Page 80 of Ink's Devil

Demon’s fingers drum the top of the desk again. “I agree. We might end up having to hide her from the cops.” He rakes his hands back through his hair. “Jeez. Ink’s given up his freedom and put her under our protection. If we don’t keep her out of jail, we’re failing him. We’ll be a brother down, and his woman will suffer as well.”

It seems incredible that Ink has claimed a woman. For a second, I wonder whether Demon’s heard wrong. But why he did it is obvious, it was to force our hand, so we’ll look after her. Serious step to be taking though. No one claims a woman lightly, and never just temporarily even if that’s what I think is in Ink’s head. Whatever his thought process, we’ve got to proceed as if it’s permanent. Or at least until there’s proof that she’s lying, then all bets are off.

“That was a serious amount of shit hidden in Patsy’s house. Where did the dough come from?” I wonder aloud. “Someone will have paid out for that. I can’t believe it was Beth’s brother.”

“Phil Foster seems the obvious candidate.”

Cad dips and raises his head, then backs up the prez. “His lifestyle might suggest he could put his hands on that amount of cash.”

“He was an accountant.” Buzzard’s obviously up to speed. “I certainly wouldn’t discount him.”

Buzz has got a point. Mind you, he’s a money man, which is why he’s our treasurer.

“The drugs could have been stolen.”

“In which case,” I reply to Prez, “we won’t be the only ones looking for Connor.” This is the reason Demon held me back from being a hothead and rushing off. Looking at a problem from all angles may use up time, but it helps to be prepared. I exchange a look with Thunder. We’ll need eyes at our six. Best man to have with us would be Ink, he was a Marine. But if he was here and not locked up, I wouldn’t be facing a ride out to Denver. “We need more men,” I suggest.

Hellfire’s quick. “Beef and I will ride with you. Then we’re in town to go see the old man should Connor not be at the warehouse.”

Demon raises his chin. Seems he agrees. Then he turns to me. “Mace, can you check with Beth about her fingerprints? Want to decide what we do with her and her mom. I want to be prepared when the cops come calling as they invariably will.”

Prez is right. They’re probably getting a warrant as we speak. If Beth’s name’s going to come up, we’ll need to have thought how to manage it.

Half an hour ago, talking to Beth in a reasonable tone would have been the last thing I wanted to do. While she’s not exonerated in my eyes, I have come around to the view that by claiming her, Ink’s shown she means something to him. If keeping her safe brings him some peace, when there’s little else I can do to help, I’ll do it. I nod, and without delay, get out of my seat to go do the task I’ve been given.

Outside the meeting room, I stand for a second with my forehead resting against the wall. I’m tired, there’s a throbbing ache behind my eyes, but the day is far from over. Lighting a cigarette, I breathe in smoke, then exhale as I collect my phone from the box we leave such devices in while in church, then tap on the number Cad had already texted me.

I know I’ve got to handle this carefully. It’s not a stupid woman I’m dealing with, even though she may be ignorant of the darker side of life.

“Hi, Beth. It’s Mace. Need to ask you something. Were you fingerprinted when you got your job?”

“Yes. Years ago, when I first started there.”

“Before 2015?”

“Yes. Why?”

The magic date. Seems like she could be in the clear. I ask another question to make sure. “Have you ever been arrested and fingerprinted?”

“No,” she replies quickly, “I have not. Why the questions, Mace?”

“Thank—” I start to say, but she’s speaking again. Now she sounds timid and scared as the implications sink in.

“I haven’t been arrested but have had my fingerprints taken. A couple of years back we were burgled. They took both Mom’s and mine for the purpose of elimination.” She gives a squeak. “But surely they won’t have kept them?”

Well, fuck. From what Cad says, nowadays once they have them, they go onto AFIS.

Now she’s continuing, she sounds thoughtful as though she’s thinking back, “I wore gloves, Mace. My fingerprints aren’t on the packages. I made sure of that.” Her voice lightens as she remembers.

“The bag. Where did that come from?” I want to cover all bases.

“Oh, shit. The rucksack was mine. I’ve had it for years.”

I think fast. “What was it made of?”

“Canvas. With a plastic handle and strap.”

Jeez. They can lift fingerprints from that. She might as well have placed a flashing neon sign over her head.

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