An Image of Death by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page A

she’d slowly draw it over her head and flick her wrist toward him. She’d ask him to kiss it, maybe salute it, too. Then they’d make love. Fiery, passionate love.
    She smiled to herself. If he liked it—and she was sure he would—maybe she’d get another. On her left breast next time. Just above her heart.

C HAPTER T WELVE
    By the time Dolan made Polaroids of the tattoo, it was after two. I shrugged on my parka while Davis gathered up the tape and photos and slipped them into evidence bags. She and Dolan made their way across the living room, chatting about invoices and next steps. As we reached the front door, Dolan nodded in my direction.
    “You’re okay, Foreman.”
    I tried not to let on how pleased I was. “How long have you been doing this?”
    “About three years.”
    “Only three? You seem to know—”
    “I was a cameraman in Nam. Back when we still shot film. Shot the siege at Khe Sahn with an Arri-16.”
    “By yourself?”
    “I had a sound man, but one morning he walked across an open stretch of ground to take a leak and got hit in the face by a sniper round.”
    I wondered whether that was why he was in a wheelchair.
    As if he was reading my mind, he went on. “I made it back to the world and started shooting local news.” Jericho came up to his chair. Dolan fondled the dog’s ears. “But life’s a bitch, you know? I make it through the Tet offensive, come home in one piece, and then get my leg blown off in a goddamm gas main explosion in Harvey.” He shook his head, as if he were still puzzled about the whole thing.
    I gave him my hand. “I’ll think of you the next time I have a nine-hundred entrance fee.”
    He grinned as we shook. “Gotta keep out the riffraff.”
    I waited for Davis outside. The temperature seemed to have risen a few degrees, and the faint scent of wood smoke hung in the air. “You want to grab some lunch?” I asked when she joined me. “I saw a place around the corner on Touhy. Greek Isles.”
    She hesitated a fraction too long. “Sorry. I—I don’t have time.”
    “No problem.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Listen, thank you for letting me come. I know what you can do with video, but that system really takes it to the next generation.”
    She nodded.
    “So what happens now? We have a Nike t-shirt, a woman missing a tooth, and a tattoo of a torch and stars. Do you think we—”
    She cut me off. “ We aren’t going to do anything.”
    “I—I didn’t mean—”
    “Look, Ellie, this ends. Right now. I wanted you here because you do know something about video, and I thought, with a better image, there was a chance you’d recognize the woman. Or the location. But you’ve got to leave it alone now. Let me do my job.”
    I had a vision of myself as somebody’s maiden aunt, an interfering, pesky busybody you tolerate, but just barely. Was that how Davis saw me? We walked to her car. “But you do think the tattoo is significant, don’t you?”
    She opened the Saturn’s door, deposited her briefcase, and slid into the driver’s seat. “Ellie, I’m going now.”
    I leaned into the space between her seat and the door, reluctant to let go. Part of it was the camaraderie. Once Dolan got over his attitude, the three of us had worked well together. I didn’t want it to end. But there was something else, too. A nagging feeling, perhaps a piece of information that I knew and needed to share with Davis. The problem was I couldn’t dig it out of my memory.
    “Ellie.” She grasped the door handle. “I have to go.”
    I straightened up. Whatever it was would come. “Okay. But, listen—if you need anything.…”
    “I know where to find you.”
    The car door slammed shut, and the engine turned over. I trudged back to my car. Narrow rivulets of water from melting snow trickled down Dolan’s driveway. I wondered who did his shoveling. A neighborhood kid? Or one of the landscaping services that turn into snow-plow businesses during the winter months?