She was already reaching for her sketchpad and adjusting her camera. No hesitation. No “give me a day” or “let me schedule this.” Susan was ready.
“After what we just put poor Powell through,” she said to Autumn, “I’d say you’re relaxed, which helps more than you think. Tension screws with memory. People grab onto the wrong details or make up ones that were never there.”
“Okay,” Autumn said.
Susan looked at her. “This isn’t a test, and you’re not trying to get 100 percent. We’re building a rough map. If something weird pops up, say it anyway. Sometimes the truth hides in what seems off.”
They started.
Autumn began with the stiff neck. It was an unusual entry point, but Susan didn’t flinch. She just jotted it down and gently guided her toward describing his facial features.
“His face shape was kind of average,” Autumn said. “Just a regular guy. Not square-jawed or anything like that. Pretty skinny though.”
Susan hunched over her sketchpad, her movements precise and assured. She checked in now and then, tilting the pad, waiting for a nod or a correction.
“His mouth was narrow,” Autumn added. “Not pouty or wide. Just…thin.”
Piece by piece, the face took shape.
Then Susan held the final sketch up to the camera.
Autumn’s reaction was immediate. Her sharp inhale said more than any sentence ever could. The sketch was nothing like the digital composite.
“That’s him,” she finally whispered.
Susan stared at the drawing, then at us. “Jesus. I almost spooked myself drawing him.”
“Can you run it through facial recognition?”
She nodded. “I’ll queue it up. Give me two days.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Powell.” Her grin made a comeback. “You still blush like you’re twenty. Adorable.”
“Susan,” I warned, mock stern. “Work.”
“Nice meeting you, Autumn,” she said, her voice sing-song sweet.
Autumn smiled. I ended the call before Susan could get another jab in.
“You okay?” she teased in full otter mode. “Need a minute to recover?”
I rubbed my face. “I’m never calling her in front of you again.”
Before she could say anything else, an incoming call came through. Boone.
I put it on speaker.
“The site where Autumn saw the guy?” Boone’s voice was heavy. “We got nothing. The storm washed most of it out. The ground looked disturbed, but nothing conclusive.”
Autumn’s hands balled into fists. “So what now?”
I looked at her.
Now? Now we wait.
And I hated waiting.
