BUST TO SHOW THE MEDIA?” Nick rubbed his burning eyes and watched Oliver Harding press clay onto the cast of the skull they’d found five days earlier. The forensic sculptor was one of the best in the country. Police departments as far away as California had flown Oliver in to help identify remains.
The man could have been a shoo-in for a most realistic Santa Claus if he were about fifty pounds heavier. Nick guessed Oliver’s age as forty or so, though he’d grayed early. His rosy cheeks and ready smile had children ready to climb into his lap and ask for a bike for Christmas.
He’d driven down from Cheboygan as soon as Nick called him. The two had worked on several difficult cases over the past few years and had become friends as well as colleagues. Oliver was a fishing nut, and he’d talked Nick into going out a time or two. Nick had never picked up the passion for sitting in a boat and watching a bobber.
Oliver’s other passion was bringing closure to hurting families, and Nick always called him when he was in a tight spot.
The sculptor looked up and blinked his reddened eyes. Bits of clay clung to his neatly trimmed white beard, and his smile had dropped. Glancing at his watch, Nick realized the man had been at it for twelve solid hours so far today, after five days of the same grueling schedule. If the need wasn’t so great, Nick would have been ashamed of his insistence.
Oliver walked around to the other side of the face he was sculpting. “Nick, you know you can’t rush this. There is a time for everything under heaven. It normally takes a couple of weeks.”
“I don’t have a couple of weeks,” Nick said.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I should have something to look at by late tonight or early in the morning.” He glanced at Nick. “You should have called me when the first faceless woman turned up. I could have gotten her back to her family sooner.”
“I thought you only worked with bones.”
“Not always.” Oliver bent back over the table.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, my friend.” He glanced at Nick. “Anything on dental records?”
Nick shook his head. “There was a fire at Eve’s dental office a month ago. All the records were lost. No matches to anyone else yet.”
“Seems rather convenient.”
“I’ll do what I can. You look exhausted. Take a nap.”
“I thought so too. I bet Gideon torched the place. You’re our only hope.”
Nick wished he could sleep. His eyes burned, and his throat felt sore and scratchy. He turned away and went to look out the window. The rain had come for three solid days, and the landscape looked as dreary as he felt.
Eve’s birthday was today. In past years he would bring home flowers—carnations were her favorite—and DeBrand truffles that he ordered online. He’d turned down an invitation from his parents for dinner, but he suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Maybe he’d go after all.
Nick turned his gaze back to the worktable. The bust looked eerily like his wife. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Opening them again, he stepped closer. Eve’s face sharpened into better focus.
“It’s her,” he said hoarsely. The strength ran out of his legs. He stumbled back and fell into the chair.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Oliver said. “The painting still needs to be done. We don’t have the results back from the lab on when she died either. As backed up as they are, that may not come for weeks. What are you seeing?”
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the bust. “The bone structure, the way the eyes are set.”
Oliver winced. “Just remember, it’s hard to tell at this stage.”
He nodded, unable to trust his voice to speak. Keri. Where was she? Would Gideon have killed a child? It would be outside his MO. Nick could only pray she was alive.
He stared at the bust again. “When will you be done with the painting?”
“No later than tomorrow morning. I’ll work all night on it if I
The man could have been a shoo-in for a most realistic Santa Claus if he were about fifty pounds heavier. Nick guessed Oliver’s age as forty or so, though he’d grayed early. His rosy cheeks and ready smile had children ready to climb into his lap and ask for a bike for Christmas.
He’d driven down from Cheboygan as soon as Nick called him. The two had worked on several difficult cases over the past few years and had become friends as well as colleagues. Oliver was a fishing nut, and he’d talked Nick into going out a time or two. Nick had never picked up the passion for sitting in a boat and watching a bobber.
Oliver’s other passion was bringing closure to hurting families, and Nick always called him when he was in a tight spot.
The sculptor looked up and blinked his reddened eyes. Bits of clay clung to his neatly trimmed white beard, and his smile had dropped. Glancing at his watch, Nick realized the man had been at it for twelve solid hours so far today, after five days of the same grueling schedule. If the need wasn’t so great, Nick would have been ashamed of his insistence.
Oliver walked around to the other side of the face he was sculpting. “Nick, you know you can’t rush this. There is a time for everything under heaven. It normally takes a couple of weeks.”
“I don’t have a couple of weeks,” Nick said.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I should have something to look at by late tonight or early in the morning.” He glanced at Nick. “You should have called me when the first faceless woman turned up. I could have gotten her back to her family sooner.”
“I thought you only worked with bones.”
“Not always.” Oliver bent back over the table.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, my friend.” He glanced at Nick. “Anything on dental records?”
Nick shook his head. “There was a fire at Eve’s dental office a month ago. All the records were lost. No matches to anyone else yet.”
“Seems rather convenient.”
“I’ll do what I can. You look exhausted. Take a nap.”
“I thought so too. I bet Gideon torched the place. You’re our only hope.”
Nick wished he could sleep. His eyes burned, and his throat felt sore and scratchy. He turned away and went to look out the window. The rain had come for three solid days, and the landscape looked as dreary as he felt.
Eve’s birthday was today. In past years he would bring home flowers—carnations were her favorite—and DeBrand truffles that he ordered online. He’d turned down an invitation from his parents for dinner, but he suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Maybe he’d go after all.
Nick turned his gaze back to the worktable. The bust looked eerily like his wife. He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Opening them again, he stepped closer. Eve’s face sharpened into better focus.
“It’s her,” he said hoarsely. The strength ran out of his legs. He stumbled back and fell into the chair.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Oliver said. “The painting still needs to be done. We don’t have the results back from the lab on when she died either. As backed up as they are, that may not come for weeks. What are you seeing?”
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the bust. “The bone structure, the way the eyes are set.”
Oliver winced. “Just remember, it’s hard to tell at this stage.”
He nodded, unable to trust his voice to speak. Keri. Where was she? Would Gideon have killed a child? It would be outside his MO. Nick could only pray she was alive.
He stared at the bust again. “When will you be done with the painting?”
“No later than tomorrow morning. I’ll work all night on it if I
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