“I need a couple minutes,” I told the girl in front of me as I peeled off the latex gloves. “You want a soda or anything?”
She was texting someone on her phone and shook her head.
Joel mouthed,
“What do you know about Jeff Coleman?”
“Hi, hello, nice to see you for the first time in two days,” I said, eager to put off this conversation, especially since I could feel my hands start to get clammy.
I wasn’t a good liar.
He relaxed slightly, but kept his hands on his hips. “Sorry, but I’ve been pretty busy. I need to know what you know about Coleman. He’s got a shop up near Fremont, and you always seem to know everyone.”
As he said it, I realized it was true. I was never Miss Popular, but I always managed to keep up on who was who in the worlds I traveled in. It was always good to know who your enemies were, as well as your friends.
“Yeah, I know Coleman. He’s a jerk.” I said it too loud, and Tim came so close our noses were almost touching.
“Do you know where he is?”
I didn’t have to lie this time. “No. Should I?”
“He was married to Kelly Masters.”
I hoped I had what looked like surprise all over my face.
“You don’t look like that’s news to you,” Tim accused.
So it was more like egg on my face. Figured.
“I might have heard something,” I admitted.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
I shook my head, forcing myself to keep calm, even though my heart was pounding. “Not sure,” was all I could spit out.
He didn’t believe me. So he tossed his cards on the table.
“Coleman’s fingerprints were found on a gun in that rental car where we found Kelly Masters’s body last night.”
“Really?” It had been on the news that she’d been shot. Jeff hadn’t said anything about his gun at the scene. My surprise was genuine this time. But Tim wasn’t finished.
He threw the ace down.
“And we found traces of blood that match Elise Lyon’s blood type in the backseat.”
Chapter 16
Another little bit of information that Jeff neglected to mention when he called. Unless he didn’t know. I’d checked the caller ID after I hung up with him, but the number registered as restricted. I had no way of getting in touch with him to find out if he was messing around with me.
“So, was Kelly Masters shot with that gun?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I waited for more, but nothing else came. My thoughts ran around like a border collie in a field of sheep. “You’re sure it’s Coleman’s gun?”
“It’s registered to him.”
“Why would he kill her with his own gun and then leave it there? I mean, the guy’s not Ivy League or anything, but he’s not stupid, either.” Maybe whoever did kill her was framing Jeff, like he said. “And what does that mean? You found traces of blood?”
“What do you think it means?”
“So do you think Elise Lyon was shot, too?”
His expression told me his patience was wearing thin, but nothing more.
“Why are you here, then?” I asked. “Why aren’t you out looking for Jeff Coleman?”
He ran his hand through his short hair, exasperated. “I thought maybe you might know where he hangs out.”
“Oh, because he’s in my crowd? Because we’re both tattooists, we must hang out together? Tim, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not a
Tim sank down onto the chair next to the light table, wringing his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that there’s a lot of pressure on this one. You know, with the media, Bruce Manning, we’re under the gun.” Considering the situation, that might not be the best phrasing, but I opted not to mention that.
I pulled Bitsy’s stool over and sat next to him. “I don’t mean to get on your case. I’m sorry, too. But I don’t really know how I can help you. I don’t know where Jeff is.”
“We’ve got a warrant.”
“I know.”
The words were out before I could take them back. Tim frowned.
“How do you know that?”
I tried to be nonchalant. “Word gets around, you know.”
“No, Brett, it doesn’t. Unless you have friends in high places, and as far as I know, I’m as high up as your friends go. Who did you hear it from?”
I couldn’t keep this going. I just didn’t like Jeff enough. “He called me.”
“When?”
“A little while ago. He said he was in trouble, asked me to take a client of his he couldn’t cancel. I said okay.” And the more I thought about it, the more I felt like I’d made a deal with the devil. But I couldn’t turn down the cash. Or the client. I mean, any woman would want the job.
“Where was he?”
“I don’t know, and before you ask, his number was listed as restricted on the caller ID.”
Tim had gone all rigid, ready to pounce out of his chair toward the phone at the front desk. He relaxed slightly, but he was still on alert. Like the way a cat is when the bird flies away, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll be back.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here asking you about this and you talked to him but you won’t tell me until I trip you up. You’re not hiding anything, are you?” His face was dark, and I recognized his expression. The last time he’d looked like this was when Mary Ellen Judson had messed around with his best friend, Aidan, but pretended nothing had happened even when he asked her about it, even after Aidan had told him about it.
Sister Mary Eucharista knew the power of guilt. It was kicking my butt.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, not making eye contact.
“If he calls again, I need to know. You need to get some information out of him.”
So now I was a narc. Sort of. “Sure.” I got up. “I’ve got to finish that tat out there.”
Tim and my guilt followed me out of the staff room.
“Oh, and don’t talk to any media again. That Leigh Holmes snippet made it onto the cable networks.”
Bitsy was on the phone, jotting down an appointment, but as Tim spoke, she glanced up at me. I knew what she was thinking, and I had to tell Tim.
“Uh, Tim, you’re a little late with that,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just tell me everything, Brett? Why do you make me pull it out of you?”
“That thing for
He looked like he’d just gotten off a ship after a two-week cruise and couldn’t get his balance. “What?”
“I heard you. What sorts of questions did they ask?”
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” I said quickly. “It was some reporter named Alison Cho. She just asked about
