Not My Sister by P.K. Simpson

Author:P.K. Simpson [Simpson, P.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

17

Tattoo Clue

Back at the Hotel Pulitzer, Daan ordered three beers while Angie and I found a booth. I plopped down on the seat, deep in thought, trying to process what I had seen and analyzing the artist’s reaction. She had definitely wanted to escape from my grip and run away from me. She had looked me square in the eyes without a shred of recognition or relief that it was me. Her sister.

I had seen only anger in her eyes. Why?

Daan settled the triangle of Heineken on the table and sat down next to me. He pushed a glass my way as his navy eyes raked over my face.

“So next time, Jessica, maybe not physical assault?” He raised a brow. “She could press charges, you know.”

“I had to go after her. It was her.”

“And you know for certain because…”

“I saw her tattoo. Just like my sister’s.”

“What tattoo?” Angie asked.

“The one on her leg. The owl.”

“Oh, the owl.” Angie sat back in her chair with her mouth slightly open, shocked.

“It’s her, Ange. No doubt about it.”

“Your sister had a tattoo?” Daan set down his glass. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. She loved owls. Owl earrings. Owl coffee cups. Owl everything.”

Daan’s sharp features hardened as he contemplated this new revelation.

“It could be a coincidence,” he ventured.

“That she looks like my sister, paints like my sister and has a tattoo just like her?” I tilted my head and drilled him with a pointed stare. “Seriously?”

“Okay. Okay.” He held up a hand.

“So, let’s just say Olivia didn’t commit suicide,” I continued. “That makes the death someone else’s suicide. Or maybe even a homicide, doesn’t it?” I waited for him to nod and then continued. “Maybe her friend Basia’s, as well. What if the bodies in that garden were the result of a murder?”

“Yeah.” Angie set down her glass. “We never got any real answers.”

“Yeah,” I echoed. “So now I have to wonder.”

“About what,” he said.

“About the investigation.”

“Believe me, we did all that we could.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the fault of the police. Maybe they just didn’t have enough evidence.”

“What do you mean?” The tone of his voice grew frosty.

“I read a blog recently that said when police don’t have anything to work with in an investigation like Olivia’s, they label it a suicide. It’s easier than trying to solve a tough case.”

“Bloggers are not police professionals, Jessica.”

“But they can help solve crimes. There are cold case podcasts out there that are really making a difference.”

“All amateur detectives.”

“Amateurs that care.”

“Enough!” Daan slammed down his glass. “You think I do not care?”

“I’m just suggesting that…”

“That I and my colleagues push the files into the trash can at the end of the day?” He clapped his palms together. “All done! Goody-goody. And now for friet and bier?”

“No.” I flushed and lowered my voice. “I’m suggesting that too many people made too many assumptions about what happened in that garden.”

“For your information,” Daan continued. “Officers have only so much time to devote to a case.”

“I know that.”

“And at the time, when your sister died, there was an airline crash, if you recall.

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