna White wave.

  “I’m Mike and you all know I’m an alcoholic.” He continued before everyone could chorus ‘Hi, Mike.’ “Tough week for me. Went to a concert Friday night, to a place I did a lot of drinking. My mouth watered as soon as my fiancé and I pulled into the parking lot. No scratch that, the second I saw I the building, coming up the street.”

  A few people chuckled quietly, although nodded in understanding.

  “Stood at the damn bar, staring at all the liquor bottles lined up and the beer taps. Oh God, the taps. They looked so beautiful. St. Pauli girl winked at me. Anyway, I didn’t do it. I stayed sober.”

  “What stopped you?” Harry asked, surprising most people. He usually didn’t talk much at the meetings.

  “I went and stood in a spot I could see my fiancé. The trust she has in me, I just couldn’t violate it. Or my son’s. It’s not like I stay clean for them. I do it because I accept love. I want a life, my life, more than anything in the world.”

  One of the women in attendance sniffled and blew her nose.

  “Harry, you haven’t been here in a while,” Sam prompted. He wouldn’t have said anything to him had he not asked Mikey a question. Now, he was on the moderator’s radar.

  Harry took a deep breath. “I’m here because my last thought after work was I needed my bed and a bottle of liquor. Terrible week, riddled with guilt and helplessness.”

  “It’s good you recognized it and came here tonight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you elaborate on the guilt you’re experiencing?”

  “I’m a bastard.”

  Mikey laughed, he couldn’t help it. And was the only one in the room who understood why Harry felt that way.

  Sam narrowed his eyes at Mikey. “This is a judgment free zone.”

  “Oh, I’m not judging, I know why he thinks he’s a bastard, though.”

  “And do you agree?” someone else asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Mikey winked at Harry. “No, he’s not a bastard.” He winked again.

  “All right, will you cut it out?” Harry said, batting the air with one hand.

  “You know there are two meetings a week now,” Sam offered.

  “What, like we planned to both show up tonight?” Harry said.

  “I don’t mind you both here, but your banter is disruptive to the other members.”

  Mikey and Harry looked at each other like Sam was the one making a big deal.

  “We’ll behave ourselves,” Mikey said, keeping his eyes on Harry and smirking.

  “Actually, I find it entertaining,” Chuck said. Some of the others murmured in agreement.

  Sam sighed.

  * * *

  Grace

  Grace’s book club meeting ended at quarter after nine. Andrea came over to watch Brayden while Mikey attended an AA meeting. Andrea and her husband Brad Winston were Mikey’s, and now Grace’s good friends. Andrea used to make sure Brayden got off the bus from school all right and stayed with him until his father got home. Now that Grace had moved in and rearranged her work schedule to be home, Andrea only filled in every once in a while. The other part of the time she tended bar at Brad’s restaurant, Cocoa.

  Grace’s stomach growled as she wound her way through the residential maze of streets, away from the library, where the meeting had been held. Out of nowhere, a car drove up behind her. It seemed as if it had always been there, and suddenly turned on its headlights.

  The dark vehicle rod
e her bumper street after street. Feeling uneasy, Grace called Mikey using her car’s navigation screen system. The phone rang.

  “You have reached the voice…”

  Damn. She pressed ‘End’ and phoned her dad. That call didn’t even ring before it was sent to voice mail.

  Okay, the driver of the car was only someone who lived in the neighborhood. Yep, nothing to worry about. She was just being paranoid. She turned onto the short stretch of road leading into town, a place with little to no streetlights. The patch of trees on her right stood on the other side of a ditch, the depth of which couldn’t be seen from the road. Naturally, Grace sped up. The car behind her matched her speed. She checked her mirror and switched lanes. The car tailing her roared its engine and beat her to the lane, and rode in her blind spot. The driver laid on the horn. She yelped.

  Grace’s heart flip-flopped. She jerked the wheel, and swerved. Her car straddled the yellow line with the right side tires on the gravel shoulder.

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she cranked it to the left, and unintentionally smashed into the other car. She glanced over, yet couldn’t see the driver, only a dark outline through a tinted window.

  She broke into a sweat. The car stayed alongside hers, taking up more than half her lane. Her Lincoln’s tires rode the gravel strip of the side of the road. Tears blurred her vision.

  She pounded the wheel, yet kept missing the horn. Where was it? Why wouldn’t it work? The vehicle moved away and dropped back. A wave of relief flooded her body.

  Whoever it was couldn’t be located within her mirrors. She pressed ‘redial’ on the navigation screen. Her touch didn’t register, so she tapped the button again. Her father’s voice mail picked up.

  CRUNCH!

  The driver smacked the side of her car again, forcing her into the gravel and several inches of snow. “Help!”

  Again, the other car pulled away then slammed her Lincoln. This time she saw the car coming and tensed. Her mind played tricks on her and she saw herself pounding on the side window, shouting ‘Help me!’. Everything around her slowed or froze, including the voice mail greeting.