An hour after Kat made him come, David sat across from Detective Munroe at the coffee shop down the street from his apartment. He had gotten Kat her soup from Panera first, and when Angel arrived and he made sure they weren’t going to kill each other while he was gone, he’d gone to meet the detective.

“So, this is what I found,” David told him, taking out the paperwork he’d brought with him. He had taken the list the detective emailed him and ran it through his new program at work, the day before. The tattoo artist, Olden Tanis, had taken a blood-borne pathogen course in New Orleans Parish only a year earlier. The address and phone number listed on the application for the class wasn’t still current, but it had been up until only a month prior. David let the detective look over the paperwork. When he finished, Munroe looked up and said:

“When I get back to New Orleans, I’ll go to that apartment building and ask around, see if anyone knows him or knows where he might have gone. D.O.J. sent me his fingerprints, but unfortunately they don’t match anything in CODIS. If this guy is a serial killer, he’s a damned good one. He hasn’t been arrested for so much as a traffic violation.”

That was disappointing; it would make it that much harder for them to track him down. “So what brings you back to Massachusetts?” David asked.

“I came to talk to the artist that did Miss Brown’s tattoo.”

“Kat’s tattoo? Why?”

“Because I have the time and I’m grasping at straws. I spent ten years not knowing what happened to my wife, Mr. Brady. I was told by one person after the other that she probably just left me…and our son. I alternated between hating her and hating myself. Now, I know for a fact that she didn’t leave on her own. Someone took her from us, violently. I have nightmares about how frightened she must have been. She was a wonderful mother even if sometimes she struggled at being a wife. I can only imagine what went through her head when she knew she was going to die and never see her son again.” The man’s voice broke, and David’s heart hurt for him. He thought about the five years he’d been separated from Kat and how badly it hurt him, thinking that she’d made a decision to not only leave him, but to not be the mother to his child.

“I’m sorry. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”

“I know it seems like I’m wasting my time and probably everyone else’s. Maybe I am. But, I can’t just sit still and wait any longer. I have to have some answers, and if the man that took my wife and my son’s mother is still alive…I won’t rest until I find him. I did call the tattoo parlor before I came back out here…more than once. I can’t get the man on the phone.”

“Did you tell whoever you spoke to that you were a cop?” David knew that the parlor where Kat got her tattoo was the same one that most of the Skulls used. Kat also told him once years earlier that the Skulls had some kind of financial stake in the business. He wasn’t surprised that they wouldn’t be anxious to talk to a cop, about anything.

“Yes. I did make it clear that I only wanted to talk to him, but he still hasn’t called me back. I go back to work in a couple of weeks, so I wanted to do this while I had the time. I made an appointment for a tattoo. It’s in forty-five minutes. I gave Miss Brown’s name as a reference.”

David smiled. He had to give the detective props for ingenuity. They went over what they had so far for the next fifteen minutes or so and when the detective was ready to go, David went with him. David had passed the tattoo parlor hundreds of times, but he’d never been inside. He was the only one in his family that didn’t have any tattoos. It was like riding the Harley, though, something he’d been thinking about more often lately.

The parlor was small, with a waiting room in front that only had two chairs. The walls were covered with sample art and a glass case held custom-designed glass pipes, lighters, and t-shirts. Albums of photos lined the coffee table in front of the two chairs and while Munroe spoke to the skinny girl covered in ink and piercings about his appointment, David picked up one of the albums and flipped through it. There were a lot of skull designs and a lot of Harley designs. When he realized the album was arranged by the artist’s work, he flipped to the second artist in the book, a guy named “Izzy.” David never met him, but he knew that he was the one who had done all of Kat’s work. The first page was mostly skull designs interspersed with some major baseball, hockey, and football team logos. The next two pages were car and motorcycle designs. It was on the fourth page that a tattoo caught David’s interest. He felt Munroe take the chair next to him, but he didn’t look up. The picture he was looking at wasn’t the same tattoo that Victoria, Kat, and Munroe’s wife had. This one was a skeleton wearing a black top hat, and tailcoat and carrying a cane. He was wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigar. Underneath the photo it said “Baron La Croix.” That was the name of the loa that the women’s symbols represented. He slid the album over to Munroe and pointed at it. Before Munroe said anything, the skinny girl called out his name. The detective picked up the book and when he stood up, David followed him. On the way past the girl David said, “I’m going to just watch. I’m thinking about getting one myself.”

She shrugged like she didn’t care and then led them down a long hallway past at least half a dozen black privacy curtains before coming to one that was open. A man with long, greasy black hair and a pockmarked face was opening new bottles of ink. Every visible part of the man’s body was covered in a tattoo, except for his face. He looked up at them and said, “Which one of you is Munroe?”

“That would be me.”

“Have a seat here in the recliner. You can sit over there,” he told David, pointing at a folding chair in the corner. “Do you know what you want?”

The detective pointed at the picture of Baron La Croix. David watched the artist’s face for any signs of familiarity with the tattoo or any other changes. He didn’t see any, and the artist told Munroe, “Cool. That’s a lot of black. You want me to add in a rose or something for color?”

“Hmm…I don’t know,” Munroe said. “Do you think it would change the meaning?”

Izzy shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know shit about that guy other than he’s some kind of voodoo god or something. A good client of mine brought in a picture of a tat she wanted. It had something to do with this La Croix guy, I guess. Anyways…”

“Was that Kat? Your client?” David asked.

“Yeah, you know Kat?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” David told him. He knew he was playing fast and loose with the term “girlfriend,” but as long as Kat didn’t hear him, he was safe.

“Cool. I love me some Kat.” David tried not to frown. He didn’t like the way the artist had winked at him when he said that.

“Have you had anyone else ask you about a La Croix tattoo?” Munroe asked him.

“Nah, just Kat. The picture she brought in wasn’t super clear, and she didn’t know anything about it either back then, so I ended up calling the artist that did the tattoo in the picture she brought in…”

“You called the artist? How did you know who did that tattoo?”

“The photo Kat brought in had a number on it…”

“Do you still have his number? Or his email?” David asked, maybe too eagerly, judging by the look on Munroe’s face. He was proving again that he belonged in the lab and not on the streets.

Izzy scooted his stool over to the counter where his tools and ink were. The hair on the back of David’s neck rose when he stuck his hand into the back of one of the drawers. Maybe his instincts were better than he thought, or maybe he just knew the Southside too well. David had his service revolver out of his shoulder holster and was aiming it at Izzy’s face before the other man pulled his gun out of the drawer.

“Put the gun down,” David said.

Izzy complied, thankfully. David didn’t really want to be the one to kill the Skulls’ favorite artist. “What the fuck is this? You’re cops? What the fuck do you want from me?” Izzy had lost any semblance of a friendly demeanor. Munroe looked like he wanted to smack David in the head.

“Just some information,” David said. “What do you have to hide, Izzy? Why were you going for your gun?”

“I don’t like people that ask so many questions. It’s been my experience that they’re looking for trouble. Apparently, I was right.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Munroe said, in a calm voice. “Just information. I tried to call you about it, but you wouldn’t take any of my calls.”

“Fuck, that was you? My girl never got your name, she just said some cop kept calling. I don’t talk to cops.”

“I have to ask again, Izzy…what do you have to hide?”

“I’m not hiding shit. I just don’t like cops.”

“Then help us out for Kat’s sake,” David said. “We’re trying to find the man that killed her mother.” Izzy lost a little of the suspicion that clouded his eyes, but not all.

“Kat’s mom died a long time ago, when she was a kid.”

“That’s right,” David said, “But that doesn’t make her want to know who killed her any less.”

“Don’t know what the fuck it has to do with me.”

“Nothing, Izzy, not you personally,” Detective Munroe said. “It’s about the tattoo. That photograph Kat brought you was most likely of her mother, right?” Izzy nodded. “We have the same photo, but none of ours had a phone number on them, so I’m confused.”

“You saying I’m lying? Fucking ask Kat. It was one of those professional, sexy photo shoots, and the photographer’s name and address and phone number was in the corner. I called the photographer to get the artist’s name and number, and it turns out they were one and the same.”

“What was his name?” David asked.

“Fuck, man, that was like six years ago. His name was something stupid...”

“Olden?”

Izzy furrowed his brow. “Yeah, something like that.”

“It was his name on the photograph?” Munroe asked.

“No. It said something about photography… Voodoo, or some shit… Fuck, it’s been six years. Why don’t you ask Kat?”

* * *

David left Detective Munroe in the living room with a confused Angel and went into the bedroom to talk to Kat. She looked like she was just waking up as he walked in. “Hi there,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t kill your sister.”

He grinned. “Thank you, baby.”

“I heard another man’s voice. Who else is here?”

David sighed and sat down next to her. “It’s the detective from New Orleans.”

Kat’s eyes brightened and David saw the hope in them that he’d been trying to avoid. He was still reluctant to believe anything they’d learned so far was going anywhere, and he was afraid that false hope would hurt her worse than no hope at all. “Did he find something out?”

“Not really,” David said, watching the hope drain out of her eyes. “We have a theory, about the guy that did their tattoos. The detective found out some things about a woman who was close to him and to your mom and his wife. But this guy moves around a lot and we haven’t been able to pin him down. We talked to Izzy today.”

“Izzy? What could he possibly have to do with it?”

“Nothing, as far as the murders go,” David told her. “But he told us he contacted the man that took the photos of your mom…and he was also the tattoo artist.”

“Shit! Yeah, he contacted the photographer trying to get a clearer picture of the tattoo. Shit! This whole time…” She started to get out of bed.

“What are you doing?” David stopped her. “You don’t need to get up.”

“I’ve had that fucker’s name and number this whole time! I found proofs of Mom’s pictures. I thought they were clearer than the other photos so those are the ones I took to Izzy. The proofs said ‘Voodoo Photography’ in the corner and there was an address and phone number. That’s the number Izzy used to get ahold of the guy. Let me go. The pictures are in a box at the apartment…”

“Just tell me where and I’ll get them.”

“No! I’m going with you. You won’t be able to find them.” She jerked her arm away and tried to stand up. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she squeaked in pain and swayed on her feet. David grabbed her again and lowered her back to the bed. Her face was as white as a sheet. “I might need your help,” she said.

David chuckled. “My help is going to be going over to the apartment to get the photos. You need to stay in bed. The doctor told you before we left the hospital that your blood pressure was low and standing up too quickly can make it drop even more. If you pass out, I’m taking you back to the hospital—is that what you want?”

She curled her lip at him. “I think I had more freedom there.”

He smiled at her again, softly. “I’m sorry if I’m being overprotective. I just want you to give yourself time to heal, baby. Please, just tell me where the photos are and I’ll get them. I won’t call the number or do anything else. I’ll bring them right back here first and we’ll decide what to do together, okay?”

She rolled her eyes but David could tell by the look on her face that she was in pain. “Fine.”

“Do you want a pain pill?”

“No. You’re not going to dope me up so I have no say in this.”

He laughed. “I’m not trying to dope you up…”

“Just go get the pictures. They’re in a black shoebox on the top shelf of the linen closet in the hallway. The keys are in my backpack.”

“Okay. I’ll see if Angel can stay a little longer.”

“I agreed to stay here, damn it! At least trust me to take care of myself for an hour while you’re gone. Angel already told me she needs to pick Susie up from school soon. Let her go and do what she needs to do. I’m fine.”

Reluctantly, David agreed. He had a bad feeling leaving her alone, but she was right, he had to trust her. Angel even volunteered to have someone else pick up Susie, but David didn’t want Kat angry with him. He let Angel go and then he and Detective Munroe headed to the bar.