Page 32 of Trap ’N’ Trace

The reception desk, if one could call it that, was encased by tinted glass on all sides and was higher than the lobby floor, enabling the officer behind the glass to look down on anyone entering the station. She’d bet the glass was bulletproof.

Dayne tugged a black wallet from his back pocket, flipped it open, and held it up for the officer. “Special Agent Andrews and Katrina Vandenburg to see Detective Paulson. He’s expecting us.”

“Yes, sir. He’s been waiting for you. Stand by.” The officer, whom she could barely see through the tinted glass, picked up the desk phone and said something she couldn’t hear. “He’s coming right out.”

Less than half a minute later, a door on the far wall opened.

“C’mon in,” Detective Paulson said. “Your sketch artist got here a few minutes ago. He’s setting up his laptop.”

They hadn’t taken two steps when the lobby door opened, and several people entered the building. Dayne inserted himself between her and the new arrivals, eyeing them cautiously.

Would the killer really come for her inside a police station? The thought seemed ludicrous, but she appreciated Dayne’s protectiveness. Around him, her sense of safety was a solid ten out of ten.

The heavy door clunked shut behind them and they followed Paulson down a long, gray-walled corridor. They passed several uniformed officers and another man wearing a suit and tie. They all stared at her as if she were a leper. To Dayne, they offered curt greetings with quick nods.

Paulson led them into the last room on the right. Two other men in dark suits, detectives, she assumed, sat behind desks. Another man dressed more casually, in khakis and a blue polo shirt, sat at another.

“Guys,” Paulson said, “this is FBI agent Dayne Andrews and Katrina Vandenburg, the witness. She’ll be working with the sketch artist this morning.” The other detectives rose from their chairs. Both were tall and fit and could have been poster boys for police recruitment ads, but neither was as tall as Dayne or, by her estimation, as fit. “Detectives Toby Jacobs and Ron Ganelli. They’re assisting on this case.”

“Ma’am.” Detective Jacobs nodded to her then held out his hand for Dayne to shake.

Ma’am. She still hated that. Was it something they taught at police academies? It might be worth calling in a favor in Albany to change that.

Detective Ganelli gave her a polite nod, staring a bit longer than necessary and ramping up her discomfort even more. Neither man had made a move to shake her hand. Was it because she was a witness? Either way, she hadn’t been this nervous since her first cotillion.

“Jim, good to see you.” Dayne went to the third man at the desk in the corner, who stood.

“You, too, Dayne.” The two men shook hands. “Sorry to hear about Becca.”

“Thanks.” His gave a tight nod. “Kat, this is Jim Snow, the best composite sketch artist in the agency.”

Jim laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that, but hopefully I can earn that distinction today. Nice to meet you.” Mercifully, he held out his hand, giving her a genuine smile and putting her instantly at ease. “Have a seat and we’ll get started.” He pulled out the chair he’d been sitting in, waiting for her to sit before rolling over another chair next to hers.

“I’ll fill you in on what we’ve learned since yesterday,” Paulson said, walking off and indicating Dayne should follow.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was unintentionally high-pitched. She sounded like a scared rabbit.

“I’ll be right over there.” He canted his head to the fourth desk in the room where Paulson was seating himself. “I’ll check in on you.”

She nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t think these other men who also wore guns the size of small cannons wouldn’t protect her if the killer appeared out of thin air. Around Dayne she felt safer. Maybe it was because she knew him. But she didn’t, not really. So what is it about him? She honestly couldn’t say.

“Dayne already filled me in on the generalities.” Jim’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and the screen filled with individual boxes containing blank head shapes with varying hairlines. “This app has hundreds of variables to choose from. Face shape, hair, nose, lips, scars, facial hair. This little baby has it all.” He gave the top of the laptop an affectionate pat.

Across the room, Dayne sat in a chair opposite Paulson’s desk and accepted a handful of documents the detective handed him. The skin between his brows and just over his nose crinkled.

She turned to see Jim’s lips quirk. “Dayne’s a good guy and an outstanding agent. He and Remy are the best K-9 team in the business. So don’t worry. They’ve got your back.” Jim refocused his attention on the screen. “Let’s get started. Take a look at these face shapes. When you see one that resembles the guy from last night, touch your finger to the screen over the same box. You can also scroll down to find more shapes.”

“There are so many. I don’t know if I can remember all that detail.” After all, she’d only seen his face for a few seconds, and the mask still covered the top of his head.

“That’s okay.” His tone was gentle and patient. “Pick the best one you can to start, and then keep going with the other features. We can always come back and change it. Usually, what happens is, you select all the features, look at the image, then things start coming back to you. Like his nose is too long. Or his eyes aren’t set deep enough. Take your time. We’ll get there.”

Overwhelmed. That was the word that came to mind as she scrolled through the options. Finally, she stopped at a face that was neither oval nor angular. It was just plain average. When she touched her finger to one of the options, the face shape filled the screen. The left margin populated with different-shaped ears.

“Now choose the ears. Did they stick out or lie flat against the sides of his head?”

“A little of both. Somewhere in between.” Again, average. She dragged her fingers on the screen then tapped one of the images. Ears appeared on the sides of the face.

“Did you see his hair?”