“Those are all over her legs.” Lina traced her finger along the sculpture, tapping each time she found another cloud.
“Tattoos remain in the body because ink molecules are too large for the human immune system to break down and carry away, but you have to hit the right layer of skin if you wanta crystal clear image,” Eamon continued. “This artist clearly hadn’t mastered that yet. And then see here. See the scarring and how the outline gets wider?”
“He was pushing the groupings,” Lina said, “like a rake.”
“Exactly.” He smiled, and the woman looked like she might run for her life. Eamon’s smile was unbearably beautiful… in an incredibly threatening way, and Bel could tell by the way the M.E.’s eyes flicked to his mouth that she’d noticed—probably for the first time—that Eamon’s canines were slightly too long.
“Every girl here has the same tattoo,” he continued. “I think the killer inked them, but he isn’t a professional. Or he wasn’t when he started sinking these girls.” Without warning, Eamon jerked to a stand and stormed down the line of women crowding the tent. “She’s another early victim.” He pointed at a body as he passed by. “But her…” He stopped so abruptly that poor Lina, in her sudden obsession to learn everything from the man who shouldn’t be there, smacked into him. “This girl was one of his last.” Eamon caught her even though she hadn’t even noticed she’d bumped into the human wall. “Look at her tattoos. Tell me what you see?”
“Nothing…” The medical examiner crouched so fast that Bel practically heard her knees popping. “That cloud thing you said?”
“Blowouts?”
“Yes, that.” Lina’s excitement bubbled over. “She doesn’t have any… right?”
“Doesn’t seem to,” Eamon confirmed.
“And he stopped using thick black lines to outline the scales and solid colors to fill them in. He got much better at creating realistic images and color blends.”
“A timeline.” Awe colored Griffin’s voice, and Bel tried not to smile. Eamon just might win her boss over in the end. “A visual map of his victims, start to finish.”
“This is good. Thank you.” Lina jerked to a stand, only half acknowledging Eamon as she directed agents to help her tag the victims by tattoo quality.
“The man who knows everything.” Bel hooked her pinky finger around his, not missing his subtle smile at their connection. “So you were an artist in another life?”
“Me hovering that close to open wounds? Because that’s what tattoos are.” Eamon tugged her hand until she met his gaze. “What do you think?”
“Then how do you know all this?”
“The blue dress I got you. The one you wore on the island and for your birthday. Its designer had an incredibly talented friend who was stuck working for a predatory boss. He couldn’t get out of his contract, nor could he afford to start his own business. She asked me if I would help him like I’d helped her, so I bought the artist’s contract and set him up with his own shop. Like every company or entrepreneur I invest in, I remain a silent partner to keep people from noticing I don’t age, but in the process of launching the business, I learned a lot about the art. It’s fascinating.”
“Why didn’t you get one?” Bel asked, allowing herself to fantasize about a very tattooed and very naked Eamon Stone for ten seconds to grant her brain a brief reprieve from the overwhelming death at her feet.
“I heal too quickly,” he explained. “The artist would notice. Plus, I’m not sure how my body would handle the ink. Human immune systems can’t purge it, but mine might be able to. I’ve never bothered trying.”
“Makes sense, but you would look so hot with full sleeves.” She directed her eyes to his unfortunately clothed biceps.
“I could always test it if you really like the idea.”
“You don’t have to.” She bumped his biceps with her shoulder, and he released her finger to capture her hand,audience be damned. “I just think a well-designed sleeve would look amazing on you…” Bel instantly sobered. “The more recent scales tattoos are so beautiful. They’re truly works of art, but I have this sick feeling they weren’t consensual. I think he made his victims sit bare and afraid while he mutilated them, and that mental image destroys the beauty. It’s a perversion of the art form. I don’t even want to picture it because he tattooed everything—every inch of their lower half. What breed of monster are we dealing with that he could violate them so disturbingly? Because you were the Impaler, yet you’re appalled.”
“Don’t let your love for me blind you, Detective. I wasn’t a good man. I’m barely a good man now.”
“You—”
“Mr. Stone.” Barry interrupted them with an extended hand, the FBI agent unfazed by the man’s illegal presence at a crime scene. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the man barge uninvited into police spaces, and it seemed, like Griffin, Barry had accepted the fact that wherever Detective Isobel Emerson went, the millionaire followed.
“Dr. Thum told me your tattoo theory,” the agent continued when Eamon shook his hand. “So, one guy tattooed all these girls.” He crossed his arms over his chest to mimic Eamon’s stance, but standing side by side in their FBI jackets, Eamon’s towering size stole all the authority from the man truly in charge. “Every inch of skin from their hips to their toes. That would’ve taken a long time. They’re also distinct and memorable. It should be easy to find the shop responsible.”
“I doubt these were done in a shop,” Bel said. “Like you said, distinct and memorable. People would notice if every client who commissioned this tattoo went missing.”
“Right.” Barry wiped his forehead, the summer heat unrelenting despite the sunset. “So, these were done in a privatesetting. The question is, was the killer a professional, or an amateur teaching himself?”
“Either? Both?” Bel shrugged.
“His earlier victims show signs of multiple mistakes,” Eamon said. “But his later works are beautiful. Maybe he was an apprentice when he started killing and is a professional now. The amount of tattooed skin these girls wear… that’s hundreds of hours worth of work.”
“An apprentice too eager to master his skill?” Barry said.
