The 9th Girl by Tami Hoag Page A

Liska said. “She’s twenty-two and you could bounce quarters off her abs. She thinks it’s cute. I wonder how cute she’ll think it is after she’s had a couple of kids and the thing has morphed into Larry the Cable Guy.”
    “Not everyone gives their choice as much consideration as they should,” Elwood conceded. “Each of my tattoos has a deep personal meaning.”
    Kovac made a face. “Please don’t tell us where they are on your person.”
    “I want to know how the artist negotiated all the body hair,” Tippen said.
    Liska wrinkled her nose. “Eeeww.”
    “I waxed first,” Elwood said nobly, making everyone moan in unison.
    “Speed has that whole sleeve on one arm,” Liska said. “And I get what it means, what it represents for him. The struggle between good and evil; the juxtaposition of himself as the avenging angel or the devil. And, of course, he wants to look badass at the gym. But he’s allegedly a grown man, so if he wants to illustrate himself, that’s his choice. Kyle is fifteen. Should a fifteen-year-old permanently etch something into his body?”
    “That depends on what it is,” Elwood said.
    “He’s into comic books and samurai warriors. When he’s an adult and working as an attorney, is he going to thank me for letting him get a giant tattoo of Spider-Man?”
    “What’s more disturbing is that you’d let your kid become a lawyer,” Tippen said. “And you think I’m sick?”
    Kovac brought them back on topic. “So the question here is: If by law minors can’t get a tattoo in this state, and our victim is only fifteen or sixteen, does that mean she came from out of state? Or did she just have a good fake ID? Or are there tattoo artists around town who just don’t give a shit what the law says?”
    “You’re not exactly talking about a group of straight-arrow conformists,” Tippen said.
    “No,” Elwood agreed, “but the majority are very defensive of both their art form and their integrity as businesspeople. The artists I know were glad for the law restricting minors. They want their work to be respected and meaningful, not some idiotic drunk-ass whim.”
    “Sonya tells us this particular tat is about acceptance and tolerance,” Tippen said. “Racial tolerance, religious tolerance, tolerance of sexual preference. It’s a statement, part of a social movement. Given the gravity of the meaning, I don’t think it’s a stretch to imagine there could be an artist or two willing to bend the rules to put it on younger kids in order to further the message.”
    “How many tattoo parlors are we talking about?” Kovac asked.
    “About twenty close in on Minneapolis proper,” Elwood said. “Plus St. Paul, plus the outer burbs. And we’re not taking into account that artists will freelance outside the studios. There’s our likely culprit for tattooing underage kids—some young artist trying to make a few extra bucks on the side. This is a simple, straightforward design requiring minimal skill and minimal equipment.”
    “Meaning this is going to be a long process,” Liska said. “Quicker if we just post a photo of the tattoo and get it to the media and ask if anyone is missing a daughter with this tattoo.”
    “Assuming all parents know whether or not their kid has an illegal tattoo,” Tippen said.
    Liska conceded the point. “Okay. Is anyone missing a best friend, a sister, a teammate, a girlfriend . . .”
    “And this is where Sonya comes in,” Tippen said. “She’ll reach that peer group.”
    “In the meantime, we have to reach out to the schools,” Kovac said. “I want lists of absentees from every school we can hit in the metro area. Girls, fourteen to eighteen, just to cover as many bases as possible.”
    “What kind of manpower are we getting?” Elwood asked.
    “Remains to be seen,” Kovac said. “Kasselmann is meeting with the brass assholes as we speak. He’s not happy, but he’ll get over it. Or not. Whatever.
    “For now, we’re it,” he