“Please take a seat.” Ursa followed her own request and sank balletically into her chair. “My receptionist said you’re here about a murder, but that must’ve been a mistake with her hearing.”
“Her hearing is fine,” Olivia said.
“Oh…” Ursa looked like she might bolt from the office. “Who died?”
“Since you’re Neptune’s Ink’s owner, I assume you were the one who made all the décor choices?” Bel asked, ignoring her question.
“I was.”
“And I take it you love mermaids.”
“I do. They speak to me on a spiritual level.”
“So, have you ever seen these tattoos?” Bel tossed the photos of the colorful scales onto the desk without ceremony. The mermaid skeleton in reception mocked her in its mimicry of the lake full of dead women, so she wasn’t going to give this artist time to fabricate lies. She wanted to watch Ursa’s unprepared state process the sight of what very well might be her abusive handiwork.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” the woman answered, and to Bel’s disappointment, her face showed no signs of recognition.Either she wasn’t the killer, or she was a better actress than Taron Monroe herself.
“So you didn’t do these?” Bel asked.
“Oh, absolutely not.” Ursa glared at them with an air of insult. “I’m a blackwork artist.” She extended her arms to show all the black, grey, and white ink decorating her skin. “I don’t touch color… ever. I’m sure you noticed that when you entered my shop.”
“Could any of your artists have done these?” Bel asked.
“No, we’re a black and grey shop only. I don’t hire color artists. It disrupts our aesthetic.”
“Just because you don’t hire artists who specialize in color doesn’t mean your employees didn’t do these,” Olivia said. “If you know how to tattoo, you can swap out inks.”
“It’s not as easy as swapping out inks.” Ursa glared at Gold as if she were an ignorant child. “Color versus black and grey requires different techniques. Just like there are various styles of tattoos that artists specialize in. Traditional, neo-traditional, realism, and so on. They aren’t the same. So, no, we don’t cross over. The results would be insulting.”
“Well, these aren’t exactly masterpieces.” Bel shoved the photo of the earlier mermaids into Ursa’s line of sight. “This tattoo is older, and judging by the mistakes and poor color blending, it wasn’t inked by a professional. For all intents and purposes, one of your artists, you included, could’ve done these since the initial quality is inferior.”
“Why the obsession with these?” Ursa asked. “If you want a color tattoo, I can recommend artists who specialize in them, but why are you insisting I did these? Because they’re mermaid scales, and I like mermaids?”
“Because they were found on the dead girls pulled from the lake,” Bel said, studying the woman’s expression. “Dead girlswho were tattooed before they were drowned and then placed inside glass coffins. Coffins that were sculpted into mermaids.”
And there it was—a reaction.
“The girls in the lake… the killings that were just on the news? These tattoos were on the victims?” The haughty business owner disappeared as genuine concern assumed control. Only Bel couldn’t tell if it was concern for the lives lost or her own safety.
“They were,” Bel said. “On girls made into human mermaids, and I can’t help but notice that you’re both a tattoo artist and a woman obsessed with the mythical sea creatures.”
“And you think I killed those women?” Ursa jerked to her feet. “That’s ridiculous, and frankly, I don’t have the time to refute such outrageous accusations. I have a client coming in for an eight-hour session, so this conversation is over. Please see yourselves out.”
The detectives exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them, but without protest, they rose from the couch.
“Thank you for your time,” Olivia said, but Ursa stared at her as if she didn’t believe a single word coming from the detective’s mouth. “If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch. Or if you think of anyone who might be responsible for these tattoos, please call the Bajka Police Department.”
“Have a good day, Detectives,” Ursa dismissed them, but before they obeyed, Bel voiced one last question.
“You clearly love the ocean. Is that a safe assumption?”
“I do,” Ursa answered.
“Do you have a pool?”
“Why?” The woman’s hand settled on her hip with the dissatisfaction of someone used to being in control.
“It’s just a question,” Bel said. “Do you have a pool?”
