Richard Montanari (18 page)

    'Why
would he do something like that?'

    Weyrich
took the magnifying glass back, pulled the sheet over the body. 'That's above
my pay grade, detective,' he said. 'You are the
chef de partie
here. I'm
only the
commis.'

    'What
did I miss?' Albrecht asked.

    'Bunch
of dead people,' Byrne said. 'I yelled "action," but nobody moved.'

    David
Albrecht soon dialed into the fact that he wasn't going to get anything out of
Kevin Byrne on this matter. He turned to Jessica.

    'Where
to?' he asked.

    'We're
going to grab some coffee,' Jessica said. 'You're welcome to join us.'

    'Thanks.'

    'You
can get some shots of us looking at a menu, putting cream in coffee, fighting
over the check,' Byrne said.

    Albrecht
laughed. 'Okay, okay. I'll just ramp up the suspense in post.'

    Byrne
smiled, winked at Jessica. It wasn't a thaw, but it was a start. Jessica knew
that Byrne was not particularly keen on being followed around with a camera.
Neither was she.

    Albrecht
left his van at the ME's office and traveled with the detectives. They drove
down University Avenue.

    'So,
are you getting what you want?' Jessica asked.

    'Pretty
much,' Albrecht said. 'I was at the district attorney's office earlier this
morning. I'm running two story lines at the same time. I'm shooting two of the
DAs at work as well. I don't think it's ever been done before.'

    'You
mean following both police detectives and district attorneys?' Byrne asked.

    'Exactly.'

    'You
mean like every episode of
Law and Order
?'

    Albrecht
went quiet.

    'I'm
sure you'll put your own stamp on it,' Jessica said, shooting Byrne a look.

    'So
we're not your only stars?' Byrne asked.

    'No,'
Albrecht said, smiling. 'I am painting a vast and varied canvas.'

    'I've
been meaning to ask you,' Byrne said. 'Did you shoot any footage of the crowd
at the Federal Street scene?'

    'Yeah,'
Albrecht said. 'It came out good.'

    'We'd
like to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Maybe our bad guy showed up to
gloat.'

    'Right,
right,' Albrecht said, nodding. 'I'll get that on a disk right away.'

    'We'd
appreciate it.'

    The
waitress came over with three cups of espresso. They weren't for the table.
They were all for Albrecht. Jessica and Byrne exchanged a glance.

    Albrecht
saw the look, shrugged. 'Well, you know the old saying.
Sleep is a symptom
of caffeine deprivation.'
He knocked back one of the small cups in a single
gulp.

    Byrne
tapped the DV camera on the seat next to him. 'So tell me, how did you get into
this?'

    Albrecht
stirred sugar into his second cup of espresso. 'Well, it was probably my dad.
He used to take me to the movies a lot when I was a kid. He was big in the
arts, you know. For some reason I gravitated to documentaries at a young age.'

    'Do
you remember the film you liked the most?'

    'I
think the movie that did it for me was called
In the Shadow of the Stars.'
He looked between Jessica and Byrne. 'Did either of you ever see it?'

    Jessica
had not. She told him so.

    'That
was the documentary on the choristers in the opera?' Byrne asked.

    'Yes!'
Albrecht said. He looked around. 'Sorry. That was loud, wasn't it?'

    Byrne
smiled. 'Not in this place.'

    'Well,
when I saw that - at the ripe old age of seven - I saw the possibilities of making
movies about regular people. Nothing bores me more than celebrity. I never
watch television.'

    'That
movie seems a little highbrow for a kid,' Byrne said.

    Albrecht
downed a second espresso, nodded. 'Like I said, my dad was big into the arts. I
think we saw that film at a fundraiser. I was never the same afterwards. I was
especially impressed with the music. The possibilities of sound editing in
particular.'

    Jessica
suddenly made the connection. 'Wait a minute. Your father was Jonas Albrecht?'

    'Yes.'

    For
more than twenty-five years Jonas Albrecht had been a force of nature in
Philadelphia arts, business, and politics - one of the directors of the
prestigious Pennsylvania Society. He was a wealthy man, having made his fortune
in real estate. He founded a number of organizations, and was deeply involved
with the Philadelphia Orchestra until he was tragically killed in a violent
carjacking in 2003. Jessica had been on the force at the time, but it was
before she had joined the homicide unit. She wasn't sure if the case had ever
been closed.

    'It
was a terrible tragedy,' Byrne said. 'We're sorry for your loss.'

    Albrecht
nodded. 'Thank you.'

    
We
are the sum of our experiences,
Jessica thought. David Albrecht might not be
doing what he was doing now if it had not been for the terrible tragedy that
had befallen his father. It had taken Jessica a long time to realize that, if
it were not for her own life's tragedies, among which was her brother Michael's
death in Kuwait in 1991, her life might have taken another path. She had been
headed to law school until that fateful day. It was Michael who had been going
to follow in their father's footsteps and join the force. Life takes its turns.

    While
Byrne and David Albrecht talked documentary film - not one of Jessica's strong
suits, she'd been halfway through
This is Spinal Tap
before she'd
realized it was a spoof - she got on her iPhone, did a search for tattoo
parlors in Philadelphia. She called a few of them and was told that they did
not handle things like temporary tattoos. The last place she called, an
emporium on South Street, mentioned a parlor that had recently opened on
Chestnut, a place called Ephemera. The girl said they did temporary tattooing
and had a good reputation.

    While
David Albrecht shot some exteriors of the building, Jessica and Byrne climbed
the narrow stairwell, opened the frosted-glass door.

    The
front parlor was lit with dozens of candles. The walls were covered in
tapestries of magenta and gold. There was no furniture, no stools, just
pillows. It smelled of rich incense. There were no customers in the waiting
area.

    A few
moments later a woman walked through the curtains and greeted them. She was
Indian, elfin and delicate, about forty. She wore a turquoise silk
kurti
and black slacks. 'My name is Dalaja,' she said. 'How may I help you?'

    Jessica
took out her ID, showed it to the woman. She then introduced herself and Byrne.

    'Is
there something wrong?' Dalaja asked.

    'No,'
Jessica said. 'We just have a couple of questions, if you have a few moments.'

    'Yes,
of course.'

    Dalaja
gestured to the large pillows in front of the window overlooking Chestnut
Street. Jessica and Byrne sat down. Well,
sat
was a loose term for
Byrne's action. For a man his size, the best Byrne could do was aim himself at
the pillow, then fall onto it.

    'Would
you like some tea?' the woman asked when they were settled.

    'I'm
fine, thanks,' Jessica said.

    'Would
a cup of Masala chai be too much trouble?' Byrne asked.

    The
woman smiled. 'Not at all. But it will take a few minutes.'

    'No
problem.'

    Dalaja
disappeared into the back room.

    'Masala
chai?' Jessica asked softly.

    'What
about it?'

    'Do
you have some sort of secret life I don't know about?'

    'Well,
if I told you it wouldn't be secret, would it?'

    Jessica
looked around the room. There were glass shelves on the far wall, each
featuring a stack of brightly hued clothing. Another glass rack held carved
artifacts and jewelry. The sound of modern Indian music floated softly from
behind the curtain.

    The woman
soon emerged from the back room, sat on a large pillow opposite them. She was
so light that she barely made an impression on the pillow. It was as if she
floated above it. 'The tea will be ready shortly.'

    'Thanks,'
Byrne said.

    'First,
if you don't mind, can you tell me what you do here?' Jessica asked.

    'This
is a Mehndi parlor.'

    'Could
you spell that for me?' Jessica asked.

    Dalaja
did, giving her a few alternate spellings. Jessica wrote it all down. 'I'm not sure
I know what that means.'

    'Mehndi
is a type of skin decoration practiced throughout South Asia, Southeast Asia,
North Africa, the Horn of Africa.'

    'These
are temporary tattoos?'

    'Technically
no. Tattoos, by definition, are permanent, applied under the skin. Mehndi is
temporary, and rests atop the skin.'

    'What
is it made out of?'

    'Mehndi
is applied with henna. It is mostly drawn on the palms of the hands and the
feet, where the levels of keratin in the skin are highest.'

    'And
how long does it last?'

    'Anywhere
from a few days to a few months, depending on the henna paste and where the
decoration is placed on the body.'

    A
young Indian woman came out of the back with a cup of tea on an ornate black
lacquered tray. She was about nineteen, and wore traditional South Asian
clothing. She was stunningly beautiful. Jessica went back to her notes, but,
after a few seconds, noticed that the girl was still standing in front of them.
Jesssica glanced at Byrne. He was looking at the girl with his mouth open, not
moving, not speaking. She was that beautiful.

    'Kevin.'

    'Right,'
he said finally, closing his mouth and taking the cup and saucer. 'Thank you.'

    The
girl smiled and, without a word, withdrew to the back room.

    When
she was gone, their hostess reached onto a nearby table and picked up a
beautifully bound leather notebook. She handed the book to Jessica, who riffled
the pages. The designs were intricate and skillfully drawn. Page after page of
complex artwork in a rainbow of colors, drawn mostly on hands and feet.

    'I'm
afraid what we're inquiring about is a little different,' Jessica said. 'A
little less . . . ornate.'

    'I
see.'

    Jessica
then caught the aroma of the tea - ginger and honey - and wished she had taken
the woman up on her offer.

    'May
I show you a photograph?' Jessica asked.

    'By
all means.'

    Jessica
pulled out her iPhone, enlarged the photograph of the lion tattoo on Kenneth
Beckman's finger.

    'Oh,
I see,' the woman said. 'This
is
different.'

    'Do
you know what it is?'

    Dalaja
nodded. 'This is very small, is it not?'

    'Yes,'
Jessica said. 'Maybe one inch long.'

    'It
appears to be a style of temporary body art called a transfer. Relatively
inexpensive. And the quality, well...'