Page 67 of Not This Night

He leaned in, staring at the tattoo. It was of a clock. A simple clock with the twelve numbers circling the face.

“Hang on,” Ethan whispered.

“What’s that?”

“This… tattoo.”

“You know it?”

"It's a prison tattoo. See? Clock with no hands. It means he did time."

Rachel paused now, frowning. “Miguel didn’t do time, did he?”

“Not that I saw.”

“A wannabe gangster?”

“Did he seem like that… you saw his house.”

"No, he didn't," Rachel admitted, a rising sense of unease mingling with her frustration. The dimly lit morgue seemed to close in around them, the hum of the refrigeration units a haunting undertone to their revelations.

She fixed her gaze back on the body, her mind racing. She had worked enough cases involving gang members, and more than once had she seen prison tattoos inked on their bodies. A secret language, hidden in plain sight.

She ran her gloved fingers over the soft flesh of the man's inner wrist again, tracing the blue outlines of the clock tattoo. A symbol of time served, but did it also hold another meaning?

"Check his records," she ordered Ethan, her tone sharp and unyielding as she refocused on her task. “Please,” she added, simply because it was Ethan.

"Alright," he muttered, pulling out his phone and beginning to type swiftly. His brows furrowed in concentration as he navigated through law enforcement databases.

Meanwhile, Rachel continued her meticulous examination of the body before her. Her trained eye caught every bruise, every cut, and every scar that marred its skin—but no other tattoos.

"It's not him," Ethan declared with a shaky exhale. “Like I said. Miguel served no time. It’s not him. And see, here?” He held up an online photo of Miguel standing next to Lucy, both of them on a boat somewhere, smiling happily.

Miguel’s forearm was displayed.

“That’s not a new tattoo,” Ethan said.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I mean, tattoo ink fades, right? This clock is clearly faded, probably a decade or more old. Unlike mine—” In his enthusiasm to explain, Ethan lifted his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a single feather.

Rachel blinked, and Ethan caught her expression, suddenly freezing as his brain caught up with what his hands had done.

“It’s–erm–the ink, I mean. See how it’s darker? Cleaner on the edges too…” Ethan’s voice drifted as he looked between his exposed tattoo and Rachel, expectation and anxiety clear on his guileless face.

“It’s a hawk feather,” Rachel said softly, just a little stunned at the beautifully rendered design on her partner’s arm.

“It is.” Ethan smiled and in the dim light his cheeks began to blush. He let out a nervous chuckle as he let out a quiet cough to clear his throat. “It’s like the one in your hat.”

Rachel nodded. She felt a flicker of amusement at his suddenly embarrassed expression.

“I thought you might… you know, like it,” Ethan added.

“Really?” Rachel felt a smile creeping on her mouth now too. “Any particular reason you got this design?”

Ethan mumbled something, shaking his head, looking truly embarrassed now. She took a brief moment to give him a wink. "It's okay, Ethan. Really. Cool tattoo."

For a moment, the two of them locked eyes, both smiling a little awkwardly, both silent, but neither one really minding. And then the two of them took a quick breath, letting out soft laughs and looking away from each other as if some spell had just been broken, freeing them to refocus on the task at hand.

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