‘Same as the other two,’ Jon commented. ‘Evidence of being strangled. Blood in the surrounding tissues and fascia suggests he began to remove her skin within minutes of her death.’
Rick was hunched over his photocopied sheets. ‘Well, at least she wasn’t alive for it. Substantially more flesh taken off, too. And her missing teeth had been removed shortly after her death. Not wrenched out, removed professionally.’
‘So along with surgical skills he’s got some knowledge of dentistry. Fuck, what are we dealing with here?’ Jon asked, an ominous shadow passing over him.
Rick looked up, face slightly pale. ‘Why would he take out a selection of her teeth?’
‘I reckon he’s covering his tracks,’ Jon said. ‘He’s making it as hard as possible to identify her. No face, only a few teeth to compare against dental records — he doesn’t want to get caught.’ Rick looked down again. ‘Because he wants to carry on. Jesus.’ He turned to the photos of the skin itself. The first image was of it piled up next to the corpse on the waste ground. Jon glanced across the table then turned away as memories of having to eat tripe at his grandma’s flashed up in his mind. ‘No mention of false eyelashes.’
Rick flipped the photo over. The next one was the same pile of skin in the morgue. The pathologist had then taken the pieces of flesh and fitted them together like a grotesque jigsaw.
He turned to the section titled, ‘Distinguishing Features’.
‘Row of four piercing holes in the upper right ear. Tattoo on the lower left abdomen.’
Jon looked up. ‘What of?’
‘Betty Boop. Three inches high.’
‘Betty Boop? That cartoon character? Oversized head, little kiss-curl, miniskirt and heels?’
‘Yeah, I think that’s her.’
‘Is the cartoon on TV at the moment or something? I’ve seen that character recently. God, where was it?’
Rick was frowning. ‘If he’s covering his tracks, why leave her tattoo? Especially when virtually all the skin from the rest of her torso had been removed.’
‘He leaves their knickers on. I don’t think he saw it. We didn’t at the crime scene, remember?’
‘You’re right,’ Rick answered. ‘It was under her knickers. He fucked up.’
Jon clicked his fingers. ‘It was in the book in Jake’s tattoo parlour. That Betty Boop character.’
Rick’s eyebrows were raised. ‘Gordon Dean and victim three could have got their tattoos done in the same place?’
Jon shrugged. ‘Might be worth checking how often that Jake character is asked to do Betty Boop.’
‘Back again, gents? I can see you’re tempted. You know it’s two for one on all body piercings? You could go halves, one nipple each.’
Jon leaned over the desk, his frame filling Jake’s vision. He knew his size was intimidating. But when the person was as annoying as this little twat, who gave a shit? Remaining silent, he stared until the provocative smirk began to wilt. Then he raised a hand and swept it towards Jake’s head. Jake’s shoulders came up, his eyes screwing shut in readiness for the cuff. But Jon’s hand carried on over his head and came to rest on the book of tattoos on the shelf by his side. ‘Ease up man, I’m only fooling around,’ Jon mocked, taking a seat.
Jake’s eyes opened again. ‘Oh, you’re after a tattoo?’ But the riposte was delivered weakly.
Jon ignored the comment and flicked through the plastic sheets until he found the right page. ‘Betty Boop. How often have you done tattoos of her?’
Jake curled the corners of his mouth downwards. ‘Dunno. Not that often. Why?’
‘Do you keep a record of tattoos as you do them?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What about paperwork? Receipts, sales dockets, that kind of stuff?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. I keep accounts and pay my tax. Anything to help cover the wages of servants of the state such as yourselves.’
‘Good man,’ Jon smiled. ‘Here’s what we need to know. Not counting his latest delivery, when was the last time you bought gloves from Gordon Dean?’
Jake slid a file off the shelf and started working backwards.
‘Here, fifteenth of January.’
‘Great. Was that also the date you gave him his ladybird tattoo?’
Jake thought. ‘Could have been. Yeah, in fact I think it was.’
‘Can you tell us which other tattoos you did that day?’
He took a ledger down. Each page covered a month, with names of tattoos and their prices listed. His finger stopped halfway down the entries for January. ‘Yeah, there’s the ladybird. Twenty-five quid.’
Jon looked at the page. Immediately below it was an entry for Betty Boop, with sixty pounds written in the next column. ‘I know it was a few weeks ago, but do you remember who had the Betty Boop tattoo?’
Jake closed his eyes and raised a hand to his face. His forefinger and thumb twiddled the silver bar in the top of his nose as if it was a dial that turned on memories. ‘A young girl. I asked her for ID to check she was eighteen.’
Jon raised his eyebrows. ‘And?’
‘Yeah, she was. Well, she had one of those proof-of-age cards for pubs.’
‘Can you remember the name on the card?’
Jake frowned, silent for a couple of seconds. ‘No, sorry.’
‘On which part of her body did you do the tattoo?’
He tapped the left-hand pocket of his trousers. ‘Here, just below her knicker line.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘I don’t know. About five and a half feet tall. Slim, pretty. Little button nose, brown eyes and short brown hair.’
‘How short?’
Jake held a hand to just below his ears.
‘Any distinguishing features? Scars, birthmarks, piercings, that sort of thing?’
‘Could have had a few piercings at the top of her right ear.’ Jon and Rick exchanged a glance.
‘Do you take customers’ addresses? Perhaps for a mailing list?’ Rick asked.
Jake snorted. ‘I’m not that hi-tech. Keeping this thing up to date is about my limit,’ he said, hand on the ledger.
Jon glanced at the payment column. ‘How did she pay?’
‘Cash. That’s all I accept.’
‘Do you remember if Gordon Dean was in here at the same time as the girl?’
‘Yeah, he was. It was busy.’ He gestured to the curtain at the back of the tiny room. ‘I was doing another one.’ He looked at the book. ‘There you go, a Maori arm ring, seventy-five quid. They waited out here together while I was doing it.’
‘Were they chatting?’ Rick asked, leaning forward eagerly.
‘I don’t know. When the machine’s buzzing I can’t hear much out here.’
‘But they were here for a while, sitting next to each other?’ He nodded. ‘Easily for half an hour.’
Jon stood. ‘Thanks a lot. You’ve been a massive help.’
As they trooped back down the stairs, Rick started humming
‘I’m in the Money’.
‘Don’t get cocky,’ Jon said, wagging a cautionary finger. ‘There’s nothing to link him with Angela Rowlands or Carol Miller.’
‘True. But Angela Rowlands was in the dating game and Carol Miller disappeared while on some mysterious errand. The sooner more information’s entered into HOLMES, the sooner a link to Gordon Dean will emerge. You wait.’
‘I am, and I’m not holding my breath.’
Except for a few waiters laying tables, Don Antonio’s was deserted. The manager sat down at a table by the door and tilted Gordon Dean’s photo to the window. His accent had the necessary elongated vowels for Italian authenticity. ‘Ah yes, Mr Dean, he dines here regularly. But this photo is from before his new haircut.’
‘And he was most recently in when?’ Rick asked.
The manager waved a hand. ‘Four or five nights ago?’
‘Five,’ answered Rick.
The manager looked surprised. ‘You know already.’ Rick nodded. ‘Where did he sit?’
A finger was pointed across the room. ‘The corner table, for two people. But he was alone.’
‘And he left at what time?’
‘Early — he always eats early. We cleared his table well before eight, I’m sure.’
‘Do you remember what he was wearing?’