The Tattooist

By Simone Turri Daniela Mecca

Chicago. James, Special Agent of the F.B.I., investigates with his colleague Sarah on a very complex case. A race against time, where a series of bizarre murders threatens the safety of the community. A journey full of twists, where the characters will find themselves chasing a trail of death that will lead them to a disturbing
conclusion. -

• Language: English
• Publisher: editrice GDS
• Release date: Nov 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9788867825615

Book preview

SIMONE TURRI

DANIELA MECCA

THE TATTOOIST

GDS PUBLISHING

Simone Turri, Daniela Mecca The Tattooist ©GDS PUBLISHING

GDS PUBLISHING

Iolanda Massa

Via G. Matteotti, 23

20069 Vaprio d'Adda (MI)

tel. [phone]

e-mail: [e-mail]; [e-mail]

Cover illustration by Fotolia Corpse body morgue, dead, murder, killer ©LaCozza

Project cover ©Iolanda Massa

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fantasy. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

I believe that humanity is born from conflict. Maybe that's why we all have a dark side. Some choose to support him, others have no choice, the rest of us fights. But in the end, it is as natural as the air we breathe. At one point, we are forced to face the truth, all of us. For me, that day has come.

Anonymous

LOOK AT ME

1

Special Agent of the F.B.I., James Sunderland, had just returned home after a long day of stakeouts, pending investigations, paperwork to fix. Only wanted to warm up the Chinese food in the microwave, have a beer, watch any program on TV and then go to sleep.

   He lived in the two-room apartment furnished, rented for a few hundred dollars a month, ever since, three years ago, his wife Marita died in a car accident while returning home from a meal eaten in solitude, due of the odious work that kept him always very busy.

James has never forgiven the fact that he had a fight with her the same evening of the accident; if only he had been more present Marita probably would not die and they would still be together. In his mind he revolved the images of when had occurred at the accident site: she was locked up inside the car, with the curved upper body forward towards the steering wheel and the skull stuck in the windshield. The blood still dripping on her face hidden by hair besmeared exposing her left eye lifeless. The cause of the accident remained unknown because no evidence was found that would establish the collision with other vehicles. While he thought of those bad times, he was brought back to reality by the ringing of the microwave in which he had put the noodles and the insistent ringing of his cell phone.

Was the venue that requires his presence on the scene of a crime took place on the other side of the city.

Melissa Richardson, forty, white complexion, eyes and brown hair. Administrative employee of a multinational information technology company, divorced, no children. She was found half-naked in his apartment, glued at the dining room table, with a showy written on the belly which read: LOOK AT ME.

James arrived at the scene in a flash and made her way through the small crowd of onlookers and the police officers who were talking with colleagues at headquarters. Stepped over the yellow safety strips that bounded the area and entered the six story building in a Victorian style.

To intrigue him were two words that his colleague, Sarah Gomez, had told him just before on the phone: glued and tattooed. While the guard officers appeared at every floor, intent on interrogate the tenants, James climbed the last few steps that separated him from the apartment of the victim. As soon as he crossed the threshold glimpsed Sarah and Duncan Harris, F.B.I. medical pathologist, intent on examining the corpse.

The dining room appeared untouched, not a thing out of place. The woman's body was fastened to the wooden table, with her feet and her back glued and legs spread wide to show sex. James walked over to the body and stood for a few moments and fix the words LOOK AT ME on Melissa's belly.

Another detail that caught his attention was the face that smiled mockingly, almost amused, that had been made more open by two deep cuts on the sides of the lips who continued on her cheeks, highlighting her tongue hanging held by a row of perfect teeth.

«About time!» Sarah began with a wink.

«Never a moment's peace, eh?» James said «Hello Duncan! Once we should meet in more relaxing circumstances, perhaps for a beer!» She said, smiling, meeting his watchful eye of a bookworm. Duncan remained focused and just grunted, continuing to take samples of tissue and stale blood from the corpse.

«Then, what about James?» Sarah asked, as soon as she was secluded in a corner of the room with him.

«That inscription tattooed do not like it at all; not to mention the chilling smile, with that tongue between her teeth!» he confided fixing her straight in the eye. «We are faced with a sadistic, murderous psychopath.»

«I made sure to gather information from all the tenants of the building, if they had seen or heard something, but we do not have anything yet. I have already prepared a search on relatives and acquaintances of the victim. You'll have a full report by tomorrow evening.»

«Too late, Sarah. We do for tomorrow. We have no time to lose, if it's what I think» James said softly.

«What do you mean?» She asked with a raised eyebrow, anxious to know the answer of the colleague.

«We do not yet know the motive, but I think we will have news from him soon. Always if acting alone!» He said, leaving the room to check in person the rest of the apartment. A spacious and functional kitchen, a bathroom where only the presence of a single woman could make it so flawless, a utility room no bigger than a shower and a bedroom that would be said to belong to a princess of the past, never grew.

«Agent Sunderland! Maybe somebody saw something!» Said a young agent who appeared in the doorway, drenched in sweat, as if he were returning from an obstacle course.

«Who is it?» He asked, noting the name R. Scott on the nameplate of the uniform.

«The lady who lives downstairs. She speaks of a cat and a clown. I do not know how much will be useful, but ... »

James did not give to agent Scott time to finish the sentence that he rushed down the stairs to see themselves that possible track.

Sarah Gomez followed him at wheel, at the risk of tripping over itself and breaking his neck.

The apartment below was to Madleen Moore, octogenarian sympathetic but, at first glance, a tad late with the mind.

«Good evening, Mrs. Moore, I'm FBI Special Agent Gomez and I need to ask you some questions about what happened what happened upstairs» Sarah began trying to establish a relationship of trust to put at ease the old woman.

«All right. Ask as well, if I can be of help ... » Madleen Moore said.

«What's happened? What did you hear?»

«Blackie, my cat, he felt the presence of someone and started to meow nervously looking in the direction of the front door. I immediately approached to look through the peephole and saw a masked figure as a clown, holding a knife that he made slid on his long tongue; then nothing!»

«Do you remember the sounds, smells, maybe?» Sarah continued, casting a knowing look toward James.

«No, I'm sorry. I remember nothing else! Now, if you please, I would like to go to rest.»

«Certainly, Mrs. Moore, I think for the moment is enough» Sara said moving away from the door of the Mrs.

«What do you think?» She asked, turning to her colleague.

«We need to learn more about that clown and the written tattooed. Now I talk to her and we see if I can get something more concrete!» He said as he knocked at the Madleen's door .

«Mrs. Moore, I'm sorry for the trouble, but I need to ask you some more questions.»

«Again?» She said as she opened the door, «It's the third time I repeat this story! I'm retired for ten years and I live in my apartment on the fifth floor, to River Street, with my cat Blackie. It is very smart and quickly realize if there is something wrong.» She said, breaking off to take the air with the small blue fan embroidered of colored beads.

«Go on, please» he urged, as he stared her carefully with his piercing gray eyes.

«I was sitting in front of TV with the cat in her lap when, at some point, he jumped down from my knees and began to meow and blow in the direction of the door. I got up from his chair to go to peek through the peephole, as I always do when I hear noises, and saw a person dressed as a clown climb slowly up the stairs» the woman said stiffened for fear that the remembrance caused her.

«Do not worry Mrs. Moore. Want some water?» Sunderland agent asked politely.

«No thanks, it does not need. The clown must have sensed my presence because he slowly approached the door, tilting the head to one side, as if it were attracted by something.»

«It was dark, with a mocking smile I will never forget. She had purple curls, his eyes were surrounded by blue and a red potato nose. He wore dark clothes that I can not describe due to the poor lighting that was on the landing.»

«Great! What happened next?» James asked to her continuing to take notes on his notebook.

«As I said to his colleague, he was holding a knife that he passed on the tongue, always looking in my direction as if to inform me that he is aware of my presence."

"She does not remember anything else? He can tell me how he was the knife?»

«I only noticed the glint of the blade that reflected the dim light of the landing. I got scared and I retract; after a while I tried to peek again but was whisked away without making any noise.»

«For now we're done, Mrs. Moore. I would ask you not to leave the city for the next few days, but to remain available in case we need to ask you some questions. If you were remind something, do not hesitate to call us; at any time of day or night.» he said, handing her a business card that the woman put in her purse, after having scrutinized carefully.

«Of course, do not worry agent. Goodbye!» She greeted him with her hand as he closed the door.

The two officers returned to headquarters and James, once stayed alone in his office, loosened his tie and stretched his legs under the desk thinking about the freshly harvested statements.

Despite many years of service, within himself still he could not conceive how a human being could enjoy making harm to another.

By now it was late but had no desire to return home and decided to stop at the Summer Night, the bar on the fifth, where for years he had fled when he needed to escape with the mind. That night his thoughts were not facing Marita, his tragic death, and how much she missed, but reworked the information acquired on the case Richardson. He imagined the horrific violence suffered by woman and the savagery from which he could not break free. The interweaving of the various dowels that made up the intricate puzzle hovered in front of him lining up in a sort of scheme: the detail of the clown mask disturbed him very much, but not like the word tattooed and the absence of blood in the victim's body.

James kept wondering what message he wanted to send the murderess and to whom. There would been a sequel or was merely a settling of scores with someone uncomfortable?

He was so immersed in his conjectures, that he had not realized he had drunk four Margaritas and one Scotch, he had paid the bill, had climbed in the car and that he had returned home unharmed. He noticed it only when he found himself in front of the front door fumbling with the keys in an attempt to open it. Once entered, he took off his clothes, lay down on the bed and turned off the light, ready to face another sleepless night full of restlessness.

2

Sarah and James worked together from about three years. From the professional point of view they had been in tune from the start; they understood themselves immediately, without even need to talk. They were able to solve many cases and was not a mystery to anyone that she shagged there shamelessly with him, without getting anything more than a simple working relationship between civil colleagues. Sarah was an expert marksman, very precise in his work, excellent support in the field, James, however, was the team's mind: memory for faces and experienced in tracing truly amazing psychological profiles, skilled in interrogation, and with an excellent flair that distinguished him from the crowd.

Short straight hair and graying, piercing gray eyes that combined neatly with a reassuring smile that put everyone at ease and a deep voice, but sharp.

By the disappearance of Marita he had not been with another woman, unable to feel anything more than friendship for a human being of the opposite sex.

It was well aware of the obvious court that Sarah made to him from some time, but would not give in to the situation so as not to risk compromising the wonderful relationship of trust, respect and complicity that had been created.

Sarah was a lovely girl, he admitted this: straight hair that reached down to his shoulders, dark eyes like a true Puerto Rican, beautiful sinuous and graceful body, a persuasive voice from enchantress.

James was not able to sleep that night, still brooding and making assumptions about the case. It was five-fifteen in the morning, and shortly thereafter he should go to the FBI headquarters to take stock of the situation based on the evidence that emerged at the crime scene.

He decided to get up to take a hot shower and then leave the house while the last shadows of the night, they fled to hide itself the presence of the new rising sun in the cold and foggy morning.

He made a brief stop by Smith's to allow himself the usual watered down coffee, served in a paper cup, and went to the FBI headquarters, where he was surprised to find already at work Sarah and Duncan talking animatedly among themselves, listened very interest from Morgan, the supervisor .

James came into the office giving a good morning to everyone with a nod, not to interrupt the debate, but was urged by Morgan, who greeted him on a so visibly upset.

«But where have you been? I've searched you like crazy, to tell you to come here right away!» Sarah said settling a nudge to the forearm when James took his seat beside her.

«I have removed the ringing of the phone last night because I needed to rest and completely isolate myself from the rest of the world. You know very well that I adopt this expedient when I do not know what to do about a case! And then I did not know you were my nanny darling!» He replied ironically giving her a slight pinch in his left side and making her blush instantly.

«Since we're all here now, I would give the floor to Duncan, who has definitely some important news about the case Richardson. Please Duncan, the floor is yours» Morgan added coming down from the small podium with the American intelligence emblem and sitting two chairs after the James's one.

«All right, good morning to all. I regret have you had to wake at night, but the marks found on the body of Richardson, deserved an immediate interest» he said, scratching his bald spot in obvious discomfort. It was the kind of man used to reflect in solitary silence and not to expose conjectures and facts before an audience of agents curious to know. He worked in that team for four years now, but had not yet shaken off that sense of suffocation that he felt every time he had confer in public.

Duncan had just turned forty years, was a reserved person, never behind the times as to clothing, trapped between the sixties and eighties. He wore rimless round glasses and bushy mustache that were used to cover a scar on his upper lip caused by a childhood fall. He still lived with his mother and did not feel right to leave her alone, especially after the death of his father years before because of a fulminating stroke to the left hemisphere of the brain. Duncan was the kind of man who washed only at weekends, so as not to waste too much water otherwise the mother got angry and always put his shirt into his pants combined with the inevitable bow tie. He had never had any approach to the opposite sex and who gave all of himself to the study, reading and science.

«Mrs. Richardson died between eighteen and twenty. The writing was carried out with a pipette tip for tattoos and who has carried out that design is a professional in all respects. The blood on the belly, in reality, is a pigment for creating tattoos, while that little found around the lower part of the bust is due to repeated penetration with a blunt instrument, since they were not found vital tracks within the body. The woman's face was manipulated with some tools, I would say, from dental orthodontics and the victim died of bleeding. The culprit has not left any trace on the body of Melissa and, unfortunately, no fingerprints. Not even the clown mask found next to the body can be helpful in deciphering the slightest detail about the murderer. The perpetrator, or perpetrators that they are, is a professional» Duncan concluded visibly shaken by that macabre report, commented with a general silence broken by the agent Sunderland.

«I propose to verify between Melissa's knowledge to know of his movements, of which local attending, practically I want to know everything about that woman» he mused aloud James.

«Because he used a tattoo? What binds him to this world? I shall undertake research in the world of tattoos» he suggested Sarah exposing his intentions without lifting the face from the block on which she was finishing to take notes.

«We need to find out the meaning of the words LOOK AT ME. Our "Unknown Subject" must refer to someone or something in particular. If we do not act quickly, we might also expect, from here soon, a second victim» Morgan concluded, standing in valedictory nod and then shut himself in his office.

«What intuition, guys! Who would ever think it?» James remarked ironically winking at Sarah, who was limited to admonish him with his eyes, knowing well the disagreements occurred between him and the supervisor. The dispute between the two men lasted for years and concerned, according to James, a cover-up of evidence by Morgan in one of the most difficult cases in which FBI is put itself: the serial killer Madison Harper, better known as the monk because of the role of bishop who held in the Newport Cathedral. Morgan, at that time colleague at par of James, had been corrupted by the Roman Curia to conceal