“But that doesn’t require her to be living with us and tormenting both Caitlin and me. I feel guilty enough about Emma’s autism and don’t need her to continually blame the Stapleton genes. And if she mouths off about the MMR vaccine again, I’m going to scream. Why can’t you just tell her we need some privacy? We have enough problems, especially if Caitlin were to leave.”
“You know why I can’t. It would devastate her, and she is already having a difficult time dealing with Emma’s diagnosis and being eighty-three years old with some medical problems of her own. But I have thought of a possible solution.”
“And what is that?”
“I’m going to talk with my father. Over the last few years, particularly after JJ’s illness, I’ve been progressively able to talk with him about issues like this. He understands my mother better than anyone. Besides, he can’t be happy she’s been away for as long as she has.”
“Fine,” Jack said. “Talk to Sheldon. If you think he can help, that’s great. We need some peace in our household so that we can deal with this new challenge.”
A sudden knock on the office door diverted their attention.
“Come in!” Laurie called out.
The door opened. It was Cheryl. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But the conference call will be starting in just a few minutes.”
“Okay, thank you,” Laurie said.
Cheryl closed the door.
Both Laurie and Jack got to their feet. “I’ll try to call my father after my conference call,” Laurie said. “And I’ll see when we might be able to get together.”
“I hope it’s as soon as possible,” Jack said.
Laurie reached out and gave one of the lapels of Jack’s bomber jacket a playful tug. “AndIhope you’re going out for a bite of lunch and not to cause trouble.”
“I’ll try to behave myself,” Jack said with uncamouflaged sarcasm. He knew exactly what Laurie was referring to—namely, what she’d warned him about the day before. She didn’t want him to become overly invested in the subway death case as a diversion from their domestic issues and create havoc for her as the OCME chief. And like the day before, Jack felt immediate irritation. He needed a diversion, and he wasn’t going to be denied.
“Exactly where are you going?” Laurie demanded. Her tone had also changed. She was back to her role as the chief medical examiner, with all its attendant responsibilities.
“I’m going to a tattoo parlor,” Jack snapped. “I realized it’s a craze that had more or less passed me by. I want to rectify that. I used to think it was for drunken sailors and badasses, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“I hope by this visit you’re not hijacking Bart Arnold’s job,” Laurie said, refusing to take the bait that he might be interested in getting a tattoo himself. “I would prefer you don’t go out in the field doing your own investigations. But if you must, Jack, please don’t put me in a difficult situation. This job is already stressful enough.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Jack said. He opened the office door and walked out with the tattoo photos clutched in his hand. He didn’t say goodbye. He also avoided talking to or even looking at Cheryl. For the moment he thought it best to keep to himself.
12
TUESDAY, 1:15 P.M.
Jack had seen tattoo parlors in the past, and it was his impression that they were always in the less-desirable parts of town and often appeared dark and uninviting, reflecting their old association with the underbelly of society, including criminality and gangs. He was mildly surprised that Tattoo Art and Piercing didn’t fit that mold in the slightest. The neighborhood wasn’t Fifth Avenue, but the commercial area was reasonably upscale, with a number of apparently successful businesses, just as the tattoo parlor appeared to be.
Walking in, Jack stopped just inside the front door. The interior of the shop was bright, clean, and cheerful, with a glossy, recently refinished blond hardwood floor. Glass-fronted and -surfaced display cases that also served as countertops extended down the length of the room. On the wall was a collection of carefully framed photos of men and women of a variety of ages and apparent social standing, all sporting a wide range of tattoos and piercings. The tattoos were literally on all parts of the body, whereas the piercings were mostly facial or on the ears, although several were on more intimate parts. A curtain separated thefront, public part of the shop from the back, where Jack assumed the tattooing and piercing was done in what he imagined were private rooms.
At the moment there were three customers, two men and one woman, each being helped by a separate employee. All were looking at catalog-like books and presumably trying to make up their minds. All appeared to Jack to be in the twenty-five to forty-five age bracket. One of the men wore a carefully pressed business suit and tie. The other man and the woman were both more casually dressed in stylish jeans.
Almost immediately a fourth employee appeared. Like the other employees, he was trendier in appearance than the customers. In particular, he had a fade haircut with the top portion dyed a light green color. Tattoos covered the visible portions of both arms.
“Can I help you?” the man asked in a friendly voice. “My name is Andre. Are you interested in a tattoo or a piercing?”
“Actually, I’m just looking for some information,” Jack said. It tickled him to think of Laurie’s reaction if he did come back with an elaborate tattoo someplace on his body. In some respects, he thought it would serve her right. Then again, the fifteen-minute bike ride to the tattoo parlor had helped clear his head, enough to make him embarrassed by his sensitivity and defensiveness when Laurie had called him out on his attitude and behavior. He certainly didn’t want to make her job any more difficult than it already was and had no intention of doing so. But he was not going to stay isolated in his office.
“What kind of information?” Andre asked. His tone audibly changed.
Jack took out his medical examiner badge that looked for all the world like a law enforcement badge. In the past he’d flashed it on occasion, as it invariably opened doors. Being in a tattoo parlor made Jack feel slightly out of his comfort zone, and he wanted to get the conversation off on the right foot. He flipped the wallet closed before Andre had a chance to look closely at the badge’s details. “I’m investigating an important death case,” Jack explained. “The problem is we have noidentification, which we need. However, the deceased had three tattoos. I’d like to talk with one of your principal tattoo artists about them. Is that what they call themselves? Artists? I haven’t spent much time in tattoo parlors.”
“Absolutely they are artists,” Andre said. “Some more than others. Just a minute. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared behind the curtain. One of the other employees looked over at Jack briefly, having apparently overheard. He flashed a nervous smile before going back to his customer. Jack wondered what that meant, if anything. To pass the time, Jack looked into the display case. It contained a bewildering number and variety of piercing jewelry. On top of the display case was a large, heavy album of tattoo designs. Jack flipped through it rapidly. It was apparent to Jack that tattoo possibilities were truly mind-bogglingly legion.
