Chapter 22

Wednesday, June 30, 8:30 a.m.

Madeleine Deneau had driven down from Greensboro on Tuesday night, checked in at the Twin Rivers Comfort Inn, and arrived at the Sheriff's Office promptly Wednesday morning at the designated time.

Sheriff Mickelson was in the outer office, talking to the desk officer, when the statuesque brown-haired beauty arrived. Madeleine was dressed casually in a light, summery, decidedly civilian dress. It wasn't a sundress, but it was close. On her nearly six-foot frame, the effect was spectacular.

Lester Mickelson had met Madeleine before, but he didn't immediately recognize her out of uniform. Lester and the young desk officer simultaneously and consciously dulled out the lustful gleams from their eyes and greeted their visitor.

As Madeleine began to introduce herself, Lester remembered who she was and, shaking hands, invited her into his office. He asked the desk officer to summon Sam Wicks.

Sam arrived in Lester's office immediately and greeted Madeleine. He'd never actually met the young police sergeant from Greensboro -- he'd only attended a seminar where she'd been on the program. Shaking her hand, he noted immediately that she was taller than he. Her impressive height, strong handshake and stolid expression all seemed to contradict the fetching summer dress she was wearing.

"I am going to do my best, Sheriff, to help you with this assignment, but I've got to tell you, I'm not thrilled at being sent down here for still-another police artist job. I am a trained line officer, and Greensboro's been dragging me off assignment several times a month for sketch work. This is the second time this year I've been detailed to another jurisdiction. I know it's not your problem, but I have got to tell you, I don't like it worth a damn!"

The woman sat down in front of Lester's desk, glanced at Sam Wicks, and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's not professional to lay all this on you two. But I got steamed about it, driving down here last night, and the night's sleep didn't wipe it away. But I'm cool, now. Really. What's up?"

"We have two witnesses, Sergeant, who might be able to help us identify a murderer." Sam was intensely interested in getting this talented sketch artist focused on his case. At the same time, he was stunned by her spectacular beauty. He found his mind wandering and jerked himself back to the problem of the moment. "What do you need to know to help you hook up with these witnesses? Do you want to work with the two of them at the same time?"

Madeleine was all business now, her brief tantrum forgotten. "Tell me who the witnesses are," she said, "and the circumstances under which they saw the suspect."

After Sam described the separate confrontations that George Wallace and Cassino Mumford had experienced with their suspect, Madeleine decided that she should interview each witness separately. If necessary, she'd bring them together later for a joint session as a follow-up.

"Should I sit in?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so, Chief Deputy. I'll sit down with you after the individual sessions with your witnesses, and before we consider bringing the two of them in together. Can you get me set up, please?"

It was almost noon before Madeleine Deneau came by Sam's office and knocked on his open door. "Deputy Fulcher has invited Wallace and Mumford back at 2:30 for a follow-up," she said. "That's the earliest Mumford says is convenient for him."

"How'd it go?"

"Not good. These two men are not great witnesses for a sketch artist. That's why I went ahead and asked them to come back together, without consulting you first. Both of these guys are full of impressions about your man -- they tell me what kind of white man they think he was, how old he seemed, and so on, but when it gets down to the shape of his skull, what kind of eyes he had, nose, an so on, they're both pretty poor."

"I guess all us white guys look alike?"

"Yeah, there's some of that going on," Madeleine said. "Neither man met your suspect under conditions that alerted him to considering the suspect's appearance all that carefully. Mumford's situation was a bit unusual -- prosperous-looking white guy buying his old beat-up car -- but unfortunately, Mumford's the one, of the two witnesses, who's really weak at physical description. The old guy -- Wallace -- isn't bad, but I'm not at all satisfied with what either of them has given me to work with. Wallace admitted to me that my sketch didn't really look that much like the man. Unfortunately, so far we haven't been able to fix it."

"You think bringing them together will help?"

"It might. Occasionally, combining witnesses like that really clears things up -- but don't count on it."

"Want to show me what you've got so far?"

"Nope. I want lunch!" Madeleine said. "I had a light breakfast at the hotel at 7:30. Besides, I'm embarrassed to show you what I've got so far."

Sam took Madeleine to lunch at O'Grady's. When they had ordered and were sipping coffee, he told her a little about the crime. "Susan Hatfield, a friend of the victim, Emma Majeski, was having lunch with Emma a few days before the murder, outside -- right across the street from here," Sam said. "Emma pointed out a man to her friend who might be our guy. Susan Hatfield didn't get a look at his face, but she saw him, from a distance, going away. I don't suppose there's anything you can do with that?"