Eve caught herself leaning over Yancy’s shoulder, and eased back.
“It’s okay. Used to it. Let me tell you first, if everybody brought me witnesses like yours, my job would be a hell of a lot easier. Maybe a little boring.”
Then he glanced back at Roarke. “This is one of your programs.”
“So I see. It’s one of the best image programs on the market though we’re working on some upgrades. Still, it’s only as efficient as its operator.”
“I like to think so.”
“Can you guys get back to your admiration session later?”
“Well, take a look. Here’s the sketch your wit brought in, and here’s my revised image, after the session. See? We got a little more detail, subtle alterations, but they can boost time on an ID match.”
“Less Frankenstein,” Roarke commented.
“Yeah. The behavior of the subject tends to influence the witness’s memory of his physicality. They see this big guy pounding on a woman, and he takes on giant characteristics. Monster shit. But your wit had the basics, and he had them down. Square face, lots of forehead, shiny dome. Knowing about the sealant lets me program that element. The shades hamper the ID—eyes are the best element for a match. But from here, we start building, using the program.”
He initiated, took the sketch through the building stages. “Profile. Adding dimension, skull shape.”
Eve watched Yancy use a stylist to prompt the program, section by section, on the image.
“Ears, line of neck. Revolve to back view, other profile. Full face. Shape of the mouth, nose, angle of bone. Get it to three dimensions, add skin tone. Okay, this is the best probability, given current data. To take it the last step, you have to go with a combo of your own judgment and the comp’s. Remove shades.”
Eve stared at the eyeless face, felt a shudder run through her.
“Apt,” Roarke stated.
“Yeah.”
“His eyes could be damaged, but for ID purposes, we’re going to try the highest probabilities for the shape. Color’s not an option, though I’d lean toward dark with this skin tone and the eyebrows. Highest percentage. Going that direction, this is what I get.”
Eve studied the finished image. The hard, square face, soft mouth, thick eyebrows over small, dark eyes. The nose was large, slightly hooked, the ears prominent against the bald skull.
“There he is,” she said quie
tly.
“If it’s not damn near close as a photograph, you can spank me,” Yancy said. “I’ll toss this to your office unit. Got you plenty of hard copies. I’ll pass some out myself. You want me to run the ID match?”
“Shoot it to Feeney in EDD. Nobody’s faster.” Then she glanced at Roarke, saw him smile. “Hardly. That’s a hell of a job, Yancy. One hell of a job.”
“Your wits were gold.” He handed her a stack of hard copies. “Tell Peabody we’re pulling for her.”
“Bet your ass.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder, a sign of affection as much as appreciation, and hurried out. “Going to run for a match myself. Feeney’ll probably beat me to it, but we’ll get this started. And once we—shit, shit, shit.”
She yanked out her beeping communicator. Seeing McNab’s code on the readout, she stopped short. Instinctively, she reached for Roarke’s hand as she answered. “Dallas.”
“She’s awake.”
“On my way.”
Eve all but sprinted down the hospital corridor, and when an ICU attendant held up a hand, she only snarled. “Don’t try it.”
She surged through the door and straight into Peabody’s room. And stopped short.
Peabody was propped up in bed, a vague smile on her battered face. The short counter under the single window had been transformed into a garden, with flowers jammed together in such abundance their scent overpowered even the hospital scent.
McNab stood beside her, holding her hand as if he’d been glued there. Louise was on the other side. And perched on a chair was Mavis, doing some blooming of her own in florid purple and green.