Chapter 31
Saturday afternoon
JP watched as his brother moved through the institution he had spent way too long in. It was the first time Gene had been back to Donovan since his release. He signed where he was told, waited where he was told, and moved when they said to. No wasted motion, no attitude, just familiarity.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” JP asked.
“I’m fine. I’m just glad to be on this side of the bars.”
They were led into the visiting area where the tables were bolted to the floor, the chairs were color-coded, and the guards were watchful.
Gene sat first. JP took the seat beside him.
“Who are we meeting?” JP asked.
“His name’s Latham,” Gene said. “He’s been in here a while.”
JP didn’t ask what crime he’d committed. They just needed information. It didn’t take long before Latham came in with the slow, measured walk JP had seen a dozen times in places like this. The prisoner was in his mid-fifties, lean, and had eyes that moved before his head did.
He saw Gene and gave a small nod. “Torn.”
“Latham.”
They shook hands across the table, firm and brief.
Latham glanced at JP. “You brought company.”
“This is my brother, JP,” Gene said. “He’s good.”
Latham gave JP a look that wasn’t unfriendly, just assessing. Then he sat.
“What do you need?” Latham asked.
Gene slid the tattoo image across the table. “Take a look at that.”
Latham picked it up, then turned it, studying the lines.
JP watched his face. No reaction at first, then a small shift.
“Where’d you get it?” Latham asked.
“Does it matter?” Gene replied.
Latham shrugged. “Sometimes.”
JP spoke. “It’s on the arm of a teenage girl who might be the victim of an abduction that happened ten years ago. Whether she is or not, she has a lot of problems, and we aim to help her.”
Latham looked at it again. “Those sons-a-bitches. Why can’t they leave the kids alone?”
“Are you talking about someone specific?” JP pressed. “Does this mean something to you?”
“I just hate the ones who hurt kids.” Latham took another look. “It’s trying to be something,” he said finally.
JP leaned forward. “Do you recognize it?”
Latham set down the paper. “It ain’t anything I’ve seen run.”
“Nothing close?” JP asked.
Latham shook his head. “Some of the pieces are familiar,” he said. “But not when you look at the whole thing.”
“Could it be someone trying to copy something?” Gene asked.
Latham looked at him. “Maybe, but if you’re copying, you usually get closer than that.”
JP frowned. “So, what is it? Any ideas?”
Latham rocked back in his chair. “Feels personal,” he said. “Marks like this usually mean something to a group. It could be a mark of a cult, but it’s not one I’ve seen. It could also be a gang symbol, but I don’t think so. There’s not many I haven’t seen.”
JP glanced at Gene, then back at Latham. “Did you ever see anything similar used inside?”
“No,” he said. “Not as a set. I’ve seen lines, curves, and hooks, sure, but not put together like that.”
“If someone had this on them in here,” JP said, “what would the other inmates think?”
“They’d ask what it means,” Latham said.
“And if there’s no answer?”
The prisoner gave a humorless smile. “Then it belongs to whoever put it there. Sorry, but that’s all I’ve got.”
Gene picked up the paper. “We appreciate it.”
Latham stood. “I owed you one. Now we’re even. Just be careful what you’re chasing.”