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.”
The artist nodded gratefully and stood up.
“Wait here,” Tower said to Toni.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“But I’ve got an appointment,” she complained.
“I’ll write you a note,” Tower said. As he exited the room, he closed it behind him and turned the lock. He glanced around and spotted Detective Finch pouring himself some coffee across the room.
“Finch? Can you watch this Wit for a minute?”
Finch cast him a languid look, then nodded.
“Thanks.” Tower led the artist down the hallway and toward the public entrance to the police department. Along the way, he thanked her again. “I really appreciate you coming in to do this,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I like to volunteer. But the victims are usually…nicer.”
“Yes, they are,” he agreed.
After he showed her out, he took the drawing back to Major Crimes. Katie MacLeod stood by the coffee pot, examining the comics that Major Crimes found hilarious enough to post on the wall above the coffee maker.
“Take a look at this, MacLeod,” he said, holding it out.
Katie hesitated. “You sure you want me to look?”
“Why not?”
“Well, I just don’t want to screw things up for a photo lineup later. If I see this drawing now, then –”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tower said, even though he knew it did. She’d never be able to identify him in a lineup if this drawing looked anything like the rapist. A good defense attorney would get that identification suppressed. But right now, all he wanted to know was if this drawing was worth a damn.
Katie gave him a doubtful look, but took the drawing from his hands. She turned it over and stared at it for several long moments. Finally, she shrugged and looked up at Tower. “I don’t know. This could be anyone. It looks like Mr. WASP.”
“I know,” Tower said. Then he urged, “But try.”
Katie returned her gaze to the sketch. “Like I said, I couldn’t see much. The shape of the head looks right, I suppose. I got a glimpse of his silhouette. But other than that?” She shook her head. “Sorry.”
Tower took the picture. “It’s okay. Thanks for looking.”
“You know, there’s probably a thousand guys in River City who look like that,” Katie observed.
“At least,” Tower agreed.
Katie nodded. After a moment, she stood to go. “Okay, well, good luck.”
“Are you working tonight?”
“Yes.”
“First night back?”
“Yes. Why?”
Tower reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “Be careful, MacLeod. That’s all.”
He turned away before she could answer, heading back to the interview room. He caught Finch’s eye as he neared the door and nodded his thanks. The other detective returned his nod without a word and strolled away.
Inside, he found Toni picking at a small scab on her inner elbow. She looked up when he entered.
“What the hell?” she asked. “Why’d I have to stay?”
Tower withdrew his business card and held it out for her. She stared at it without reaching to take it for several seconds. Then she asked, “What’s that?”
“What’s it look like? It’s my card.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Take it. And if you see this guy in the drawing again, you call me with everything you know. If he stops somewhere, you call 911 and tell them I told you to call. Understand?”
She continued to stare at the proffered card, shaking her head. “You know what happens to snitches out on the street?” she asked him.
Tower resisted frowning. In his experience, almost everyone on the street was a snitch. They all just had different breaking points. Instead of telling her that, he said, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Even in prison, no one likes a rapist, Toni. Take the card.”
She glanced from his face to the card and back again.
“Take it,” he instructed her again.
She sighed, reached out and snatched the card from his hand. As she tucked it into her purse, she suddenly paused. Then she looked up at him, her face brightening. “Hey, do you think there might be a reward for that? Like, some cash or something?”
Tower smiled indulgently. “I’m sure there will be.”
2112 hours
Katie sat at the roll call table, focusing on Sergeant Shen as he listed several drug houses in the sector that needed attention. She felt the eyes of her platoon mates drifting to her still-bruised face. The attention made her feel warm and uncomfortable.
When he’d finished with his list, Shen looked up at the assembled group. If he sensed the discomfort among the group, he chose to ignore it. “Last thing. Sully and Battaglia, you two are doubled up tonight.”
“Big surprise,” muttered Kahn.
“MacLeod, you team up with Westboard,” Shen added.
There was a moment of silence at the table. Even though she rode partners with Westboard once in a while, it was always at her or Westboard’s request. Shen had never assigned them together.
Katie’s discomfort at being the center of attention was overshadowed by a hot, dull anger that settled into her gut. Did Shen think she wasn’t ready to work yet? Or was he putting her with a partner just because she was female?
Before anyone could respond to the car assignments, Shen said, “All right, let’s hit the street.” Then he rose and left the table without another word.
After a short pause, the platoon members stood up and made their way out of the roll call room in ones and pairs. Katie rose along with them, not wanting to give any appearance of surprise at Shen’s decision. She thought about going into the sergeant’s office and asking him about it, but decided not to. The truth was, a partner didn’t sound too bad. Just for one night.
Down in the basement, Sully and Battaglia were in rare form. While waiting for the cars to come in from Swing Shift, they fired ethnic barbs back and forth.
“What do you call an Italian with his hands in his pockets?” Sully asked.
“What?” Battaglia asked with a scowl.
“A mute,” Sully answered, laughing.
Westboard and Katie chuckled along.
“Yeah?” Battaglia said. “Well, you know that God invented whiskey strictly so that the Irish wouldn’t rule the world.”
Sully snorted. “Like the Italians ever ruled anything.”
Battaglia snorted back. “Ever hear of Rome, Paddy?”
“Yeah, in a book about ancient history.”
“At least we had an empire.”
Sully affected his best Irish brogue. “And a grand empire ‘twas, lad.”
“You know what you call an Irishman underneath a wheelbarrow, Sully? Huh? A mechanic, that’s what.”
“Yeah? Well, you know what’s black and blue and floating in the Irish Sea?” Sully grinned. “A guy who told one too many Irish jokes.”
Battaglia grinned back and fired him a middle finger. “Like I’m afraid of you ovah heah,” he said in Brooklyn-ese. “You get outta line, I’ll just call Vinnie the Moose and –”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Kahn snapped from nearby.
Everyone fell silent. The barrel-chested veteran stood holding his patrol bag, scowling at Battaglia.
“Huh?” Battaglia asked, obviously surprised.
“You heard me. I said you should shut the fuck up.” Kahn’s low, gravelly voice rumbled and echoed throughout the sally port. “Really, give it a try. I’m sick of your Robert DeNiro, Godfather bullshit. So you’ve got an Italian last name and dark hair. So what?”
“Jimmy –”
“Don’t ‘Jimmy’ me, you goofball prick. Drop the act. This is River City. It isn’t Brooklyn.”
Battaglia stared at Kahn in shocked surprise. Sully chuckled uneasily. Kahn turned on him next.
“This isn’t Boston, either. You’re about as Irish as my goddamn boots. And I’m sick of listening to you two ass monkeys jibber-jabber like this isn’t serious work we do here. It isn’t a fucking joke. If the two of you realized that, if you didn’t treat this job like one long goddamn stand up routine, then maybe MacLeod wouldn’t be standing here looking like Rocky Balboa warmed over.”
Kahn gave each of them a hard stare. Then he muttered, “assholes,” and strode off to the far end of the sally port to wait for the first car to roll in. He didn’t look back.
“What was that all about?” Battaglia whispered.
Sully didn’t reply. He glanced sheepishly at Katie, then down at the ground.
“Jesus,” Battaglia continued. “If the guy isn’t chasing tail, he’s a giant grouch. What’s his problem, anyway?” He looked from Sully to Westboard to Katie.
No one answered.
SEVENTEEN
Saturday, April 27th
0726 hours
He spotted her as soon as she walked through the glass doors of the police department. With so little traffic on the street this early on a Saturday morning, he opted to park a half-block away to surveil the exit. He worried that he might not recognize her at that distance, but as soon as she pushed open the door, he knew.
There was still a vestige of a limp in her stride. And maybe just a trace of the shuffle he’d seen when she was playing the role of prey. As she turned and walked in the opposite direction, he stared after her. He watched her ponytail bob and bounce with each step. He thought about making it into a handle.