Wendy shook her head. “I don’t how that happened. Or why.”
She was lying again. She had a tell. She stroked her cheek with her index finger when she was lying or telling a half truth. Good thing I’d taken that course on body language in trial at law school.
“All right. The Steels obviously had an ‘in’ with someone who worked in the records office, and they were able to make changes in the database itself. Which might’ve had to be done manually back then. I’m not sure when the system became computerized. It was twenty-five
years ago.”
“They were just beginning to computerize everything back then.”
Yup. She did know something.
“Look, Wendy, I care about Marj very much, and I care about her brothers. Is there anything else you can possibly tell me?”
Wendy licked her lips, seemingly lost in thought. Then, “Maybe it’s time. I did some things at Brad’s request, things I didn’t necessarily agree with, but I loved him and I wanted him happy. I can only tell you this much. Around twenty-five years ago, something happened in the Steel family.”
Twenty-five years ago. That was about the time of the five-million-dollar transfer that didn’t make any sense in the documents. “What happened exactly?” I asked.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds and then re-opened them. “Something abominable, appalling. Between my clout with the media and Brad’s money, we were able to keep it quiet. I didn’t agree then, because it meant a lot of sick people got away with some really heinous crimes, but I agree with him now.” She regarded me, her blue eyes sunken and pleading. “Please don’t dredge up the past, Jade. So many people will get hurt.”
Chapter Fifteen
Talon
The next day I drove to Grand Junction to meet with Robert Prendergast, otherwise known as Biker Bob, who owned one of the top tattoo parlors in the city. Safe in a Ziploc was the photo of the tattoo that I remembered from my past. I’d put it in an envelope so I didn’t have to see it. Seeing it was…bad.
I had called Bob ahead of time, and he’d agreed to meet me at his shop. Of course, I’d had to promise to make it worth his while. Waive a few dollars around, and most people ended up exactly where you wanted them. Surreal.
This shop was state of the art, nothing like the little hole in Snow Creek. I walked in, and several artists were working in the back, their tattoo guns buzzing.
The receptionist, platinum blond and heavily tattooed, nodded at me. “Help you?”
“I’m here to see Bob. He’s expecting me. Talon Steel.”
She smiled and stood. “I’ll get him for you.”
The receptionist returned with a massive mountain of a man wearing a leather vest, a studded leather belt, and jeans. His hair was wrapped up in a do-rag, and a graying braid hung out from it all the way down to his ass crack, which was, unfortunately, visible when he turned to whisper something to the receptionist.
He held out his hand. “I’m Bob.”
I shook his meaty paw. “Great to meet you. Is there a place we can talk? Maybe get a cup of coffee?”
“How about a beer?”
I twisted my lips. “Even better.”
We walked a few shops down to a little Irish pub. When I found out they didn’t have Peach Street or Breckenridge, I ordered a Jameson. Biker Bob went Guinness all the way, along with an order of onion rings. It was early yet, so the place wasn’t too rowdy, and we could actually hear each other talk.
“So what can I help you with?” Bob asked.
“It’s about the tattoo parlor you used to own in Snow Creek. Toby Jackson owns it now.”
“Yeah, good guy, Toby. Talented artist, too.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You mean you’re a virgin?”
What the hell? I must’ve looked as confused as I was, because he let out a guffaw.