“I’ll do that.” Reed smiled. “Could we speak in private?”
“Absolutely. Come on.”
He led Reed to his office. Richly decorated. Mahogany desk, leather chairs. Pictures of the wife and kids.
“Nice family, Carter,” Reed said, picking up one of the photos-a family shot complete with his four kids.
“Shelley, that’s my oldest, she’s starting high school this year.”
Reed set down the photo. “That’s crazy. I remember us being that age not that long ago.”
“Seems like a lifetime ago to me. Give yourself another ten years, a wife and four kids. It’ll make you old fast.”
“I had a question about when you and Tom were kids. About those matching tattoos you got.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Joe mentioned it.”
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “That was random. What’s up?”
Instead of answering, Reed asked another question. “Why the vines and snake?”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“What did the image symbolize? Most people get tattoos that have some special meaning to them.”
Carter shook his head, expression rueful. “I’m sure it meant something at the time. Hell if I remember what.”
He was lying. “How’d you come up with the image?”
Carter frowned. “Tom did. I was just along for the ride.”
“And that’s it?”
“Pretty much. We were young and stupid. Completely loaded that night.”
“How old were you?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Eighteen. Maybe. We had to show our IDs.”
“Anybody else with you?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember? You’ll understand why I find that unbelievable?”
Carter stiffened. “I was drunk. It was twenty-some years ago. A lot’s happened since then.”
“Sure,” Reed said easily. “You’re right. I was out of line.”
Carter glanced pointedly at his watch and stood. “I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment.”
“No problem.” Reed followed him to his feet. “Where’s yours?”
Carter looked surprised. “My lunch appointment?”
“Tattoo.”
“I had it removed. Ten or fifteen years ago.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
He looked suddenly irritated. He motioned to the family photo. “I wasn’t like Tom. I had kids; what they and my wife think is important to me.”
Reed held out his hand. “Thanks, Carter. I appreciate your time.”
Carter shook it, then walked with him to his office door. “Can I ask, why the interest in Tom’s tattoo?”
Reed decided to throw him a nugget of information and see how he reacted. “It may be linked to another crime.”
For the space of a heartbeat, the man’s expression went curiously blank. The moment passed, and he morphed once more into the affable family man. “Holy shit, Dan. That’s unbelievable.”
Reed waited a moment, then agreed. “You’re not going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“What crime Tom’s tattoo might be linked to.”
He laughed, the sound forced. “Of course not. I knew you wouldn’t tell me.”
“Right you are.” Reed smiled. “Thanks again, Carter. I’ll be in touch.”
He started down the hall. Carter stopped him. “Have you talked to Clark? He and Tom were friends back then. Big buddies.”
Interesting, Reed thought moments later, as he climbed into his SUV. For a lawyer, Carter hadn’t been very smooth. He’d done a poor job of hiding his unease. And of lying. Getting a tattoo, a permanent mark on your body, was a significant event. And Carter had forgotten why he’d done it, what the vines and snake had meant and if any other friends had been in on it? Right. Even fall-down drunk that memory stuck.
Reed backed out of his parking spot, then eased out of the lot. Interesting, also, how in an attempt to divert attention from his relationship with Schwann, he’d thrown Clark under the bus.
What did he know that he didn’t want to tell?
No time like the present to find out, he decided, and reached for his cell phone.
Several inquiries later he located Clark at the El Dorado Kitchen. He and Treven were having lunch.
The older man looked up and smiled. “Dan. Good news, I hope.”
“Actually, I don’t have anything on the facial reconstruction yet. I need to have a word with Clark.”
“Have a seat. Wine?”
Reed chose the chair across from Clark. “On duty. Thanks.”
“So, what’s up, buddy?” Clark asked.
“You and Tom were good friends. Am I right?”
“Absolutely. Since we were kids.”
“Then you were aware he had a tattoo?”
“Sure. Adolescent prank. He and Carter. Idiots.”
Leaning back in his chair, Treven laughed. “Carter and Tom got tattoos?”
“Yeah.” Clark shook his head. “I went with them, all fired up to get a tatt. I wasn’t eighteen, so the guy wouldn’t do it. I was so pissed.”
Treven shook his head. “This is the first I’m hearing of all this.”
He glanced at his father, lips lifting in amusement. “Didn’t think you needed to know all my drunken exploits, Dad.”
Treven chuckled. “I suppose I should be grateful. The exploits I did know about are responsible for this hairline.”
“What hairline?” Reed offered.
Clark guffawed. Treven shot his son an irritated glance. “Exactly. Have yourself a couple kids, Reed. Get back to me when they’re teenagers.”
“No, thanks. Why do you think I’m not a parent?”
Clark lifted his glass. “Because you can’t find a woman willing to have your kids.”
“Finding willing women isn’t my problem, Clark.”
This time it was the father who burst out laughing. Unruffled, Clark took another sip of his wine. “So, Reed, why the interest in the follies of my misspent youth?”
“Following a lead, my friend,” Reed murmured, watching Clark intently. He noticed that his hand shook slightly as he set his glass back down.
“An adolescent tattoo is a lead?”
He glanced at Treven and found him frowning slightly as he gazed at his son.
“You never know.” Reed spread his fingers. “Speaking of, what was with the snake and vines?”
“We thought it was hot.”
“We?”
“All of us guys.”
“Who besides you, Tom and Carter?”
“Joe. Terry Bianche.”
Terry Bianche had died a number of years back, an ugly motorcycle wreck. Most folks around the county figured he’d died the way he’d lived: ugly, under the influence and going way too fast.
“My brother Joe?”
“The very one. Also saved by a law-abiding tattoo artist.”
“So, you thought the vines and snake were hot. Who came up with it?”
Clark looked at him blankly.
“It’s an unusual design. Ornate and quite beautiful. I imagine it would translate well into jewelry.”
Something flickered behind Clark’s eyes, Reed saw. Was it fear?
“The beauty was lost on me, man. I was seventeen and thought it was cool.”
“So, you don’t know where it came from?”
“As far as I know, it was one of the tattoo artist’s designs.”
“You never went back for yours? Why?”
“The moment had passed.” Clark smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We were over it.”
“Thank God. Horrid things.” Treven leaned forward. “Any closer to finding the animal who killed Tom?”
“We’ve got some leads, Treven. That’s all I can say right now.”
“I heard he was robbed,” Clark offered. “I’ll bet it was a field hand. Probably didn’t even speak English.”
Reed stiffened at the slur. “Thanks for your time, guys. Sorry I interrupted your lunch.”
They all stood, shook hands. “Anything we can do to help,” Treven said. “Everybody’s on edge over this thing.”