Forty-Eight
Jack Harlen was a skinny guy with short black hair, black-rimmed glasses, and surprisingly few tattoos. He wore a short-sleeved blue polo, jeans, and white Converse shoes. In many ways, he looked more like a bank teller than a tattoo artist. He introduced himself and then led Cole down the hallway to a small private studio with huge mirrors on the walls, a counter with all kinds of tools, a fancy black reclining chair, and a black cushioned table.
“Have a seat,” Jack said. “What friend did you say recommended me?”
“Marcus Byers,” Cole lied.
Jack tilted his head. “Don’t remember that name. How long ago?”
“About a year ago.”
“What kind of artwork?”
“Picture of his girlfriend. It was uncanny.”
Jack laughed. “I do a lot of those. And then I have a lot of repeat customers who come back after they break up hoping I can make something new out of it.”
Cole forced his own laugh. “I bet. I hope this doesn’t offend you, but you don’t look like the stereotypical tattoo artist.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. This is kind of a second career.”
“What was the first?”
“Technology startups. Software. Finance. Boring stuff like that. I burned out quickly. Wanted to explore my creative side.” He sat on the stool. “So what are you thinking?”
Cole was prepped for this moment. He pulled out his phone, brought up a photograph of Candace McGee, and showed it to him. “Her face on the inside of my left wrist.”
The sight of Candace clearly jarred Jack. He jerked back a little in his chair, studied the picture, blinking several times, as if to make sure his eyes were working correctly. Then he brought his eyes from the phone back over to Cole.
“What the hell is this?” he said, his tone darker. “Who are you?”
“Someone searching for the truth. And I need your help.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed on him more closely. “Wait ... you’re the guy—”
“I’m not dangerous, Jack. I’m someone who’s risking everything in order to find out who really killed Candace thirteen years ago. So just be cool, okay?”
Jack calmly turned, opened a drawer below the counter, and pulled out a small handgun. Cole felt his nerves spike. Had this been a huge mistake? To his credit, Jack didn’t point the gun at him. He just casually held it in his lap.
“For the record, I’m unarmed,” Cole said.
“The FBI is looking for you, right? I’ve been watching the news.”
“I’m innocent, Jack. So is my wife.”
“Why’re you here?”
“Like I said, I need your help.”
“My help? How?”
“Hailey McGee told us you were helping Candace with something at the time of her death. A plan she had to make money and put themselves in a better situation.”
“Hailey told you that?”
“Yes, I just spoke with her. Is it true?”
Jack leaned back. “I’m not looking to get into any trouble.”
“I understand. But I’m looking to get out of trouble. So if you know something, I’m begging you to help us. If not us, help Candace’s daughter.”
This seemed to trigger him emotionally. “She is still with you?”
Cole nodded. “She’s a wonderful young lady. And she looks a lot like Candace.”
Jack swallowed. “I would love to see her, man. How old is she now?”
“She turned fourteen yesterday.”
He shook his head. “Wow. That’s crazy. I can’t believe Candace has been gone that long. I still think about her all the time.”
“You two were romantically involved?”
“I wish. I fell in love with her in the eighth grade and never stopped. But she never had any interest in me in that way. No matter what I tried, we were just friends.”
“What were you helping her with when she died?”
Jack kind of squirmed in his seat. “She was desperate, man. Her life was a real train wreck. She’d gone through one terrible and abusive relationship after another. She was drinking, doing drugs, stealing things. And then she lost her daughter. But she came to me and said she needed my help to turn her life around. She was going to get sober and help Hailey, too. Apparently, she’d found out that one of the guys she’d slept with—the one who’d gotten her pregnant with Marcy—was some rich guy who was running for office or something. I guess she didn’t know it when they’d hooked up, but she saw one of his campaign commercials on TV. Turned out he was also married with two kids. Candace thought she could squeeze him for some cash.”
“Do you know who the guy was?”
He shook his head. “She didn’t want me to know. She just wanted me to help her figure out how to send an untraceable email, set up a numbered bank account, and then, after the money was wired, help her access it. All of which was easy to do on my end. But I tried to talk her out of it. I told her these things can get messy fast. But like I said, she was so desperate. She came from nothing. So I set it all up for her.”
“Did she ever follow through with the plan?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. This was about a month before she died. When she never called me about helping her access the money, I figured she’d come to her senses.”
“Did you ever suspect her death could be connected to this plan of hers?”
His brow bunched. “You think it was connected?”
“Yes, I do.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open, and he slowly leaned back in his chair. “Damn. It honestly never crossed my mind. The police immediately placed all their focus on you and your wife. So it seemed clear from day one what happened to her. Which makes it bizarre sitting here with you right now.”
“For me, too. I think Candace tried to squeeze the wrong guy. Someone more powerful and sinister than she ever suspected. And it got her killed. And I think this person is still determined to keep these secrets by sending the same killer after us.”
Jack cursed. “You serious?”
“Yes. Is there any way for you to find the email she sent?”
Jack looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want any part of this.”
“Please, Jack. Candace is already dead. We can’t ever change that. It might have been because of something you unwittingly helped her with. That’s not your fault. But if you sit here and do nothing, her daughter might be next. And that’s on you.”
Jack sighed. “All right, yeah, I mean, I might be able to still access it. If I can still find the platform I used. That was a long time ago.”
He slid his stool over to the counter, where he set the gun down and reached for a laptop. After opening it, Jack quickly went to work, typing away, his face close to the screen. Cole took that moment to quickly text Lisa again: You guys still good? He expected to receive an instant thumbs-up reply. But nothing came back. He waited a few seconds more and then texted again: Lisa? Still no response. He stood, moved to the corner of the studio, and called her. The phone rang four times and went to an automated voicemail. He called it again. Same thing. Cole cursed. What was going on? Where were they? Had something happened? He could feel a chill race through him. Something was wrong. He needed to go find them.
“I’ve got it!” Jack said from across the room.
Cole rushed over. Jack turned the laptop to face him. It showed a sent folder on some obscure private email system with only one message in it.
“You were right, man,” Jack said. “She sent this email the morning of her death. I can’t believe it. This makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Can you open it?”
“I’d rather not see what’s in it.”
“Okay. Can you download it for me?”
“Yeah, sure.” He quickly stuck a tiny thumb drive into his laptop, typed on his keyboard again, and then pulled out the drive. “This will be the only copy. Because I’m deleting this as soon as you leave. If what you’re saying is true about the person involved, I have no interest in knowing more. I like my life the way it is.”
“I understand. Thanks, Jack.”
Cole bolted for the door.
He had to find his family.