You are NEVER supposed to clean a pianos keys though, the players HATE clean keys. They say it feels wrong and some refuse to play on clean keys. I work in the HFAC right? so I'm the one who ends up moving pianos, dusting them etc... and once someone cleaned the keys! Idiot! and the piano guy, Keith, had to rub wax on the keys so they felt... oily and "right" according to the performer. I thought it was pretty weird, Keith agreed with me.
Plus, without all that oil on the players hands makes their fingers dry and makes 'em crack easily. My choir teacher was playing for a show and she had to use super glue to keep her fingers together so they would bleed all over the piano. She said it didn't hurt but... I don't really believe her. Then after she finished the play. She kept rubbing her hands against her pants. She said they felt REALLY oily after being without oil for like a month.
What does this have to do with anything? Well, first off, I thought it was interesting. Second, that's kind of how I feel right now. My hands feel sooooo... bleh... and it keeps hindering my writing.
Anyway here's another piece... i don't know how this story is going to end up.... There are too many directions it could go. Please comment.
Chapter 1... continued
“We call him the Tattoo Killer,” Troy raised an eyebrow and Ellison shrugged, “not original or fancy but it describes this guy well enough. In the past three years he has killed over twenty men and women all with the same tattoo with small variations. He leaves minimal evidence behind; his M. O. changes randomly and he kills in random areas, impossible to track or predict.” He shook his head in frustration. “And the only connection we can find between the victims are the tattoos.”
Tawnia nodded approvingly. “You’ve been investigating it?” It was more of a statement than a question.
He nodded once, “On my own time, of course.” He added for the sake of his superior.
“Of course.” Troy agreed reassuringly, not really believing his partner. In truth the hard detective didn’t mind and Ellison’s hard work was paying off. Troy rounded on Tawnia, “Alright, Natalie Banks could’ve been killed by this guy. Question is why?” he asked Tawnia.
Troy and Ellison waited expectantly as Tawnia gathered her thoughts. “Natalie Banks was involved in what you might call… a gang or a cult, an organization that tattooed its members with a symbol so they would all recognize each other—”
“You’re saying this is a just gang fight?” Troy asked incredibly.
She shook her head. “No, it’s much bigger than that. These people are untouchable, influential and very powerful and the people hunting them down are the same way. It’s an underground war.”
The older detective shook his head in disappointment. “This sounds like conspiracy theory.” He muttered under his breath.
Tawnia’s eyes hardened and she shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I know.”
“And how do you know all of this, Miss Henderson? Are you apart of one of these… battling organizations?” His last words were dripping with sarcasm. “The more I hear the more I think that you have something to do with all of this. You were here within minutes of the murder, you just happen to know the significance of the tattoo, how the victim died, and you conveniently are too weak to have pulled it off. I’m sorry, Miss Henderson, but I just have a hard time believing it all.” He stood up straight and ended politely. “Thank you, Miss Henderson, if you remember anything else, perhaps of some use, please give us a call.” He handed her a card and turned on his heel.
Ellison gazed after his partner; Troy was headed back to the scene, talking to some of the officers, but he lingered, delayed by conflicting emotions. Tawnia held the small white business card, looking dejected and defeated.
“You okay?” Ellison asked. “I know he can be harsh. He’s just… old.”
Tawnia flashed him a smile, appreciating his concern. “Nah, he’s just doing his job. He’s a good detective I didn’t really think he would believe me. It’s just… frustrating.”
“Frustrating that he doesn’t believe you? Or that you have critical information on who’s behind it and you can’t do anything about it?”
She looked up at Ellison, “Both, they are interrelated.” Sighing she cupped her chin in her hand and watched Detective Troy examine the scene.
“How do you know?”
When she returned her gaze to the young detective she sat up slightly. His eyes were determined, almost angry. She answered cautiously, watching his eyes. “You could say I’m nosy. I was intrigued by a co-worker years back. I guess he was more of a partner.” She shook her head remembering, pursing her lips in thought. “He was elusive, dodging my questions about his tattoo. He wasn’t a liar, and I could tell he didn’t want to lie to me. It made me angry that there was someone or something in his past that forced him to.” She fell silent gazing out into space. “He was a good man, a good man, who saved a lot of lives. He shouldn’t have had to die.”
“I was angry, understandably. It’s hard when you are surrounded by death and you can’t do anything about it. So… I did everything in my power to find his killer. I did some… not… so… legal things but...” she shrugged, tears starting to form. She bit her lip and fiercely wiped at her betraying tear ducts. “I found out and I found out I couldn’t do anything about it. I tried going to the police with what I knew, but they wouldn’t believe it. I had gotten my information illegally and it couldn’t be used in court. There was absolutely nothing I could do. So I went back to work and waited.” She paused. “I thought this was my chance.”
She looked up at the tall Detective. He was deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed. “Who do you think did it, Detective?”
Jerked from his thoughts, his eyes rose to meet hers and he grinned, running a hand through his wavy hair. “Well, that’s the question isn’t it? I mean the door was still locked, keys found next to her, and nothing has been touched on the inside, her money is still in her purse and this is considered a safe neighborhood. She didn't resist, there are no bruises on her arms or neck to suggest she fought. It was a frontal attack; and the only thing that touched her neck was the knife. She saw the man's face. She knew him. She trusted him."
Tawnia was tempted to whistle in awe. “How long have you been a detective?”
Proudly he grinned one-sidedly. “A year, I advanced quickly.”
“Obviously.” She considered what he had said. “So we’re looking for a strong man, who recently became acquainted with Miss Banks.”
“Why recently acquainted? Couldn’t he have known her for a long time?”
Tawnia shook her head. “No. Think about the other twenty people who died. If he had killed all of them he’d have roughly…” she paused, brow furrowed. “Fifty-four days for each murder and that’s if you leave out the time it takes to find these people. Two months isn’t a lot of time to get to know someone under the radar. He’d have wanted to remain invisible so he wouldn’t have met her friends or work partners, who could identify him.”
Ellison opened his mouth to argue when a harsh voice muttered, "Ellison, find out who Miss Banks knew, who her friends were, associates and such." Ellison looked over apologetically at Tawnia, nodded and left.
Troy glared at Tawnia. She, in turn, innocently looked up at him. “Anything I can help you with Detective?”
"No, you’ve helped enough, Miss Henderson. I’ll stay in touch.”
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