“Why was she in jail?”
“According to Belinda, the attack happened two months ago. She never told anyone and she never sought out help after the attack. She’s been drinking heavily. Last night, she was drunk when she slammed her car into a park bench. She walked away unscathed but totaled her car as well as the bench. The judge wasn’t happy and wanted to send a message to drunk drivers.”
“Understandable.”
“He’s ready to throw the book at her. When I got the case, she started weeping almost immediately and told me about the rape. No one else knows.”
“Could be a convenient lie.” Jenna traced her finger over the smooth edge of the visitor’s table.
“I know. Believe me, I know. That’s why I’d like a picture of her attacker. If we can somehow identify him then maybe we can prove the attack happened and she can receive counseling instead of jail time.”
“Fair enough.”
Seconds later, they heard footsteps in the back hallway and the back staircase doorway swung open to a petite woman whose short, blond hair hung damp around her round face. Mascara had smudged below her eyes and the jeans and gray shirt she wore made her skin look sallow. She wore chipped red-tipped nail polish and had a small butterfly tattoo on her wrist.
Belinda’s eyes were bloodshot as she looked at Rachel with a measure of relief. “Ms. Wainwright.”
Rachel smiled. “Belinda. How’re you doing?”
“Hanging in there. I’m so tired and want to sleep but my brain won’t shut off.”
“It will later tonight and then you can get some sleep.” Rachel placed a steady hand on Jenna’s forearm. “This is Jenna Thompson. She’s a forensic artist and she’s here to help you remember the face of the man that attacked you. We’ve pulled a few strings to have her here.”
Belinda shook her head as she sat at the counter. “I don’t want to remember. I’ve been spending the last few months doing my best to forget.”
Rachel slipped behind the counter where a pot of coffee brewed. She poured her client and Jenna a cup. “You have to remember. You have to or you’re going to jail for as long as that judge can send you away. I have to prove that you’ve been suffering post-traumatic stress from the rape.”
Tears welled in her blue eyes. “I can’t.”
Jenna cleared her throat. “Rachel, why don’t you give us a few minutes. We’re just going to talk and I’m going to draw. Nothing serious. No pressure.” She’d get the image but getting the details would be slow-going.
Rachel smiled at Belinda. “I’ll leave you with Jenna. She’s a nice lady and she’s here to help.” Rising, she took a step back, hesitating when Belinda swiped a tear from her face.
Jenna sat at the counter and opened her sketchpad to a face she’d drawn earlier. She showed it to Belinda. “This is one of my drawings.”
“Is that a bad guy?”
Jenna glanced at the image of a man she’d drawn just a couple of days ago. “No, he’s a cop. Detective Rick Morgan. I draw pictures when I get bored. I just wanted you to see what I can do.”
Belinda sniffed. “It’s good.”
“I think so. Though I’m not sure of the eyes.” She studied the image with a critical eye and as with most artists thought about a dozen things she’d do differently if given another chance.
“How’d you get started drawing faces?”
“When I was fifteen I talked my aunt into letting me draw portraits in Inner Harbor in Baltimore. I set up an easel and she watched as I waited for people to stop. That first day was warm for so early in the summer and I was soaked in sweat when my first customers stopped, a woman and her boyfriend. I drew her and she loved it so much he gave me a twenty-dollar tip. I spent several summers on that corner and made money for school.”
A swinging door whooshed behind them and she realized Rachel had left. Now the work could begin.
“I know you don’t want to remember.”
“I don’t.”
“If we can get him on paper, then maybe we can get him out of your brain and nightmares.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “How’d you know he’s there?”
“Men like him thrive in the shadows. They feed on our fear and they return over and over again if we don’t find a way to lock them behind bars.”
She dropped her face to her hands. “Will he really go away?”
Jenna felt herself moving to this woman’s corner. “We won’t know unless we try.”
A ragged sigh shuddered from her small body. “Okay.”
And so the two of them began the process of questions and answers. If Jenna had been back in Baltimore she’d have had access to facial identification catalogues or even a computer. But she only had her sketchpad and charcoal. Not as easy as she’d have liked it but also not impossible.
At first Belinda sat straight, her hands fisted on the table. But as Jenna began to draw, the woman relaxed and with each swipe of the charcoal she became more drawn into the process.
By the time they’d finished the sketch, it was nearly midnight and both were exhausted. Jenna’s back ached and a dull headache pounded behind her left eye, but she considered both a small price to pay for the image that now radiated from the page.
Jenna turned the sketch around so that Belinda could get a clear view. “Is this the guy?”
She stared at it for long, tense seconds before she finally nodded. “That’s him.”
He was a man in his late thirties with a long, narrow face and sloping, wide-set eyes. Based on her description he was Caucasian with rough skin pockmarked by old acne scars.
“I’ll give this to Rachel and see what she can do with it?”
Her gaze sparked with hope and fear. “Do you think they’ll be able to find him?”
She pulled a rag from her back pocket and wiped the black charcoal from her fingers. “I don’t know, but having a face will certainly help.”