This time she chuckled. “I hope so. I learned from one of the best in the country.”
She’d spent the last hour measuring and cutting each marker. Given Jane Doe was Negroid, twenty-five to thirty-five, Kerry had used tables to determine the approximate tissue depth at each point around the face.
She picked up the first marker and glued the piece to the middle of the forehead.
After she double-checked the length, she glued three more markers. Next, she placed cotton pads behind the eyes, nose and mouth sockets so the clay would stay on the surface and not fall into the holes.
“You know, in all my years on the force, I’ve never seen anyone make one of these face things,” Grandpa said. “That’s not a real skull, is it?”
She smiled at her grandfather’s transparent interest. “Yes. I didn’t have time to make a mold.”
The cheer in his eyes disappeared. “That skull is evidence. You shouldn’t have taken it out of the morgue.”
“I’ll bring it back.” She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart still raced.
He shot her a warning look, and then relaxed. “You normally would have made a mold, right? Like out of plaster of Paris?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Why, I remember when you made a volcano for your eighth grade science fair project out of that stuff.”
She’d forgotten that catastrophe. When she’d lit the powder for the volcano to spew lava, the whole thing exploded. “This plaster is a little different.”
Grandpa fiddled with the neat row of markers. “Your sister called again today.”
Her fingers stopped moving and her stomach soured. “Did she say what she wanted?” Kerry was pleased her tone lacked emotion.
“Same as last time. She wants to talk to you. To mend the fences, so to speak.”
“I think we’ve said all we need to say to each other.” She picked up the number four marker and placed it at the top of the nose. “What could Susan say to me now that would change how she treated me?”
“She had her reasons for doing what she did.” He handed her the next marker.
Her sister had reasons all right. She wanted to be with her friends instead of with her seven-year old sister. Susan was the devil incarnate.
“Did she have a good reason for not going to Mom’s funeral?”
“Yes.”
Kerry turned toward Grandpa, and her heart skipped a beat. “What was it?” Her interest overcame her resentment.
“You’ll have to let her tell you.” He picked up a brown glass eye from the case and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “You sure this is the right size?”
His comment implied the conversation was over. “I measured the eye sockets back at the lab.” She gently extracted the eyepiece from his gnarled fingers and placed it back where it belonged. “Don’t you have to walk Buster or something?” She needed space as well as time to think, time to fight her demons—alone.
“All right. I get the hint.”
As he scooted back his chair, sharp claws scratched their way into the kitchen. Buster slid around the corner and began barking in earnest.
“I swear,” Grandpa said, “that dog can understand every word we say.” He stood. “Come on, Buster. Let’s go outside.”
Kerry went back to placing the forensic markers on the skull. Number five went on top of the upper teeth to form the lip. She figured she should have the face done within a week’s time if she hurried.
Kerry paced the police conference room, waiting for the Channel 8 camera crew and Detective Markum to arrive.
She’d only taken six days to complete the reconstruction, which was a new record for her. The first few faces she’d created had taken her close to three weeks. This time she’d gone without much sleep most nights. She yawned, the effects of strain tightening every muscle in her neck and back.
Unearthing #1 might have given her a more personal connection to the victim, which created an urgency she hadn’t felt with the other faces—or had she worked hour after tireless hour on this particular Jane Doe in order to push away the image of the infant they’d found, torn in half by an animal? The teddy bear they’d located the next day under some bush still made her sick.
Whatever it took, Kerry vowed to find the baby’s identity and to bring closure to the grieving family.
You can’t dwell on Baby Doe, or the horrors of your job will eat you alive.
Kerry mentally repeated the mantra her wonderful professor, Dr. Mary Strickland, had pounded into her head, but the usually calming refrain refused to fill the gaping hole in her heart. No doubt about it, she could handle adult skeletons a lot better than children’s.
Kerry checked her watch for the fourth time in as many minutes and smoothed the wig on the skull. The few strands of the victim’s hair she’d found underneath the skeleton had helped her estimate the hair texture and length.
She’d had to guess at the victim’s lip thickness, the size of her ears and the eye contour, but despite the judgment call, she hoped someone might recognize this poor woman.
“Hello.”
Kerry whipped around. Hunter Markum strolled into the conference room looking highly professional in his crisp, freshly pressed cop uniform that fit amazingly well over his muscled frame.
“Hi,” she shot back.
He stepped close to her, examining the clay model she gripped. His musky scent made her inwardly groan.
Don’t let him get to you, Kerry. Looks are superficial.
His hand lightly brushed Jane Doe’s head. “This is quite remarkable. She looks so lifelike.”
Some of her anxiety drained away after hearing his praise. “Thank you.” When Hunter stepped back, she was able to breathe again.
“Ready?” He remained upbeat, yet solemn at the same time.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself in front of the camera.”
He smiled at her. “You’ll do just fine. Have you ever been on TV?”
Oh God, he could tell she’d never made a plea to the public before. “No. Can’t you see I’m a nervous wreck?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do most of the talking. No one will notice you’re out of your comfort zone.”
Comfort zone? Hell, she was afraid her first real attempt at facial reconstruction wouldn’t jog anyone’s memory. Her hands were shaking, which was not a good sign.
Kerry took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. For the daughter of an actress, she should have been a natural in front of the camera. Unfortunately, she hadn’t inherited her mom’s dramatic flair.
A knock sounded at the conference room door and a cameraman and a reporter from News Channel 8 strode in. They introduced themselves. The reporter, Liz Culbertson, gave the two of them the spiel about relaxing and trying to ignore the camera. Right.
“If you two would stand by the wall,” Josh Martin, the cameraman directed, “we won’t have to worry about the reflection from the white board or the backlight from the sun coming through the blinds.”
Kerry glanced at Hunter. He looked so at ease. Lucky guy. Hunter placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her to the other side, and the room seemed to shrink from his touch. God, she didn’t need the added tension of being next to him, smelling his musky aftershave.
She needed to do what her mom always did when she performed—think of a mountain stream and forget the world was watching. Kerry had to stay calm for the relatives of this lost woman.
Kerry placed the reconstruction on the table and examined her creation one more time, looking for imperfections and uneven skin thickness. For the last time, Kerry smoothed the hair on the skull. The woman deserved to look her best.
The reporter held a white piece of paper in front of Kerry’s face. She blinked and took a step back.
“It’s for white balance,” the reporter said. “You don’t want to come out looking blue or green, do you?” Liz smiled. “Relax.”
“I’ll try.”
The cameraman turned on a strong beam that shone into Kerry’s eyes. She squinted for a moment, then tried to do as Liz instructed.
“Ready when you are, Liz,” Josh directed.