‘No, my God, no.’ Her eyes were as wide as the Mexican snakebird’s were narrow. ‘Somebody’s actually doing that, killing people with a machine?’ She shuddered and for a moment Thomson, for all her imposing creatures and Wizard of Oz shoes, didn’t seem mysterious or more than human at all. She seemed vulnerable and small. TT Gordon had had the same reaction – a sense of betrayal that somebody in their close-knit profession would use his talent to kill and do so in a particularly horrific way.

‘Afraid so.’

‘The American Eagles,’ she said. ‘Old machines, not as reliable as the new ones. One of the first portables.’

‘That’s what TT said.’

Thomson nodded. ‘He’s a good guy. You’re lucky he’s helping you. And I think I can help you too. Nobody’s ever bought a machine here but about a week ago a man came in and bought some needles for an American Eagle.’ She leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter. The shiny black ring on her right index finger turned out to be ink.

‘I didn’t pay much attention. Late twenties, thirties. White. Had a cap on, dark, and a scarf around his neck. It came up high, almost covering his chin. Sunglasses too. Which he didn’t need because the weather was as bad as now. That, the glasses, seemed hipster and uncool. But we get imagistas in here a lot. It’s a fine line between posing with ink and being real with ink.’

Imagistas. Clever.

Sellitto showed her the Identi-Kit pic.

Thomson shrugged. ‘Could be. Again, not paying much attention. Oh, but one thing I remember. He wasn’t inked that I could see. Wasn’t pierced either. Most skin artists’re pretty modded.’

‘He has one on his arm. Maybe a dragon, some creature. In red. Does that mean anything?’

The snake-and-bird woman shook her head. ‘No – after that book, that thriller, a lot of people wanted dragons. Copycats. No significance that I know.’

He then asked, ‘You know anything significant about a tattoo of the words “the second”? Or “fort”Y? They mean anything in the skin art world?’

‘No, not that I’ve ever heard.’

He displayed pictures of the tattoos.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘Old English font. That’s hard to do. And the lesions, the raised part? That was because of the poison?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, whatever else, he’s good. Real good.’

‘And he worked fast. Probably did that in ten, fifteen minutes.’

‘Really?’ She seemed astonished. ‘And the scarification too? The scalloped border?’

‘All in ten or fifteen. Does that, or the style, give you any idea who this guy might be?’

‘Not really … But I don’t see the outlines.’

‘No, TT said he used a bloodline. Freehand.’