The Con Man by Ed McBain

Chan. But me Chen, Chen. You know Charlie Chan, Detective?”
    “Yes,” Carella said, smiling.
    “Big detective,” Chen said. “Got stupid sons.” Chen laughed. “Me got stupid sons, too, but me no detective.” He was a round, fat man, and everything he owned shook when he laughed. He had a small mustache on his upper lip, and he had thick fingers, and there was an oval jade ring on the forefinger of his left hand. “You detective, huh?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Carella said.
    “This lady police lady?” Chen asked.
    “No. This lady’s my wife.”
    “Oh. Very good. Very good,” Chen said. “Very pretty. She wants tattoo, maybe? Do nice butterfly for her on shoulder. Very good for strapless gowns. Very pretty. Very decorative.”
    Teddy shook her head, smiling.
    “Very pretty lady. You very lucky detective,” Chen said. He turned to Teddy. “Nice yellow butterfly, maybe? Very pretty?” He opened his eyes seductively. “Everybody say very pretty.”
    Teddy shook her head again.
    “Maybe you like red better? Red your color, maybe? Nice red butterfly?”
    Teddy could not keep herself from smiling. She kept shaking her head and smiling, feeling very much a part of her husband’s work, happy that he’d had to make the call and happy that he’d taken her with him. It was curious, she supposed, but she did not know him as a cop. His function as a cop was something almost completely alien to her, even though he talked about his work. She knew that he dealt with crime, and the perpetrators of crime, and she often wondered what kind of man he was when he was on the job. Heartless? She could not imagine that in her man. Cruel? No. Hard? Tough? Perhaps.
    “About this girl,” Carella said to Chen. “When did she come in for the tattoo?”
    “Oh, long time ago,” Chen said. “Maybe five months, maybe six. Nice lady. Not so pretty like your lady, but very nice.”
    “Was she alone?”
    “No. She with tall man.” Chen scrutinized Carella’s face. “Prettier than you, Detective.”
    Carella grinned. “What did he look like?”
    “Tall. Movie star. Very handsome. Muscles.”
    “What color was his hair?”
    “Yellow,” Chen said.
    “His eyes?”
    Chen shrugged.
    “Anything you remember about him?”
    “He smile all the time,” Chen said. “Big white teeth. Very pretty teeth. Very handsome man. Movie star.”
    “Tell me what happened?”
    “They come in together. She hold his arm. She look at him, stars in her eyes.” Chen paused. “Like your lady. But not so pretty.”
    “Were they married?”
    Chen shrugged.
    “Did you see an engagement ring or a wedding band on her finger?”
    “I don’t see,” Chen said. He grinned at Teddy. Teddy grinned back. “You like black butterfly? Pretty black wings? Come, I show you.” He led them into the shop. A beaded curtain led to the back room. The walls of the shop were covered with tattoo designs. A calendar with a nude girl on it hung on the wall near the beaded curtain. Someone had jokingly inked tattoos onto her entire body. The tattooer had drawn a pair of clutching hands on the girl’s full breasts. Chen pointed to a butterfly design on one of the walls.
    “This butterfly. You like? You pick color. Any color. I do. I put on your shoulder. Very pretty.”
    “Tell me what happened with the girl,” Carella said, gently insistent.
    Teddy looked at him curiously. Her husband was enjoying the byplay between herself and Chen, but he was not losing sight of his objective. He was here in this shop for a possible lead on the man who had killed Mary Louise Proschek. She suddenly felt that if the byplay got too involved, her husband would call a screaming halt to it.
    “They come in shop. He say the girl want tattoo. I show them designs on wall. I try to sell her butterfly. Nobody like butterfly. Butterfly my own design. Very pretty. Good for shoulder. I do butterfly on one lady’s back, near base of spine. Very pretty, only nobody see. Good for shoulder. I