The white piece of paper in front of her was clean, pristine, and she picked up Amanda’s stubby pencil. Derek’s drawing had given her a side view of the passenger. He’d sketched a head of spiky hair behind the closed window—it couldn’t be rolled down, she remembered from what she’d read.
She drew the figure, bigger than the original, remembering the way his nose had been shaped, how he’d had straight hair that flopped over his forehead and was long in back. Derek’s sketch had been in black and white, so she wasn’t sure of the color, but her gut instinct said black.
Somebody set a sharpened pencil next to her. She took it without hesitation.
The passenger had had the barest hint of whiskers on his chin, a chin that had been more pointed than round. He’d fit solidly in the window, not overly tall or overly short. His shoulders had been of a size that suggested strength, not bulk.
“You’re good,” someone whispered in her ear.
Janie turned to find Rafe kneeling beside her, his eyes on her drawing and a look of appreciation on his face.
She wanted that look to be aimed at her instead of the drawing.
“I’m glad he was wearing a T-shirt instead of a jacket or a hoodie. A simple T-shirt lets me pinpoint his size.”
“I’m done with my interviews and all your students have left. You were so involved I didn’t want to disturb you. Wow. I had no idea you could do something so precise. We enlarged the drawings you made that first morning, but they weren’t as sharp as this. Can you draw the driver?”
“No, in all of Derek’s sketches, the driver always appeared next to the passenger, so the passenger blocked the view of him.”
“Suggesting that Derek was more scared of the driver.”
Detective Williamson joined them, appearing just as he had at the start of class: angry and annoyed. He glanced down at the re-creation and frowned.
“Recognize him?” Rafe asked.
Williamson shook his head. “He looks like a million other kids.”
One sentence took her all the way back. She’d been a twelve-year-old runaway with a story the cops didn’t have time to hear. After all, they’d heard it from a million other kids.
She’d like to believe that Rafe was different.
But she was already very aware of how many directions he was pulled in, of his full calendar that he’d compromised because of Brittney, because of Janie. How long until he had to switch his priorities?
“I was about to ask Janie what happened in class while we were busy interrogating,” Rafe said. If he sensed the effect of Detective Williamson’s words on her, he didn’t let on. “Anything surprising happen while we were out of the classroom?”
“Like someone disappearing?”
Rafe shook his head. “Like someone acting out of character.”
“Just Amanda, and you were here for that. May I go now?” Janie took a step toward the door.
“Wait a minute, Miss Vincent.” Detective Williamson blocked her way. He shot Rafe a glare that clearly read “Back off.”
Behind her, Rafe tensed.