While David Albrecht shot some exteriors of the building, Jessica and Byrne climbed the narrow stairwell, opened the frosted-glass door.
The front parlor was lit with dozens of candles. The walls were covered in tapestries of magenta and gold. There was no furniture, no stools, just pillows. It smelled of rich incense. There were no customers in the waiting area.
A few moments later a woman walked through the curtains and greeted them. She was Indian, elfin and delicate, about forty. She wore a turquoise silk kurti and black slacks. 'My name is Dalaja,' she said. 'How may I help you?'
Jessica took out her ID, showed it to the woman. She then introduced herself and Byrne.
'Is there something wrong?' Dalaja asked.
'No,' Jessica said. 'We just have a couple of questions, if you have a few moments.'
'Yes, of course.'
Dalaja gestured to the large pillows in front of the window overlooking Chestnut Street. Jessica and Byrne sat down. Well, sat was a loose term for Byrne's action. For a man his size, the best Byrne could do was aim himself at the pillow, then fall onto it.
'Would you like some tea?' the woman asked when they were settled.
'I'm fine, thanks,' Jessica said.
'Would a cup of Masala chai be too much trouble?' Byrne asked.
The woman smiled. 'Not at all. But it will take a few minutes.'
'No problem.'
Dalaja disappeared into the back room.
'Masala chai?' Jessica asked softly.
'What about it?'
'Do you have some sort of secret life I don't know about?'
'Well, if I told you it wouldn't be secret, would it?'
Jessica looked around the room. There were glass shelves on the far wall, each featuring a stack of brightly hued clothing. Another glass rack held carved artifacts and jewelry. The sound of modern Indian music floated softly from behind the curtain.
The woman soon emerged from the back room, sat on a large pillow opposite them. She was so light that she barely made an impression on the pillow. It was as if she floated above it. 'The tea will be ready shortly.'
'Thanks,' Byrne said.
'First, if you don't mind, can you tell me what you do here?' Jessica asked.
'This is a Mehndi parlor.'
'Could you spell that for me?' Jessica asked.
Dalaja did, giving her a few alternate spellings. Jessica wrote it all down. 'I'm not sure I know what that means.'
'Mehndi is a type of skin decoration practiced throughout South Asia, Southeast Asia, North Africa, the Horn of Africa.'
'These are temporary tattoos?'
'Technically no. Tattoos, by definition, are permanent, applied under the skin. Mehndi is temporary, and rests atop the skin.'
'What is it made out of?'
'Mehndi is applied with henna. It is mostly drawn on the palms of the hands and the feet, where the levels of keratin in the skin are highest.'
'And how long does it last?'
'Anywhere from a few days to a few months, depending on the henna paste and where the decoration is placed on the body.'
A young Indian woman came out of the back with a cup of tea on an ornate black lacquered tray. She was about nineteen, and wore traditional South Asian clothing. She was stunningly beautiful. Jessica went back to her notes, but, after a few seconds, noticed that the girl was still standing in front of them. Jesssica glanced at Byrne. He was looking at the girl with his mouth open, not moving, not speaking. She was that beautiful.
'Kevin.'
'Right,' he said finally, closing his mouth and taking the cup and saucer. 'Thank you.'
The girl smiled and, without a word, withdrew to the back room.
When she was gone, their hostess reached onto a nearby table and picked up a beautifully bound leather notebook. She handed the book to Jessica, who riffled the pages. The designs were intricate and skillfully drawn. Page after page of complex artwork in a rainbow of colors, drawn mostly on hands and feet.
'I'm afraid what we're inquiring about is a little different,' Jessica said. 'A little less… ornate.'
'I see.'
Jessica then caught the aroma of the tea — ginger and honey — and wished she had taken the woman up on her offer.
'May I show you a photograph?' Jessica asked.
'By all means.'
Jessica pulled out her iPhone, enlarged the photograph of the lion tattoo on Kenneth Beckman's finger.
'Oh, I see,' the woman said. 'This is different.'
'Do you know what it is?'
Dalaja nodded. 'This is very small, is it not?'
'Yes,' Jessica said. 'Maybe one inch long.'
'It appears to be a style of temporary body art called a transfer. Relatively inexpensive. And the quality, well…'
It was true. By comparison with the photographs in the leather-bound notebook the lion tattoo looked like it had been drawn with a crayon.
'I take it you do not offer this service or sell items like this,' Jessica said.
'We do not. But I believe I can point you in the right direction.'
'That would be great.'
'If you will excuse me for a moment.'
The woman rose, seemingly without effort. She stepped into the back room. She returned a few minutes later with pages from a color printer.
'I believe this is what you are looking for.'
She handed a page to Jessica. On it was an exact replica of the lion transfer tattoo.
'Wow,' Jessica said. 'That's it.'
Dalaja handed her a second sheet. 'At the top is the website from which I downloaded the image. There are ten others here on the page, but the first company, called World Ink, is the largest. I did not find that exact image on any of the others, but that is not to say it is not sold elsewhere.'
Jessica and Byrne got to their feet.
'The chai was delicious,' Byrne said. 'Thanks very much.'
'You are most welcome,' the woman replied. 'Is there anything else I can do for you?'
'I believe that is it for now,' Jessica said.
'Then, for now, alvida.' She spun on her heels and walked toward the back room without making a sound.
Back at the Roundhouse, Jessica got on the Internet and visited World Ink. In addition to transfer tattoos, the company sold a lot of specialty items, such as pocket calendars, paint sheets, and customized scratch-and-win cards.
But it was the stock tattoos in which Jessica was interested. And they had hundreds, maybe thousands of designs. Angels, cars, flags, flowers, sports, holiday-themed, myth and fairy-tale, as well as religious and tribal symbols.
Six pages deep into the online catalog she found the lion design. It was in a collection called TinyToos, and was a perfect match. She took out her cellphone, clicked over to the photograph of Kenneth Beckman's body. There could be no doubt. Unless the victim had put this tattoo on himself — and Jessica had a problem seeing Beckman
