“Just stretching the brain,” he told her, taking another sip.
“Always good to stretch before exercise,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to strain a brain muscle.”
“I’m not so sure I have any to strain,” Tower groused. “At least not on this case.”
“Problems?” Georgina asked, her tone a practiced casual.
Tower smiled. It would be so easy to unload on her sympathetic ear. He would feel better. Maybe even find an answer in the purging. But he’d barely be back at his desk before everyone on the department would know he couldn’t solve this case.
“Just like every case,” he told her. “Little hiccups here and there. You have to work through them, you know?”
Georgina nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Then she asked, “I heard on the news that-”
Tower’s pager beeped loudly, interrupting her. He gave her a sheepish grin, inwardly grateful for the easy extrication from what might have turned into a Georgina interrogation. He glanced down at the LED display.
“You want to use my phone?” Georgina asked.
Tower squinted at the number. It was Browning’s desk phone.
“No, thanks,” he told Georgina absently, and strode from the reception area.
I thought Browning was still on vacation.
After a short walk, he turned into the Major Crimes unit. Glenda, the Major Crimes Unit Secretary, wore a pair of headphones and was typing at something that approached light speed. Nonetheless, she spotted him and gave him a perfunctory nod as he passed.
Seated at Browning’s desk with one leg drawn up under the other, he found Katie MacLeod. She wore a pair of jeans and a simple white shirt with pink trim. Her light windbreaker was folded over the arm of the chair. Despite the yellow remnants of bruises on her face, Tower was struck by how feminine she looked.
“Are you feeling all right?”
Katie dropped her head backward and groaned at the ceiling. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
Tower didn’t reply.
Katie rolled her head to the side to meet his gaze. “Yes, I am fine. I just look like Boom-Boom Bassen after losing a fight.”
“Boom-Boom who?”
She waved his question away. “Inside joke, I guess. He’s a boxer from River City. Or he was, a couple of years ago. Anyway, I booted in a door one time while a couple inside was watching him fight on TV. I thought it was a domestic.”
“Ah.” Tower nodded. “I see. So…did you forget where I work or what?”
“No, I remember. I just didn’t want to deal with your secretary.”
“Georgina? Why?”
“She’s a nosy gossip, that’s why.”
Tower cocked his head at her. “How would you know that?”
“Are you saying it isn’t true?”
“No. But how do you know?”
Katie shrugged. “Last year, when Stef…when Kopriva was working light duty in your office, I’d come by to see him sometimes. She was always watching us. I asked him about it and he told me about her.”
Tower nodded knowingly. The rest of that conversation would probably be too painful for either of them to discuss, so he pushed on. “Are you ready for the sketch artist?”
“I don’t know,” Katie said. “I didn’t really see the guy. It was so dark and he came at me from behind.”
“Would you be willing to try?”
“I just wouldn’t know where to start.”
Tower considered, then said, “Well, here’s the thing. I’ve got another witness working with the sketch artist right now. Could you look at that drawing and tell me what you think?”
Katie shrugged. “Sure. I just don’t know how much help I can be.”
Tower reached out and touched her hand. It was surprisingly warm. “Anything helps, MacLeod.”
He turned to go.
“Tower?”
He stopped and turned back around. “Yeah?”
She stared at him, her features hard. “I’ll tell you this. If I ever hear his voice again, I’ll know.”
He nodded his understanding. They both knew that a voice identification was next to useless in court, but at this point he’d take an I.D. based on smell.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he told her.
He made his way to the interview rooms. Inside of number three, he saw Toni Redding seated with the sketch artist, an aged art instructor from the local community college. The artist sat comfortably in her chair, attending to the sketch with short pencil strokes. Her bright, intelligent eyes darted across the drawing pad as she made adjustments. Redding, on the other hand, slouched in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her crossed leg bounced in a constant jittery motion that might look to the uninitiated like a sign of impatience. But Tower knew better. Toni was tweaking.
“How are we coming along?” he asked.
The artist opened her mouth, but Toni beat her to the punch. “It’s taking forever, that’s how.”
“Almost done,” the artist said quietly, lifting her sketch slightly in Tower’s direction.
He gave her a grateful smile, then turned to Toni. “Almost done,” he repeated.
Toni snorted derisively. “That’s what she said half an hour ago.”
Tower glanced down at the nearly complete portrait. “It won’t be long now. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Coke,” Toni snapped sharply. “Two of them.”
Tower pressed his lips together, but didn’t reply. “How about you?” he asked the artist.
“No, thanks,” she said, returning to her drawing pad.
Tower headed for the refrigerator between the Sex Crimes Unit and Major Crimes. Inside, he discovered there wasn’t any Coke, so he grabbed two Pepsis instead. Then he fished a dollar out of his pocket and dropped it into the coffee can inside the fridge.
Back in the interview room, Toni curled her lip at the sign of the Pepsi cans.
“I said Coke.”
Tower set the cans on the table. “There is no Coke. We’re out.”
Toni cursed. “Pepsi isn’t as sweet as Coke.”
“They’re cold,” Tower told her. “And they’re free.”
Toni sighed, but took both cans. She slipped one into her purse. Then she opened the other can and took a long drink. When she’d finished, she smothered a burp with the back of her hand. “See?” she complained. “Not as sweet.”
Before Tower could reply, the artist announced that she was done. She handed the pencil sketch to Tower, who examined it first. The man’s appearance was nondescript. The thought that immediately leapt to his mind was ‘white bread.’
Hopefully, Tower turned the sketch around for Toni to see.
The prostitute wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “It’s close, I suppose.”
“Close?”
Toni took another long drink of her Pepsi. “Yeah. I mean, I guess it is.”
Tower looked back and forth between the two women. “You helped her with this, right?” he asked Toni.
“Yeah.”
“So, you told her how he looks.”
She shrugged and sipped again. “Sure.”
Tower looked back at the artist. The woman’s warm features didn’t completely hide her discomfort. “She wasn’t terribly… descriptive,” she told Tower.
“Bitch, I told you exactly how he looked,” Toni snapped at her.
Tower raised his hand up and held his palm in front of Toni. “Easy.”
“Well,” Toni protested, “she ought to draw it how I say it. That’s what she’s getting paid for.”
“I’m a volunteer,” the artist said quietly.
Toni snorted. “Figures.”
Tower pushed the drawing toward her face. “How is it not right, Toni?”
“It just isn’t.”
“How?” Tower asked again, raising his voice slightly.
“I don’t know,” Toni answered, matching his intensity. “It…just…isn’t.”
Tower resisted the urge to sigh. “But it’s close?”
She shrugged. “Close enough. I mean, it could be him.”
Tower looked down at the drawing again. If it were an art piece, he imagined the title would be ‘Ordinary, Average, White Guy.’ Then he turned his attention back to the artist. “Thank you,” he told her. “I can walk you out, if you want.”