Chapter 9
“Bel.” Olivia grabbed her hand and tugged, the movement finally pulling Bel’s focus from the grotesque art swimming through the nothingness above them. “Look.”
“I am looking,” she whispered.
“No.” Olivia tugged again, and this time, Bel followed her lead, suddenly aware that her partner was still holding her hand. “The shop. Look at it.”
Bel tore her eyes away from the dead mermaid only to be swallowed whole by Neptune’s Ink’s décor.
By the fantasy and the morbidity. By the black paint and the heavy-handed nautical theme.
But most of all by the mermaids. And not the mythical creatures that little girls flocked to.
The grotesque monsters that haunted sailors’ nightmares.
Sirens who could tear flesh from bones, who could sink ships and drown their passengers.
The kind that inspired men to drag young women to the depths and lock their mutilated bodies in eternal glass.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist repeated, leaning over the front desk to reclaim the disturbed detectives’ attention.
“Yes.” Bel mentally shook herself free from her shock and offered the woman her credentials. “I’m Detective Isobel Emerson, and this is my partner, Olivia Gold. Is your shop owner here today?”
“Yes, but Ursa is incredibly busy,” the receptionist said. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“Murder,” Olivia blurted without finesse.
“Oh, I…” The receptionist released an awkward laugh, her face paling when she realized the detective wasn’t joking. “I’ll go get her.”
“You do that,” Olivia called to her fleeing back. “Would the killer really be this obvious?” She directed her whisper at Bel.
“Until a few days ago, his mermaids didn’t exist to the world,” Bel said. “He was the only one who knew what that skeleton swimming above us meant. His daily reminder of the secrets he kept below the surface.”
“This shop creeps me out.”
“It’s certainly a vibe,” Bel said as a woman who was more tattoo than flesh strode toward them. Draped in all black, her unorthodox appearance screamed of money, and by the way she settled before the detectives, she’d clearly earned the authority rippling through her.
“I’m Ursa, the owner and head artist of Neptune’s Ink,” she greeted. “Is there a problem, officers?”
“Is there somewhere private where we can speak?” Bel asked.
“My office.” The woman twisted on her heels without a backward glance, her ego summoning the detectives to follow her.
“Bel.” Olivia leaned closer so that their guide wouldn’t overhear, and her urgency knocked her into Bel’s back.
“I know. I see them,” she whispered. Ursa’s plethora of blackwork mermaid tattoos was the first thing she’d noticed about the woman, and like the skeleton above the receptionist, the designs were unsettlingly dark.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Ursa asked, gesturing to the ornate black couch in front of her desk in a decidedly demanding movement.
“No thank you,” Bel answered.
“Please take a seat.” Ursa followed her own request and sank balletically into her chair. “My receptionist said you’re here about a murder, but that must’ve been a mistake with her hearing.”
“Her hearing is fine,” Olivia said.
“Oh…” Ursa looked like she might bolt from the office. “Who died?”
“Since you’re Neptune’s Ink’s owner, I assume you were the one who made all the décor choices?” Bel asked, ignoring her question.
“I was.”
“And I take it you love mermaids.”
“I do. They speak to me on a spiritual level.”
“So, have you ever seen these tattoos?” Bel tossed the photos of the colorful scales onto the desk without ceremony.
The mermaid skeleton in reception mocked her in its mimicry of the lake full of dead women, so she wasn’t going to give this artist time to fabricate lies.
She wanted to watch Ursa’s unprepared state process the sight of what very well might be her abusive handiwork.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” the woman answered, and to Bel’s disappointment, her face showed no signs of recognition. Either she wasn’t the killer, or she was a better actress than Taron Monroe herself.
“So you didn’t do these?” Bel asked.
“Oh, absolutely not.” Ursa glared at them with an air of insult. “I’m a blackwork artist.” She extended her arms to show all the black, grey, and white ink decorating her skin. “I don’t touch color… ever. I’m sure you noticed that when you entered my shop.”
“Could any of your artists have done these?” Bel asked.
“No, we’re a black and grey shop only. I don’t hire color artists. It disrupts our aesthetic.”
“Just because you don’t hire artists who specialize in color doesn’t mean your employees didn’t do these,” Olivia said. “If you know how to tattoo, you can swap out inks.”
“It’s not as easy as swapping out inks.” Ursa glared at Gold as if she were an ignorant child.
“Color versus black and grey requires different techniques. Just like there are various styles of tattoos that artists specialize in. Traditional, neo-traditional, realism, and so on. They aren’t the same.
So, no, we don’t cross over. The results would be insulting. ”
“Well, these aren’t exactly masterpieces.
” Bel shoved the photo of the earlier mermaids into Ursa’s line of sight.
“This tattoo is older, and judging by the mistakes and poor color blending, it wasn’t inked by a professional.
For all intents and purposes, one of your artists, you included, could’ve done these since the initial quality is inferior. ”
“Why the obsession with these?” Ursa asked. “If you want a color tattoo, I can recommend artists who specialize in them, but why are you insisting I did these? Because they’re mermaid scales, and I like mermaids?”
“Because they were found on the dead girls pulled from the lake,” Bel said, studying the woman’s expression. “Dead girls who were tattooed before they were drowned and then placed inside glass coffins. Coffins that were sculpted into mermaids.”
And there it was—a reaction.
“The girls in the lake… the killings that were just on the news? These tattoos were on the victims?” The haughty business owner disappeared as genuine concern assumed control. Only Bel couldn’t tell if it was concern for the lives lost or her own safety.
“They were,” Bel said. “On girls made into human mermaids, and I can’t help but notice that you’re both a tattoo artist and a woman obsessed with the mythical sea creatures.”
“And you think I killed those women?” Ursa jerked to her feet. “That’s ridiculous, and frankly, I don’t have the time to refute such outrageous accusations. I have a client coming in for an eight-hour session, so this conversation is over. Please see yourselves out.”
The detectives exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them, but without protest, they rose from the couch.
“Thank you for your time,” Olivia said, but Ursa stared at her as if she didn’t believe a single word coming from the detective’s mouth. “If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch. Or if you think of anyone who might be responsible for these tattoos, please call the Bajka Police Department.”
“Have a good day, Detectives,” Ursa dismissed them, but before they obeyed, Bel voiced one last question.
“You clearly love the ocean. Is that a safe assumption?”
“I do,” Ursa answered.
“Do you have a pool?”
“Why?” The woman’s hand settled on her hip with the dissatisfaction of someone used to being in control.
“It’s just a question,” Bel said. “Do you have a pool?”
“No, I don’t.” Ursa bristled as she relented, and Bel could feel the disappointment waft off Olivia in scorching waves.
“But,” Ursa continued. “I do have a hot tub.”
“Hey, we got the results back on the embalming fluid the mermaids were submerged in.” Agent Barry jogged to catch up with the detectives as they entered the station. “Good call testing it against the fluid Dr. Blaubart used on his wives.”
“So it was a match?” Bel asked—finally, some good news.
“Not exact, no,” Barry said. “Close, though. Very close, and like the samples from Blaubart’s lab, this mixture is a blend of known elements and unidentifiable components.
They don’t match any known substances, which, as head-scratching as it is, makes more sense when you consider Dr. Charles Blaubart.
His illegal surgery served the globe. He was bound to meet chemists who didn’t publicize their products, but how did someone from Bajka get their hands on unregulated materials? ”
Bel and Olivia exchanged a sideways glance as the trio entered the breakroom to fill their coffee cups.
Barry suspected there were things in this world that logic couldn’t explain.
Whether he admitted it or not, he understood, but unlike the detectives, he’d never experienced the magnitude of what lived in humanity’s shadows.
The women had, though, and they both knew that the unknown properties in the embalming fluid weren’t the secret formulas of black-market chemists.
Human ingenuity couldn’t achieve perfect preservation. That was black magic’s evil.
“Blaubart and Jax Frost—the Matchstick Girl Killer—were in direct connection,” Bel said.
“Blaubart helped Frost identify out-of-town girls no one would miss, and Frost let the women Blaubart wanted to transform into his next wife escape his kidnappings. The Matchstick Girl Killer murdered girls for over a decade while living in Bajka, and our theory is that the Mermaid Killer is also from this area. There’s a chance the two crossed paths.
Frost froze girls to death. Our killer drowned his victims. They aren’t so different in their depravity.
It’s a logical assumption to guess that if Frost knew our Mermaid Killer, then he could’ve facilitated an embalming fluid sale with Blaubart. ”
“As far-fetched as it sounds, I’ve seen weirder be true,” Barry said. “We should look into Frost’s local connections. See if someone stands out.”