“Thanks for coming down today. If you want to follow me to my desk, we can talk about what you remembered.”
We head to his desk, and I sit down, placing my hands neatly in my lap. It feels like being in front of my high school principal.
He nods at me. “You say you remembered something that might be helpful.”
“Yes, when I first came in and gave a description I was in shock, and everything was muddled. I’ve been having dreams ... well, nightmares really, and I have a much better recall of their faces and some of their distinguishing marks. One had a scar that ran down the side of his face.” I gesture from my temple down toward my cheek.
“And you’re sure?” Detective Kunes asks as he straightens like a hunting dog who just caught a whiff of prey and is about to point.
“Yes. I’m positive. He was the leader with the gun. He had a hook-shaped nose, thick, bushy black brows, and small, inset eyes. I couldn’t tell the color. He had a hood that shadowed him, but I’m shorter, so I looked up into it. He had a goatee, but it was trashy and thin as if it was just growing in or he couldn’t pull off the look. He had thin lips.”
“Let me get you set up with a sketch artist. I want you to tell him everything you’re telling me, okay?”
“Sure.” Shifting in my seat as unease fills me, I struggle with the urge to leave. I grip the arms of the chair as fear sweeps over me. Once I help identify these men, there’s no going back. Right now, all they have is a vague and extremely generic description. Disgusted by the idea of not doing my part to keep Dallas safer, I smother my doubts in a blanket of empathy. Walking away is setting up someone else, maybe another woman who won’t have a person willing to stand up for her.
Kunes returns with the same petite brunette with large, doe-shaped eyes fringed with long lashes. Her full lips are curved up in a welcoming smile. My anxiety eases as I stand.
“You remember Missy?”
“I do. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too, Quinn.”
“I’m going to have her take you to a room. She’ll let me know when you’re all finished.”
“Okay, thanks, Detective.” I follow Missy back to a room and instantly notice the silence. The police station is a hub of activity today. Phones are ringing, officers are pouring over case files, and actively booking and answering questions. Here I can really focus and think. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“Whenever you’re ready, you can start,” Missy says.
I let the imagery come forward in my mind and relay every detail I can. It’s a purge. I’m a shaken bottle uncapped and exploding. I pour out every drop. Spent, I lean back in the chair an hour later, feeling like I just underwent an intense therapy session.
She turns the last sketch toward me. “Is this the man you see?”
Chills skitter down my spine. She got him on the button—right down to the evil in his eyes and his curled up lip.
“That’s him,” I whisper.
“You did great. This is going to be a huge help to the investigation. If they’re on the books, Detective Kunes will have no trouble finding them with these. I’m going to bring him in. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”
Nodding my head, I take a sip of the water she got me somewhere between sketch one and sketch two. The door opens, and I look up at the detective. The wrinkles in his forehead and the sadness in his wizened eyes make me sit up straight.
“What’s wrong?”
He closes the door behind him. “I have good news and bad news.”
My stomach spasms. “Good news first.” I am not ready to be bogged down by more crap.
“I know who all of these men are.”
“And that’s bad why?” I ask.
“Because they’re high ranking members of the D.A.C., or Down Ass Crew.”
“The what?”
“An up and coming gang, looking to take over the establi
shed areas, absorb the weaker territories, and pit themselves against the stronger ones. The streets of Dallas are about to get bloody if we can’t crush this before the movement gets more momentum.”