Intimate Relations by Rebecca Forster (most popular ebook readers TXT) 📕

he got inked. Or maybe he's got a kid somewhere, and that's how he remembered the baby. Nobody will remember him, and that's the pity."

"What a waste." Cori noted the tattoo. Her eyes flicked back to the mosquito bite dots where the bullets had entered his body. It would be a different story when Paul started poking around inside. He would find a mess: a brain imploded, heart with a hole, lungs punctured.

"Indeed," Paul answered and then again. "Indeed."

He patted the man's head as he was known to do when he paused too long beside one of the dead.

"So, we're off."

The spring was back in the ME's step. He led the way to one of the glass-fronted exam rooms. The stark white room was cold and adorned only with the tools of Paul's trade. On the long metal table was the naked body of the faceless woman.

Finn took his jacket off, slung it over his arm, and made notes in his book. He had spoken to an angry middle-aged man whose paintings reflected his attitude. It was no wonder he sold few, nor was it a surprise that he didn't want to talk to Finn. The detective spoke to a teenager whose parents were out of town and who was late for the school bus. He had a nice chat with a lady who ran a cooking school out of her unit. She had seen nothing, was unaware of who the Cucas were, and crossed herself when Finn told her about the murder. Then there was this last interview, unit 5B. Serina. Mutilated baby dolls and plastic window coverings were her thing.

Finn ran the back of his hand over his nose, trying to clear the dust away. The artist, Serina, worked with a laser that cut fancy designs into huge sheets of colored plastic. Those sheets in turn were hinged and used to cover windows big and small.

 Like indoor shutters.

 The machine churned while they talked. It had kicked up microscopic particles of plastic, irritating every inch of Finn.  He was thankful he had no hair on his head in which it could embed itself.  Serina's side business —her real passion— was creating nightmare baby dolls. The price of the dolls was extraordinarily low she told Finn. She assured him business was brisk, her art could only go up in price, so whatever he bought would be an investment. He passed on the sales pitch. She gave up trying to change his mind and told Finn she didn't know the Cucas well. She had also not seen anything weird the night before.

Finn spoke to Serina at 11:45 a.m. At 12:15 p.m., he talked to the gentleman whose business it was to turn cannabis into edibles. Finn found the pineapple shaped cookies very appealing, but he declined a sample. He assured the man that he could not imbibe on duty. When it was established that Finn was as chill as he would ever be, they talked about the murder.

"I slept good last night, so I didn't even know what went down 'till you showed up. I had me a hit of Banana Master, and then decided to test Blackwater. If you ever can't sleep, I'm telling you that's the key. It takes an old hand to handle both of them. I'd recommend Banana Master if you're looking to leave it all behind. You'll sleep like the dead."

Finn responded with a 'good to know',  and steered him back to business. The edible artist took off running. The Cucas, he told Finn, weren't unfriendly but neither were they friendly.  They used to open their place for The Artist's Walk, but now it was appointment only for the Cucas. This was understandable given that Enver's art was R rated. They got kids coming to The Walk after all. Finn inquired after The Walk. Twice a year studio doors were thrown open to the general public. People roamed in and out as they pleased. It was like a festival, the man said. Thousands came, and most artists made big bucks during the event.

Question: Is your studio open? Did children enter your establishment?

Answer: Trying to trip me up on the kid thing? Giggle. No can do, brother. giggle-giggle. No kids in here unless accompanied by an adult. No samples. Snort.

Question: Is there security at this event? Is there security in the compound?

Answer:  Yeah, at The Walk. I've seen 'em. Otherwise we kind of do our own law. Shame is where it's at. You do something bad, and we all shame you, man.

Question:  Then why the fence and barbed wire?

Answer:  It ain't the compound, it's what's outside. We aren't stupid.

Question: Do you have to make reservations to come to The Walk?

Answer: What?

Question: Repeated

Answer: No. No. Come. Look. Walk around. Buy stuff.

Finn let that information sit in his brain: public access, thousands of people roaming around the place in one weekend. Limited security. That meant someone could have come in with the purpose of scoping out a specific unit. This made no sense in context of what went down the night before. The Walk had been a month earlier, and the Cucas’ place wasn't open. Still, a person with training, someone who knew what they were doing, could find a way into the Cucas’ building. The man went back to molding —and sampling— his wares. He would forget the detective had even been there. Before he left, Finn had one more question.

"Did Enver Cuca always close off his studio during the festival?" Finn asked.

"Only the last two times. August and October. I'm pretty sure Enver's appointment only now, so he doesn't need The Walk."

Finn thanked him, stepped back into the California sunshine, and took a minute to look around. The Brewery was a small city, seemingly filled with mostly happy and bright citizens.  People went about their work with a passion. Then again, why not? Art was fantasy and fantasy was fun until it turned in to a nightmare. What struck Finn as odd