Chapter 20

Tuesday, June 29, 11:25 a.m.

"Lester, we've got two potential witnesses to identify Emma Majeski's killer. I'd like to get them both in here and get a composite sketch done."

"Fine. Go for it."

"Lester, I don't want Wentzel to do it. Honest to God, Lester, you know that everybody Morton Wentzel sketches looks exactly alike! You can't even tell his black guys from his white guys. It'll be a complete waste of time to drag in Wallace and Mumford for a sketch by that clown. I need a police artist -- a real one."

"So, what do you suggest, Sam?"

"Madeleine Deneau, from Greensboro. I attended an State Bureau of Investigation training session where she did a sketch as part of the training -- right up there in front of the whole assembly. It was something, Lester! They had arranged for a regular guy -- a civilian -- to describe a man he'd gotten a look at before the exercise in class.

"I mean, the civilian did give her a good description, I'll admit; but, Lester, Deneau sketched out two head shots, based on the guy's description, and then they brought in the "suspect," and, Jesus! She was right on it, Sheriff! You could'a picked this guy up out of the crowd at the World Series, with a sketch like that! That's what we need, now, Lester. A police artist, not that old fart, Wentzel."

"And where's the money gonna come from, 'get an officer down here from another jurisdiction, 'detail her to work fer us?"

"Lester, it's nice how you protect the public fisc, but we don't get that many unsolved murders in Crandall County. 'You want to get reelected next year, 'seems to me it's a good idea to pull out all the stops on this one. This case has barely hit the papers yet. When the whole story starts circulating, folks'll be on your ass, Lester, wanting to know what's happening. You're going to want to have something to say."

"Morton Wentzel ain't gonna be too happy."

"I couldn't give less of a damn, Sheriff. He don't like it, let him learn how to draw, f'chrissake!"

Sheriff Mickelson relented. Working the turf he knew best, he got on the telephone and wheedled a two-day detail for a visit to Twin Rivers by Sgt. Madeleine Deneau of the Greensboro Police Department. Her commanding officer, an old friend of the Sheriff's, wasn't too difficult to persuade, but he warned Lester that Sgt. Deneau would not be pleased by the assignment.

"Madeleine thinks we use her too much on suspect sketches," he said. "She wants to be a line officer. Well. She is a line officer, really, but it's true she gets called in a lot for this kinda work. She thinks it's cramping her style, keeping her off the street -- ruining her chance of moving up as a line officer."

"Hell's bells, she's a sergeant, ain't she?" Lester was thinking about the county's own "artist," Wentzel. Wentzel wasn't even on the force; he was only a paid consultant.

"Yeah, she's a sergeant, and she made sergeant damned quick, too. But she knows there ain't no lieutenants who sit around drawing pictures. She's startin' to make noises about sex discrimination, Lester. I mean, she ain't a libber or nothin', but she's about ready to put her foot down up here. She'll come, and she's a good officer; she'll do the job for you. But she ain't gonna be real happy."

"We'll treat her good, Arne. I thank you. Please ask her to drive down here, quick as she can. We're losing time, and we gotta identify this guy soon."

Lester hung up and turned to Sam. "O.K., Sam, now you got two unhappy police artists: one you don't want, and one, don't want you. She should be here at least in time to see your witnesses first thing tomorrow. Arne says she's not real happy about being a' artist first, and a' officer second. Sounds like it'll be up to you, convince her she's doing something useful down here."

"I don't think that'll be difficult, Sheriff. Thanks for the help."