The Tattoo Killer

CRIME SHORT STORY BY CLAIRE GALLAGHER

There was more than a simple mark linking these murder cases to each other…

“Abby!” I shout from the bottom of the stairs. “You’ll be late for school!”

It’s the same routine every morning.

Finally she appears, trots down with her nose in a book and bypasses me without a word.

The front door bangs shut behind her and I sigh.

She’s been like this since her dad left to move in with his secretary.

I shake off domestic and switch into cop mode. It’s something I’ve become good at over the years.

When I arrive at the station, a colleague informs me there’s a briefing at nine.

I hover outside the meeting room as the clock ticks closer to the hour and there’s no sign of my partner.

Tyler is notorious for his tardiness.

Fortunately, today he makes it just in time.

As soon as I step inside, I feel the tension of the assembled officers as whispers circulate the room.

My heart sinks as Detective Superintendent Philomena Newton holds up a hand to silence the crowd.

“He’s struck again,” she announces without preamble, her face grim as she confirms my suspicions.

Not that I’ve seen it any other way since her husband, Tony, passed away after leaving her for another woman – so the rumours go.

She clicks a button on her remote control and the screen behind her lights up.

A photograph from the crime scene appears, stark and graphic.

Beside me, Tyler winces.

Newton’s blue eyes, however, remain icy calm.

“The victim matches the profile – male, mid-forties, dark-haired. The killer has used the same gratuitous method as in the previous three cases.

“Once again, he’s left his calling card,” DS Newton explains, zooming in on the victim’s chest.

In black marker pen, “T” is drawn upon the right bicep like a tattoo.

The team had speculated about the meaning of this symbol for months, and I’ve remained open-minded.

“Lisa,” Newton says, and I straighten. “I’m putting you in charge of the case in Barton’s absence. You’ll report directly to me.”

“Ma’am,” I respond immediately, unsurprised by the announcement.

Barton is off work due to his wife’s recent illness and I’m the obvious choice, being next in command.

I’ve never worked a serial killer case before, though.

After a few more minutes of operational discussion, the meeting ends.

As officers file out of the room, DS Newton signals for me to hang back.

We wait for the last man to leave.

As usual, Newton doesn’t mince her words.

“Can you handle it?” she asks bluntly and I stiffen.

“Of course.”

She studies my eyes for several moments before giving a sharp nod.

“You’re the only woman on the team. Don’t let me down.”

With that, I’m dismissed.

When Tyler and I arrive at the crime scene, forensics are nearly done.

The body remains in situ.

We interview the uniformed officers who were first to respond to the 999 call, then question the lead crime scene investigator about his initial findings.

“Hit me, Bob. What are you thinking?” I say.

“Once again the scene is clean as a whistle – no hairs, fingerprints or a weapon.” I nod.

“The angle and position of the initial wound suggests a left-handed perpetrator.”

Again, I nod. This matches what we know from forensic examinations of previous victims.

“The fact that he always stabs his victim in the back first is something on which I’ve been ruminating.” He pauses.

Tyler shifts beside me and I sense his impatience for new information, but I’ve worked with Bob for much longer than him and I trust that what he’s about to say is worth waiting for.

“This is just speculation, of course, but I think this pattern suggests that the killer is much weaker than his victims.”

My breath hitches.

“You don’t agree with the theory that he wants to take them by surprise?”

Bob shakes his head.

“I was talking to a criminal psychologist friend of mine. Her take is that the killer would want to be face to face when striking the first blow, but is hindered by something.

“A disparity in strength would explain this, as would the violence of the secondary wounds. He’s frustrated that his desire is thwarted.”

My heart is pounding as instinct tells me that he could be on to something that our own criminal psychologist had missed.

“Did she say anything about the symbol?”

The CSI shakes his head.

“We didn’t get on to that. We promised to catch up another time to discuss the subject further.”

“I’d like to speak to her,” I say.

Sara Lowe has an office in the city’s most prestigious university.

I knock on the door promptly at four p.m.

“Come in,” a voice calls.

She stands as we enter.

The first thing I notice is the messiness of the room.

Stacks of textbooks and papers sit precariously on her desk, ready to topple off at the slightest knock.

The floor is strewn with paraphernalia that Tyler and I have to manoeuvre around.

She’s not what I’d pictured, but in this job I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.

“Take a seat,” she tells us, and Tyler and I do so. “

“You said that this was about the Tattoo Killer?” she says once we’re all settled.

“Yes.” I hadn’t told her much on the phone so I recap what Bob reported. “I have some further questions, if that’s OK?”

“Of course.”

“I’m interested in your thoughts on the symbol. What do you think it represents and what is its significance?”

Without hesitation, Sara answers.

“It’s a letter. It’s clearly related to the motive.”

“How so?” Tyler asks, frowning. He’s firmly of the school of thought that the mark isn’t a letter.

The psychologist leans forward, clasping her hands before her on the desk.

“My theory is that it represents a word that would explain why she’s committing these acts. It could be –”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “She?”

Her eyebrows shoot up.

You hadn’t considered that the killer is female?

Tyler snorts but I stare at Sara.

“Explain, please.”

“While it’s true that most serial killers are male,” she begins, “women perpetrators are not unheard of.

“As I told Bob, given the location and angle of the primary wound, the victims would clearly be able to overpower the killer if confronted face to face.

“It’s not hard to come to the conclusion that the killer might be a female.”

“And her motive?” I ask.

“Vicarious revenge on the mysterious ‘T’.”

“You think ‘T’ is a person?”

Sara nods.

“It makes sense.”

It does.

Abby is home when I enter the house, sitting on the couch, reading.

I glance at the cover. As usual, it’s a crime novel.

“Good day?” I ask, hovering in the doorway.

She grunts without looking up from the page.

I decide that enough is enough.

I move across the room and pull the book from her hand.

“Mum!” she complains, but I toss it on the coffee table and give her a stern look.

“I’ve just been given a massive case,” I say. “I’m tired and stressed. I could do without your attitude when I get home after a long day.”

I wait for her to blow up, but she doesn’t.

Is it the Tattoo Killer?

she asks quietly instead.

I nod, unsurprised that she’s aware of the case. It’s been plastered all over the news for months.

I kick off my flats and take a seat beside her.

She leans her head against me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

“I can’t.” I sigh.

“Must be difficult knowing it’s someone on the inside.”

I frown at this.

“In prison?”

“No.” She rolls her eyes, still the teenager despite her momentary display of maturity. “Someone on the force.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugs.

“The newspaper says there’s no forensic evidence in any of the cases. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

“It’s someone who knows how not to get caught. It’s a well-known trope in my books.”

I want to dismiss the notion as a silly plotline, but something is telling me to think about what she’s said more deeply.

Could this be another missing piece of the puzzle?

Everything I’ve learned today suddenly seems to make sense.

“I need to make a phone call,” I tell her abruptly.

She looks up at me as I stand.

“Did I help?”

Despite my tension, I force a smile.

“You did. Thanks, love.”

DS Newton lives in a quiet street on the edge of the city.

I ring the bell and wait for her to answer the door.

“Lisa, come in,” she says, smiling tightly.

She leads me to her kitchen, where a pan of stew bubbles away on the hob.

She lowers the heat before turning to me.

“You said you have news that can’t wait?”

I swallow, suddenly realising how ridiculous my words might sound to her, but plough ahead anyway.

“There’s a new theory that you should know about.”

She listens as I outline the events of the day.

When I’ve finished, she stares at me in what I assume is disbelief.

I feel my cheeks heat.

Then her professional briskness returns.

Thank you for bringing this theory to my attention, Lisa. Let me see you out.

I feel a wave of nausea as I wonder if I’ve just ended my career.

The DS gestures for me to lead the way, so I turn and start walking back to the door leading to the hallway.

I’m still mentally beating myself up for being a fool to bother her with this nonsense when I hear it – the sound of metal sliding against a surface.

Instinctively, I twist.

A sharp pain explodes in my right side.

I gasp and look into DS Newton’s cold eyes.

She withdraws the knife and attempts another blow.

I’m facing her now, and despite my injury, I’m still taller and stronger than the older woman.

I grab her left wrist just before the implement plunges into my side again.

Bending her hand back, I hear her cry out in pain and the weapon drops from her grasp.

But Newton is nothing if not determined.

She hits out at me with her free hand and my head whips back.

I recover quickly and grip her right wrist.

The sound of our harsh breaths fills the room as we strain against each other.

Locked in a test of will, I hear a sound behind me.

It’s Tyler, late as usual, but I’ve never been happier to see him.

“Who is ‘T’?” I ask Newton as I sit opposite her in an interview room.

My bandaged side throbs but I ignore it.

Her lip curls and she looks away.

But the DS’s act of defiance is undermined by the clank of the handcuffs that secure her wrists.

I wait.

When her eyes meet mine again, there’s anger burning in the blue depths.

“You of all people should understand.”

I’m taken aback by the statement.

“Why?” I ask evenly.

“You know what it’s like to be betrayed.”

Suddenly the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

“They reminded you of Tony,” I say, and in that single sentence the case is solved.

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