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She waited to see how Marty would finagle his way into the locker room or the men’s room or whatever room Alan Mac would retire to in order to change his shirt.
However, the coffee must still have been hot enough for discomfort, because Alan Mac yanked off the shirt in a great big hurry. With him left in what they called a wifebeater in the states, his tattoo was clearly visible. It looked like a tail.
Just that. A tail, winding around his ample biceps before curling up at the end like the head of a question mark.
“Let me buy you a new shirt,” Marty said.
“I’ve got another right here.” Alan Mac reached into a lower desk drawer and pulled out a crisply folded shirt. “Since I get into all sorts of muck, I keep a good supply.”
“That’s an interesting tattoo.”
Alan Mac, who had been shaking out the clean garment, glanced up at Marty, then down at his biceps.
“What is it supposed to be?”
The constable quickly shoved his arms into the sleeves, covering the object in question, then got busy with the buttons as if they were the hardest puzzle he’d solved in years.
“I’ve never seen one like that,” Marty continued.
For an instant Kris thought Alan Mac would ignore Marty until he went away. But the constable finished the last button and lifted his head. “I was in the Queen’s Own Highlanders.”
“Military.” Marty nodded. “And they all have those?”
Alan Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”
“What is it?”
“Circle of trust,” the constable said.
“All for one, one for all,” Marty replied.
Alan Mac tilted his head and said nothing.
The silence became oppressive. Kris began to feel uncomfortable. Alan Mac was obviously lying. They knew it, and he knew that they knew it.
“What exactly are ye doin’ in our fair village?” Alan Mac asked.
“Visiting my sister.”
“Mmm,” Alan Mac said. “Strange place for a family reunion.”
“Isn’t it?” Marty returned amiably.
The constable was clearly suspicious. Since he’d been the one who’d investigated Marty, he had good reason. Which only gave him grounds to throw her brother into a cell if he was so inclined. Maybe he’d throw Kris in there, too, just for fun. And if Alan Mac was up to something nefarious, no one might ever find them.
Marty’s phone chimed an incoming text message. He took a glance at the display and nodded to Alan Mac. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about the shirt. Kris?”
He walked out and kept walking. Kris scrambled to keep up. The constable’s gaze followed them all the way out the door.
Her brother scooted around the corner of the building, then leaned against the wall and read whatever was displayed on his phone with a growing frown.
“What is it?” Kris asked. “Is Jamaica wanted for murder in ten other countries?”
“No.” His frown deepened as he peered at the screen. “Maybe. I don’t know. This.” He lifted the phone. “Isn’t about her specifically.”
“What is it about?”
“When I asked for the check on Jamaica, I also asked about tattoos. What they’re used for. Other cases where they’ve been found. Someone in my division had an interesting case not too long ago that involved body art. Long story short, there was a creature and there were those who watched over it.”
