I dry-swallowed another two pills for my headache, then had a sip of coffee. It was just past ten o'clock, Thursday morning. No surprise, I slept in and woke up with a hang-over.
My buddy emailed back while I was busy self-medicating yesterday afternoon, I read the email this morning. Neither the website or phone number turned up any useful information. It was hard to tell from the terminology he was using, not to mention my throbbing head, but I got the impression my friend was confused about the lack of results. He said stuff about missing data and that it shouldn't happen.
It took two cups of coffee and four ibuprofen but eventually I was ready to get back to work.
I spent some more time at my laptop typing up everything I'd learned yesterday, including my concerns about that Trent kid. It dawned on me that while we had twenty-three abandoned cars, there could be even more people going missing here than that. Local folks who didn't drive, or people who came in on busses or hitchhiked.
I had no idea what the connection was, apart from that shop and its perplexing employees. The baseball cap was one solid link though, along with the fact that the teen girl gave the empty lot as her address.
At the moment the only lead I had to follow was with the property management company. They had to have some solid information on Selene, you don't rent someone space without knowing who they are.
I gave the number a call and got their address, and a half hour later I was there talking with their office manager.
She was a middle aged woman named Lisa Parker. She was cooperative and friendly, which was a tremendous relief. I could use more Ricks and Lisas on this case. I didn't need any more Selenes or Skyes. And one Gloria was one too many.
Technically I probably should have had a warrant for some of this, but I was too caught up in the mystery and the need for answers. Maybe even a little obsessed, but I tried not to think about that.
If Lisa had insisted, odds were I wouldn't be able to get a warrant anyways. I was supposed to be investigating the disappearance of Phillip Duncan rather than digging up everything I could on a strange little new age store.
Except I was convinced the whole thing was related. I was positive that shop was the centre of something a lot bigger, and if I figured that out I'd also find out what happened to the councilman.
"Here we go," Lisa said as she looked up from her computer. "There's only two tenants in that building. Unit One is a tattoo and body piercing studio, and Unit Two is a bar. They've both been in there for quite some time. The bar's been there for thirty years now, and the tattoo place for twenty-five."
I frowned as I looked over her shoulder. The computer had the correct address up on the screen, and sure enough it only listed two units.
"That's not possible," I stated. "I've been there, there's a third unit. It's around the corner, the storefront opens onto the alley on the north side of the building."
Lisa shook her head, "Are you sure that's the right address? According to this, there's only two units."
She switched tabs and opened another record, then said "Here we go. Unit one is sixteen hundred square feet, unit two is eighteen hundred square feet. Let me see if we have a floor plan. We might not, it's an older building."
It turned out she did, but it wasn't on the computer. Fifteen minutes later she had a large sheet of paper out of the files and laid out on her desk so I could see it. I took a picture of it with my phone then took down some notes of the dimensions. What I was seeing matched what I remembered about the building. But there was no third unit.
The building was just over seventy feet wide and about fifty feet deep, and it was divided in half. The north side was thirty-two feet wide and was occupied by the tattoo parlour, the south side was forty feet wide and occupied by the bar. The two steel emergency doors at the back were marked, just like I remembered from the other day. Except the door I exited from when I left the new age shop, that was the back door to the tattoo parlour.
"They must have made changes to the floor plan after this was drawn up," I said. "The third unit is between fifteen and twenty feet wide. It takes up the back third of the tattoo parlour."
I indicated on the layout, "The storefront is here, the front door's there. There's a back door here that leads to a little storage area, with this emergency exit at the back."
Lisa shook her head, "If someone's done that, they definitely didn't have our permission. That would require some significant structural changes to the building, opening up part of that wall and sealing off the back of Unit One. And if Unit One doesn't have a back door anymore that violates the fire code. I'll have to send one of my inspectors over to have a look."
I sighed but nodded "Thanks very much for your time."
"You're welcome officer," she replied, but she looked as perplexed as I was.
Back out in my pick-up I made some more notes and decided my next course of action. If Selene wasn't paying the landlords rent for her location, she had to be subletting from the tattoo parlour. That would be my next stop.
First though I pulled into a restaurant because after skipping breakfast this morning, dinner last night, and only eating half a burger for lunch yesterday I was finally in need of a decent meal. I felt like something wholesome though, so I passed on the fried foods and just had a small bowl of soup and some salad.
It was around two in the afternoon when I found myself back in that 'cursed' parking lot. Rather than heading straight to the tattoo parlour, I took a couple minutes to walk all the way around the building. I counted my paces as I walked along the side then across the back, and I made note of the approximate location of two metal fire doors.
Everything checked out against my notes from this morning. The exterior of the building matched the floor plan Lisa showed me, apart from the occult shop tucked away in the north-east corner facing the alley.
I went around the front then into the tattoo parlour. Unlike the occult shop, this place had been renovated some time in the past two decades. Probably in the last five years. It was clean and brightly lit, the walls looked freshly painted. The place actually looked cleaner and more modern than my doctor's office. There was a woman behind the counter, she looked to be in her late twenties. Her short blonde hair was trimmed in an asymmetrical side-shave that showed off a multitude of piercings in her right ear. She had more metal in her left ear, and still more in her face. Her tank-top also showed off a fair bit of ink on both arms.
"Hello," she greeted me with a friendly smile. "How can I help you?"
I was sure she knew I wasn't there for any body mods, I definitely didn't look the type. I flashed her my badge and introduced myself, "Detective Collier, provincial police. I was wondering if you'd mind me having a look around your establishment? There was an incident next door and I just want to make sure nothing wound up on this side of the wall."
It was a lie of course, but I was usually pretty good at that. The badge helped, a lot of people weren't comfortable saying no to a cop. Especially when you acted friendly and made it sound like you were looking into their neighbour rather than them.
The woman frowned, "Oh. Um, yeah ok? You can't touch anything though, the work areas are kept clean and sterile, and obviously we have needles and stuff? Like generally we wouldn't let anyone just wander around unattended, or into the off-limits areas?"
I couldn't really argue with that, not without a warrant. "Ok that would be fine. Can I get your name please?"
"I'm Danni Thomson," she replied.
I took a moment to jot that down in my notepad, then asked "Do you own the business Danni?"
"Not yet," she smiled. "My dad owns the place, but after he retires I'll take it over. He's not here yet, but if you need to see him he'll be in around four o'clock."
"No that's fine thanks," I replied.
She walked with me and actually gave me a quick tour of the place.
There were four little work areas. Each had a fancy adjustable chair in the middle, a counter with a sink, a wheeled stool, and a guest chair. Two were set up for tattooing, the other two were set up for piercing. Everything I could see was very clean and neat, there were sharps bins in each area, boxes of latex gloves, everything you'd expect.
The back area was off limits to the public but that too was very clean and tidy. There were some storage cabinets with locks on them, Danni explained they kept all the needles and supplies in them and they were locked up when the place was closed. She pointed out the autoclave they used for sterilizing their tools, and talked about how they maintained a very clean sterile environment.
I got the impression she probably thought I was there to spot-check the place for health-code violations, but from the sound of it that wasn't a problem. Even to my uninformed eyes the place looked like they were serious about cleanliness.
I gestured to the door at the back, "What's through there?"
"Employee washroom, break room, and emergency exit," she replied.
"May I go out that way?" I asked her.
She seemed surprised but nodded, "I guess so?"
I thanked her, and she accompanied me back there too. Sure enough on the other side of the door was a small area just as clean and tidy as the rest of the unit. Most of it was the break room, with a little table and a pair of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a microwave. On the left was a large accessible washroom. And in the corner on the right was the metal emergency-exit door.
Danni stayed inside while I pushed the door open then emerged into the parking lot behind the building.
The door swung shut behind me as I turned around to look, and I felt a wave of dizziness. It was the exact same door I stepped through when I left the occult shop on Monday. The tattoo place wasn't missing a third of it's space, walking from the front door through and out the back door it was a full fifty feet deep just like the floor plan said.
There was a cold, heavy feeling in my gut as I stood there and stared at that door.
Somehow the occult shop was sticking into the side of a building where there wasn't any room for it. Somehow the back door of that shop was also the back door of the tattoo shop.
It was impossible.
I had two conflicting thoughts. My first inclination was to go into the occult place and demand to know what the hell was going on. My second was to pick up another bottle of scotch and forget the whole thing.
That cold heavy feeling got a little colder as another thought crossed my mind. If I went into the occult place demanding answers, maybe my pick-up would be the next vehicle Rick hauled out of this lot. Maybe I'd find out first-hand what happened to all those missing people.
My hands were shaking slightly and I found myself taking a few deep breaths as I tried to calm my nerves, but my thoughts kept coming back to the same place.
It was impossible.
Architecture by M. C. Escher. Insert Twilight Zone music. But then, what else would you expect?
Something tells me she would like it if she found out first hand
I like the worldbuilding we're getting in this one. Seeing how the shop fits, or rather doesn't, in the town as a whole is really interesting.