Chapter 30
Saturday late morning
Sabre sat at her desk at home with the drawing of Bay’s tattoo. She studied the lines: a vertical, a curved hook on the left, another curve on the right but reversed. It was almost symmetrical, but not quite. The curve on the right was shorter than the left.
She entered a prompt in Google: symbol with vertical line and curved hooks.
The results came back with pages of images, forums, tattoo sites, and law enforcement references. Most were useless, but a few were similar.
One result caught her eye. A thread discussing regional gang identifiers of low-level, less formal markings.
Sabre clicked through and saw a symbol with a vertical line and a curved extension, a slight variation, not identical, but enough to pause on.
She zoomed in. Then back to Bay’s mark. Then back again. Her brow tightened.
“Close,” she murmured. “But not right.”
She shifted tactics. Instead of searching for the symbol, she described it. She typed out a prompt, every line, every curve, every detail she could articulate. Then she ran it through an AI query.
The response came back: The symbol described may resemble simplified gang markings or prison-based identifiers.
These often use minimal line work and abstract forms to represent affiliation, hierarchy, or territory.
Variations are common, especially among smaller or localized groups.
Such symbols may not appear in official databases if they are informal, evolving, or deliberately altered.
Sabre sat back. “That could explain it,” she said quietly. No match, but familiar enough.
She tried another prompt: prison symbol vertical line hook meaning
She got more similar results but nothing exact.
She grabbed the print of the image and stood.
Gene was in the garage, as usual at this hour. The sound of tools hitting concrete echoed faintly before she reached the door. Sabre stepped inside.
Gene looked up from the workbench, wiping his hands on a rag.
Sabre held up the paper. “I need your eyes on something.”
Gene took the page and studied it without speaking. He showed no reaction at first, just quiet attention. Then he said, “Huh.”
“Have you seen it before?”
Gene tilted the page. “Not exactly,” he said. “But close.”
“What does it look like to you?” she asked.
Gene leaned against the bench. “Something you’d see inside,” he said. “Not a big gang. More like a crew mark.”
“But?”
Gene handed the paper back. “But it’s not right.”
“How?”
Gene pointed to the lines. “Too clean,” he said. “Too balanced. Those marks aren’t usually this thought out.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Gene crossed his arms. “Where’d you get it?”
“One of my delinquency clients,” Sabre said. “It’s on her wrist.”
“What’s she charged with?”
“Murder.”
Gene’s expression darkened. “That matters.”
“Do you think it’s connected to something inside?”
Gene shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe someone wanted it to look like it was.”
“Do you know anyone who could tell us for sure?”
“Yeah. I do.”
JP came in, and they both turned.
“How did your chat with Rourke go?” Sabre asked.
“He was helpful.”
She waited.
“He was polite, prepared, and smooth.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s several.”
JP took off his hat and dropped it onto the tool box.
“He knows the old case,” JP said. “He remembers details, names, alternate theories. He thinks Hayes was capable of taking Hannah, but not organized enough to keep her gone.”
“Did he offer to help?”
“He did.”
“And?”
JP shrugged once. “It depends what help means.”
Sabre studied him. “You don’t like him.”
“I met him like a minute ago.”
“That’s not a no.”
JP glanced around the garage. “I don’t know him enough to dislike him properly.”
That earned the faintest smile.
Sabre folded her hands on the desk. “He worked that file for months. If he kept notes, that matters.”
“It could.”
“He interviewed people police ignored.”
“Maybe.”
“He may remember something everyone else forgot.”
“Also maybe.”
She gave him a look. “You’re being difficult for sport now.”
“I’m being careful.”
Sabre was quiet a moment. “Because he’s another PI?”
“No.”
“Because he worked with me?”
JP didn’t answer right away.
Sabre sighed. “JP.”
He met her eyes. “Old cases grow mythology around them. People start remembering themselves as smarter than they were and more useful than they proved.”
She considered it. “That’s fair.”
“But he remembered the case,” JP continued. “Real details, not headline details. He talked about the crossing guard who saw her get into a car, the neighbor kids whose stories shifted, and one local sex predator who got cleared.”
“He kept notes?”
“He did. And I believe he remembers enough that notes might not matter.”
“I thought you had an appointment this afternoon,” JP added.
“I’m leaving in about five minutes to meet with Vale.”
Gene cleared his throat.
JP looked between them. “What’d I miss?”
Sabre handed him the drawing.
“That’s the mark that’s on Bay’s arm, right?” JP asked.
“Yes. I was checking to see if Gene knew what or who it represented.”
JP turned to Gene. “Do you?”
“Not for sure, but you and I are going to find out.”
“How?”
“You’re going to get us in to see a friend at Donovan State Prison. He’ll know more.”