Chapter 12 Fault Line #2
Nico had learned a long time ago that people remembered tattoos differently from the way they remembered faces.
Faces changed.
Hair changed.
Names were forgotten.
People moved across cities and changed jobs, sometimes more than once.
A tattoo stayed with the body.
Even when the ink faded, the structure remained.
That was why Nico kept returning to the photograph.
He had placed a high-resolution scan on his computer and enlarged the tattoo until the image became slightly blurred at the edges.
The original photograph was old.
The lighting was poor.
The man’s arm was partially turned away from the camera.
But the design was still visible.
Nico studied it again.
The geometric frame.
The broken negative space.
The central industrial symbol.
The unusual tapering of the lines.
Something about it had been bothering him since the first time he saw it.
He opened a folder on his computer containing reference photographs from older tattoo styles.
Then he began comparing.
Not the exact design.
The technique.
That was where the answer was likely to be.
Nico had worked in the tattoo industry long enough to know that artists left fingerprints without realizing it.
Certain artists favored heavy outlines.
Others preferred soft shading.
Some used dense blackwork.
Others relied on negative space.
The placement of the work mattered too.
So did the way an image was designed around the body’s movement.
The tattoo in the photograph had all of those characteristics.
But there was another detail.
The central symbol had been modified.
Nico leaned closer.
He recognized it now.
Not as a tattoo symbol.
As a contractor mark.
He had seen something similar years earlier on old photographs from industrial projects.
Nico sat back.
“That can’t be.”
He searched again.
This time, he added the words industrial contractor tattoo and the name of the symbol’s older variation.
Nothing useful appeared immediately.
He wasn’t surprised.
The information wasn’t the kind of thing people posted online.
He needed someone who had been around the industry long enough to remember.
Nico picked up his phone.
The first person he called was an older tattoo artist named Ray Dalton.
Ray had owned a shop in the city for nearly thirty years before retiring.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“If this is about opening another shop, I’m not interested.”
Nico laughed.
“It’s not.”
“Then you owe me.”
“I probably do.”
“What do you need?”
“I found an old tattoo in a photograph.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“I think the design might be connected to a contractor group.”
There was silence.
Ray’s voice changed.
“What kind of contractor group?”
“Industrial construction.”
“Send me the picture.”
Nico sent it.
Several minutes passed.
Then Ray called back.
“Where did you get this?”
Nico leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve seen that mark before.”
Nico’s pulse increased.
“Where?”
“Not recently. Years ago.”
“Do you remember who wore it?”
“Not exactly.”
Ray paused.
“It was associated with a group of industrial workers who used to get matching pieces.”
“Matching tattoos?”
“Not identical. Variations.”
Nico looked at the photograph.
“What kind of workers?”
“Steel crews. Heavy construction. Maintenance contractors. Guys who moved from one industrial project to another.”
“Do you remember a company?”
Ray thought.
“Something with Harbor in the name.”
Nico’s attention sharpened.
“South Harbor?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you remember an artist?”
Ray laughed.
“That’s easier.”
Nico waited.
“Old guy named Victor Kane. Worked out of a small shop near the docks.”
“Is he still around?”
“No idea.”
“Did he keep records?”
“Probably not.”
Nico frowned.
“Anything else?”
Ray was quiet.
“The design wasn’t just a crew symbol.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of those guys used tattoos to show which contractor circle they belonged to.”
Nico looked again at the photograph.
“So the tattoo identified the group.”
“That’s how I remember it.”
“Would another artist recognize it?”
“Someone who worked around the docks might.”
Nico thanked him and ended the call.
He sat back.
The photograph suddenly seemed much more important.
The tattoo wasn’t simply distinctive.
It might identify a professional network.
A network that had worked on the warehouse.
Nico searched the old construction records again.
Several subcontractors appeared.
One name stood out.
Harbor Structural Services.
He searched the company.
The business no longer existed.
But old records remained.
Projects.
Permits.
Safety notices.
Employee disputes.
Then he found something else.
A company directory from six years earlier.
The names were listed alphabetically.
Nico searched for Victor Kane.
Nothing.
He searched the contractor name.
There were dozens of employees and subcontractors.
Then he found a photograph from an industry newsletter.
A group of workers stood outside another industrial building.
One man had his sleeve rolled up.
Nico enlarged the image.
The tattoo was different.
But the structure was the same.
The same geometric frame.
The same broken negative space.
The same central symbol.
Nico’s pulse jumped.
He opened the image in another window.
Then he compared it with the warehouse photograph.
The tattoos weren’t identical.
But they belonged to the same design family.
Nico stared at the screen.
“That’s you.”
He didn’t know whether he was speaking to the photograph or to himself.
He searched the newsletter’s publication date.
Five years before the warehouse fire.
The article described a major structural project completed by Harbor Structural Services.
Nico read the names beneath the photograph.
One of them was familiar.
Elias Voss.
He had seen that name in the warehouse permits.
Not as a worker.
As a subcontractor.
Nico’s heart began beating faster.
He searched Voss.
More documents appeared.
Voss had worked with several companies over the years.
Harbor Structural Services.
A demolition contractor.
An industrial maintenance firm.
Then, three years after the warehouse fire, a new company.
Voss Site Solutions.
Nico stared at the screen.
The company was still active.