Chapter 20
Brooklyn Sloane
The chill of the January morning wrapped around Brook as she stepped out of Deputy Benz's patrol car, the engine rumbling softly before falling silent.
She tucked her hands deeper into her pockets, the lingering warmth from her coffee cup fading quickly in the biting cold.
Deputy Benz joined her on the sidewalk, his breath instantly small puffs of clouds that dissipated into the frosty air.
The neon sign of the tattoo parlor had flickered to life at approximately eleven o’clock. The red hue of the tubes glowed against the winter gray, the etched skull design resembling a stoplight in the dead of night.
Whereas the bakery had deliciously sweet aromas, the tattoo parlor had a strong, sharp antiseptic odor.
The front area was cramped but meticulously organized, walls covered with laminated flash art and framed photographs of completed tattoos.
Some of the pictures even featured past customers.
Behind the counter, a heavy black curtain hung from a single rod, separating the main area from what she assumed were the private rooms.
Figg Whitlow stood behind a glass counter displaying several books of tattoos to peruse, as well as an array of body jewelry tucked in the back of the two shelves. His posture suggested he'd been anticipating their arrival, which she didn’t doubt in the least.
He was a heavily built man with broad shoulders and thick forearms covered in intricate tattoos that climbed up his neck in dark swirls.
The designs weren't chaotic as one might expect, or so she’d been led to believe.
They were precisely organized, each image flowing into the next with deliberate artistic intent.
His shaved head gleamed under the track lighting, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the slight crow's feet around his eyes.
“Make it quick, detective.” Figg’s voice matched his appearance.
The deep tone was rough-edged. He offered no greeting and no pretense of pleasantries.
His gaze shifted briefly to Deputy Benz before returning to Brook, sizing her up with an efficiency that told her he was accustomed to reading people quickly.
“I’ve got a client in thirty minutes, and he isn’t too keen on the boys in blue. ”
Brook approached the counter while pulling out her credentials.
“I’m not a state police detective, Mr. Whitlow.
Nor do I work for the county.” Brook held up her identification.
“I’m sure you already know that, though.
My name is Brooklyn Sloane, and my firm has been hired to look into a murder that is connected to Heather Moore’s death.
It’s my understanding that the two of you were on close terms? ”
“I don’t care who you are.” Figg’s voice remained level. “And everyone in this town knows everyone else. What of it?”
“I’ll be more specific, then. You were witnessed having two separate arguments with Heather Moore in the weeks before her murder.
” Brook's tone was matter-of-fact, neither accusatory nor sympathetic.
She observed the subtle tightening around his eyes.
“Once in the school parking lot, and once at the church. Why?”
“People in this town should also mind their own business,” Figg replied, the tattoos on his neck subtly pulsing with his heartbeat. “Heather and I weren’t arguing. We were having a discussion.”
“Mr. Whitlow, I can spend the next several days interviewing everyone in town about you and Heather, or you can be honest with me now, and I move on to more productive interviews. Your choice.”
Brook wasn’t going to play games. She was being brutally honest with him, and he had a decision to make in this moment. The latter would make her job more difficult, but so be it.
Figg's eyes narrowed as he studied her, clearly weighing the two options, and almost certainly calculating what she might already know against what he was willing to reveal. The silence stretched between them until movement could be heard behind the black curtain.
A woman suddenly emerged, dressed in fitted black leather pants and a tight red tank top that revealed ample cleavage, and her arms were covered in colorful, feminine versions of the same intricate style that adorned Figg's skin.
Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail that accentuated her sharp cheekbones and full lips painted blood red.
She moved with the fluid confidence of someone completely at home in her environment.
Her steps faltered momentarily when she spotted Brook and Deputy Benz, her dark eyes narrowed with immediate suspicion. She recovered quickly, crossing to Figg's side and leaning against him with unmistakable possessiveness.
“I didn't know you had company, bae.” Her voice carried a slight rasp that suggested either smoking or too many late nights in loud bars. She made no effort to introduce herself or acknowledge Brook directly. “Do I need to call a lawyer?”
Figg's posture softened slightly as he draped an arm around her shoulders.
“Jasmine, go wait for me in the back.” Figg pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I'll be there soon.”
Jasmine's gaze flicked from Brook to Benz and back again, her assessment now one of naked curiosity.
Her red lips pressed into a thin line of obvious displeasure when no one was willing to speak in front of her.
Her fingernails trailed possessively across Figg's tattooed forearm before she stepped back.
“Fine.” The single word carried layers of meaning from reluctance, concern, to territorial marking. “Don’t be too long, though. Jinx is coming in to get his sleeve finished this morning.”
Once the curtain settled back into place, Figg stepped forward and leaned his palms against the glass counter. He studied Brook for a moment longer, then pushed himself upright, resignation evident in the subtle shift of his posture.
“A friend of mine got out of prison about twelve years ago,” Figg began, his voice lowered despite the absence of other customers in the shop.
Maybe he didn’t want Jasmine to overhear him.
“Talented artist. Could've been working in a place like this instead of boosting cars if he'd had the chance. Part of his parole was taking some reentry courses.”
“Reentry courses?”
“Yeah, to help integrate ex-cons back into society. Anyway, I asked if Heather would consider teaching an art course for the program. I had just rented this place out and was getting ready to open the shop, so I didn’t have any spare time.”
“And Heather agreed?” Brook posed her statement as a question. It wouldn’t be to her advantage for him to believe she had knowledge of certain facts. “Just like that?”
“Yeah, she did. Voluntarily.” Figg emphasized the word. “Look, Heather was a good person. She was always willing to help others. But after a while, she started getting uncomfortable being there.”
“Why was that?” Brook asked, sensing they were approaching the crux of the matter.
“Some of those guys had done serious time. Most were trying to go straight, but prison changes people.” Figg shrugged, the movement rippling across the inked landscape of his neck.
“A few would stare at her too long. Make comments when they thought no one was listening. Nothing overt enough to report, but enough to make her nervous.”
“And you didn’t want her to quit?”
“That was what we were discussing,” Figg confirmed with a slight nod. “I was trying to convince her to stick it out. I didn’t threaten her, if that’s what people are suggesting. I was disappointed. Frustrated. But I understood where she was coming from.”
“Why would Heather keep her volunteer work a secret?”
“Her father would have lost his shit,” Figg said with a short, humorless laugh.
“Brian Moore is old school Harrowick. Believes people don't change, especially not those who have done some hard time behind bars.
Brian has been at the railroad yard for what, forty years?
Lives by rules and schedules. There was no way he'd have approved of his daughter spending Thursday nights in a room full of ex-cons.”
“And why didn't you tell the police about this connection after she was killed?” Brook asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer. “You didn’t think it was pertinent to the investigation? She was spending time with convicted felons.”
“Heather’s parents were already suffering, and those guys in the reentry program were just trying to start new lives.
Get jobs, reconnect with friends and family.
I wasn’t going to ruin their fresh starts by dragging them into a murder investigation.
Besides, the cops and the feds were looking for some drifter, some outsider.
They'd already decided what had happened. Who was I to say any different?”
Brook didn’t get the sense that Figg was lying. She took her time, reaching into her jacket pocket to retrieve one of her business cards, and placed it on the glass counter between them.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Whitlow,” Brook said as she took a step back.
“If you remember anything else about Heather, or about anyone in that class who might have shown particular interest in her beyond…how did you phrase it? Nothing overt enough to report, I believe. Anyway, please call me.”
Brook nodded to Benz, who appeared hesitant to open the door. When he realized that she had truly ended the interview, he reached out and pushed open the glass entrance. The frigid air had Brook bracing her body immediately.
“I’m sorry that didn’t work out,” Lucas replied as she adjusted her scarf. She immediately retrieved her gloves from her pocket. “I know you were hoping for a different outcome.”
“That particular interview gave us exactly what we needed,” Brook replied as she pulled out her key fob. “Did you notice the photographs on the wall?”
“The ones with the customers showing off their new ink?”
“Not those. The personal photos.” Brook advanced forward until they were near his patrol car.
“There was a framed photograph to the right of the man showing off his dragon tattoo. Figg with an older woman. His mother, judging by the resemblance around the eyes. She was wearing a silk scarf around her neck.”
“A yellow scarf?”
“Not yellow,” Brook clarified, already cataloging the small detail against the established profile.
“But potentially significant. I recall from the background check that his mother passed away almost twelve years ago. The timing could add up, though Figg Whitlow doesn’t necessarily fit the profile.
I appreciate your help today, Deputy Benz. ”
“Anytime, Miss Sloane. Feel free to ask for me if you need more assistance with interviews.”
Brook glanced at the tattoo parlor's front window, where Figg was no longer visible at the counter. She would take Deputy Benz up on his offer sooner rather than later. Lucas followed her line of sight.
“If you want me to keep an eye on—”
“No,” Brook replied as she pressed the unlock button on the key fob.
She had another assignment for the deputy.
“I want Mr. Whitlow comfortable, free to go about his daily life. But you can do me a favor and make sure you’re working second shift on Sunday.
What are your thoughts on town hall meetings? ”