thinking, and, damnit, I started to think the smile was just from looking at me. “I thought you said Sumner did it?”
“Sumner didn’t do his own designs,” I said. “He used graphomancers. Even I use graphomancers—”
“So you’re better than Sumner?”
My face flushed. “I’m not saying that, it’s just… my training is—”
“That’s all right,” he said, smiling. “Look. I didn’t mean to hold you up. I’ll get straight to why I’m here. I want your client list.” He must have seen my jaw tighten, so he raised his hand. “Now, don’t get antsy. I won’t force you to turn it over—”
“You’re right about that,” I snapped. “In Georgia tattooing is practically a medical procedure—that list is private, and sensitive. I could lose my license if I gave it to you without a warrant, and I really doubt you can get a warrant.”
“Really?” Philip said, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t think I could get a warrant?”
“Maybe,” I said, “if you were investigating a crime, and not trying to prevent one. Unless I or one of my clients were suspects in the prior killings. Are we suspects?”
“Well, no, but given the circumstances there are other legal avenues I could—” Philip began, then stopped. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I know how the Edgeworld works—I don’t want to come down heavy and scare off the very people I want to protect. But I would like to talk to you about setting up a procedure to warn your client base. They could be targets… if you are as good as you look.”
His eyes were drifting over the tattoos on my arms, but his mouth quirked up a bit as he said it, and I gaped. I could swear the cheeky little gnome was hitting on me! OK, perhaps “gnome” was too strong: that was just an automatic reaction to an advance from anyone in a suit. Strip him out of the suit, on the other hand… he’d be buffer than Alex Nicholson. Oh my. Either way, I was too dumbfounded to speak, so he continued.
“Think it over,” he said, all serious. “I know you think I’m spooky-black-helicopter man, but I’m really a nice guy who doesn’t want to see you or any of your clients hurt. Please think about how we might warn them—perhaps you could contact them, let us know who’s willing to talk to us?” He held up his hands. “No innuendo here—seriously. Twelve people have been killed. I don’t want to see that number hit thirteen. You should think about it.”
“I’ll… ask. No promises.”
“Okay. For now. And about the tat we showed you,” he said, “we don’t normally let evidence into the wild. You never know what may tip off a suspect, or spawn a copycat. Perhaps your witch would come to the offices and view the piece there?”
“No,” I said. “For this witch, you bring things to her—she’s got an elaborate computer setup to analyze images. Makes her fees high, but it’s worth it.” I stared at him. “Twelve people murdered? You should think about it.”
“I’ll ask,” he said. “No promises.”
“Fair enough,” I said, turning to my Vespa to ferret out the Sumner book from my saddlebags. “And now I have a present for you, Special Agent Davidson.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he said, throwing up his hands in mock astonishment. Then he saw the book’s title and the few bookmarks I’d put in it, and his face went solemn. “Scratch that— you should have.”
I told him about my theories—the potential victims in the book, the good chance that someone else might have the tat, the likelihood that a graphomancer had inked it sometime around the turn of the millennium, and even my fears about Sumner’s death itself.
“So much fucking time lost,” he said, staring at the book in his hand. “We should have been looking for graphomancers from the very beginning—”
“You didn’t have a name until yesterday,” I said, hoping it would reassure him.
“We had hints,” he snapped. “We’re supposed to be the ones that follow up on them. We’re the ones who’re supposed to catch the bad guys based on a torn receipt and a funny smell. At the first clue the tattoos were magical we should have been talking to magical inkers and graphomancers and the whole lot.” He was silent for a moment, glaring off into the distance. “We—they—those dolts at the Bureau—treated it like a normal serial killer case for two years. Two whole years! And when they finally get wise, we have