“That guy! Yeah, I’ve got it. He just gave me a bad feeling. That wouldn’t have stopped me from taking a painting if it worked for me. But it didn’t. I don’t remember the work either.”
“Yet you remember the artist?”
“Yes. Well, more or less. I wouldn’t say I have a crystal clear picture, but I think I’d recognize him if you showed me one of him.”
“We’re working on it. Would you be willing to work with a police artist?”
“He left a dead woman practically at my front door. Whatever you want. I might be able to sketch him myself. I’m not sure, but maybe. Ifyou’ve got something I can use, I’ll try. Trav? Maybe you can hang with us here. You may remember something I don’t.”
“Sure I can.”
“Let me get you something.” Peabody pushed up, hurried out.
“I think he was a little shorter than me,” Travis said. “I’m five-ten. He was shorter than you, Carter. I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m six feet flat. Yeah, I think that’s right. Does that help at all?”
“Everything helps.”
Peabody brought in a sketch pad, a pencil. “Had one in my desk.”
Carter flipped through, stopped at a sketch of Peabody’s water feature. “This is pretty good.” And another flip to what Eve saw was a sketch of the backyard garden. “So’s this.”
“Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t bring them into your gallery.”
“Nat would flip over a garden like this.”
He turned to a blank page. “Okay. I’ll start with what I think I know. Hair in a bun, right, Travis?”
“I know it was the first time, not sure about the second.”
“I’m pretty sure. No hair around the face. Shape of the face… I’m just going oval because I can’t really see it. Clean-shaven, yeah. No beard, no facial hair. But the eyes. Not sure I remember the color, but I do the shape. There was, like you said, something off. Deep-set,” he muttered as he worked. “Heavy lids. Smooth, no lines. Young. Pampered? Why do I want to say that? Don’t know.
“Eyebrows… yeah, yeah, yeah. I can see them. Darker maybe than the hair. Arched like this, I think. Yeah, I think. Wrong about the lines. Got one here, between the eyebrows. That fuck-it line. Sorry.”
He paused for a minute. “I think about it that way. The one you get when you frown or scowl a lot because—fuck it—I want it my way.”
He turned the sketch. “Can you see it, Travis?”
“Yeah. I wish I remembered better, but I really think you’ve got the eyes.”
“Lieutenant?”
She glanced over, saw Yancy. “Excuse me a minute. Keep going.”
“Sorry to interrupt. The wit? She tried. I used every trick I’ve got, and she tried. What I got? I’m saying fifty-fifty at best.”
He took out a sketch.
“The eyes.”
“Yeah, she was more confident there. And about the hair. She contradicted, second-guessed herself on just about everything else. Except skin color, approximate age. Clean-shaven, and she thinks slender build.”
“With me.” Gesturing, Eve crossed back to the table.
“Mr. Morganstern.”
“Carter. Your husband’s my wife’s boss. I’m not sure about the nose, but I think…”
