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If anyone took a photo and the picture was set to public and synced with the iCloud, it was fair game to anyone, including law enforcement. All they had to do was set up a geofence, which was a virtual geographic boundary, defined by GPS or radio frequency identification technology, that enabled software to trigger a response when a mobile device entered or left a particular area.
“I have one, y’all. It’s a good one. I’m sending it now.”
Their phones dinged, and Violet opened up her texts. “That’s a tattoo.”
Ty pulled to the shoulder of the road and leaned over to see the photo. Lily Hayes had been inked on her upper left hip with a tasteful lily. “This tat wasn’t noted in the autopsy report.”
Violet exited the email. “Let me look at the autopsy photos again.” She pulled them up digitally. “Ah. Our sicko ink specialist covered it up with his own lilies. It’s good too. You can’t even tell it was there. No wonder it wasn’t noted in the report.” She showed the photos to Ty.
They’d canvassed tattoo studios in the area, showing the killer’s work, but no one had been able to pinpoint the ink master. However, they’d hadn’t shown around this tattoo because they didn’t even know it existed. Someone might recognize this one. The last upscale and reputable tattoo shop in town, Pure Thirteen, said the work was incredible. Straight lines and excellent shading techniques. The owner, Paul, recommended checking shops in more urban areas. “I guess we need to go back to the shops we visited before.”
“Inky Octopus in Wilmington is the parlor you’re looking for,” Selah said. “As if I’d only present y’all with half the info.” The sound of nails on computer keys clicked. “I’m looking through the iCloud now for Amy-Rose Rydell and the newest victim, Dahlia Anderson. It might take a little time—hold up. Wait a minute. Sending a photo through now of Dahlia Anderson. It’s on her social media account. She has a tat. Small hearts hooked by a blue dahlia on her left upper shoulder.”
“I don’t have her autopsy photos yet,” Violet said. “It was probably inked over as well.”
The line was quiet except for Selah’s quick fingers. “Don’t see where she had it done, but guess what? I found a public photo taken by one Ethan Lantrip. It’s of Amy-Rose Rydell receiving a tattoo of a unicorn blowing roses from its mouth. Hold on...same place, y’all. Inky Octopus.”
Two victims with tats from the same shop. Interesting to say the least when Blue Harbor alone hosted three tattoo shops. Why travel to Wilmington? Unless it was popular and trendy to have one done there. “You up for a ride to this place?”
“It’s a solid start. Thanks, Selah. Keep us posted.” Violet ended the call. “I’ll let Asa know where we’re going.” She made the call, and he answered on the second ring.
“Glad you called. Have either of you listened to the news in the past hour or two?” he asked.
“No, why?” Blood drained from his head. Ty wasn’t sure he could handle another blow.
“Hurricane Jodie’s large eye passed right over a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration buoy just offshore of the South Carolina coast and is continuing its northeastward motion.”
“What’s that mean?” Ty asked, dreading the answer.
“They say its eye is going to pass near the Outer Banks, making landfall right over Blue Harbor.”
They needed more time. Days weren’t enough without solid leads, only more pieces to a puzzle they couldn’t sort out. Exactly what this unpredictable killer wanted.
“Everyone might have to evacuate, including the killer. Owen believes he’s either on Blue Harbor or on an island nearby like Nags Head or even Roanoke. He won’t be taking his victims with him. If we don’t find them before Jodie hits, we’ll lose all of them.”
Talk about the worst timing for a hurricane. Ty glanced out his window. Again, nothing but sunshine and blue skies. The calm before the storm.
“We need to charter a plane out of Kitty Hawk to take us to Wilmington,” Ty said. “We have victims who received tats from the Inky Octopus. Our killer tattooed over them. We don’t have time to make the five-hour drive. Not now. But the killer might also be our tattoo artist. That would be epic.” But nothing was ever that easy.
Asa okayed the flight, agreeing they needed to check out the place and people in person rather than over the phone, but it would have to wait until tomorrow if the shops were closed for Labor Day. Violet did a check.
Closed.
Ty balled his fist. “What do you want us to do in the meantime?”
“Come on back and help Owen. Violet and I can continue interviewing family members of the missing girls, and hopefully Selah can dig up some dirt on Patrick Swain and find connections to him and our vics as well as Jenny Davis.”
If she could make those connections, they’d have enough to get a search warrant for Swain’s house, and Ty was sure that searching his home would result in a break in the case. “How were the girls contacted for jobs or even knew this house and this business existed?”
“Good question. Ethan Lantrip is going nowhere for now. He’s admitted to accessory after the fact. I’ll have Deputy Dorn talk to him. But we can only hold him forty-eight hours since we have no proof a murder has been committed. We do know that Jenny Davis was reported missing the day after this alleged event transpired.”
“We can talk to him since we’re stalled until tomorrow.”
“Go ahead.”
Ty ended the call and headed back to Manteo to the sheriff’s office with Violet. “If you were the killer, would you live and work five hours away from where you imprisoned and murdered the women? That’s risky.”
Violet was moving her thumbs across the keyboard of her phone, texting. Probably to John to keep him in the know. His late wife had been undercover DEA and ended up murdered. Violet’s job was far from safe, and she often kept him updated, but he’d never once asked her to quit—as far as Ty knew.
