Cavanaugh Strong by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

“You’re just going to draw her head?” Jonas Johnson asked incredulously more than an hour later as the sketch artist turned the monitor toward him, displaying a completed version of the woman Johnson had described as the one who had talked his neighbor into buying a life insurance policy. All the specific nuances that the fussy old man had recalled had been taken into account.

However, it was apparent that Johnson felt her most important feature was being ignored.

“Yes,” Alan Kwan replied. Chosen for this particular position not just because of his ability to conceptualize random features and descriptions, turning them into realistic renditions of a whole, but for his inordinate patience, as well, Alan looked at the man who had become a definite challenge to the latter quality. “What’s wrong? Doesn’t it look like her?”

“Well, yeah,” Johnson allowed, shrugging his sloping shoulders haplessly, “but you’re not showing her best features. Trust me, if you expect people to recognize her, you should at least draw some more of her.”

“More?” Noelle asked, coming over to check on the progress that had been made. She glimpsed the exasperated look on Alan’s face before he looked her way. She felt for the man.

Johnson, sitting in the chair beside Alan’s desk, turned now to face her.

“Well, yeah,” he answered as if any fool could see what he was talking about. “The woman had a chest that could make you just fall to your knees because they got so weak. Well, maybe not you,” he amended.

“Thank you for that,” she murmured under her breath. “Sketches are usually of just the person’s head,” she told Teasdale’s neighbor.

Johnson shook his head adamantly. “But if you’re gonna show that around, I guarantee that the guys who’ll remember her ain’t gonna remember her face, not without that—other part of her in the sketch.” He chose his words more carefully because he was talking to a woman.

“Thanks. We’ll keep that in mind,” Noelle told him. She’d overheard what Johnson had said to the sketch artist and there was no way she was going to pass around a sketch of a woman with a pronounced glandular problem. Someone had to recognize her face. “Alan, would you mind getting one of the uniforms to bring Mr. Johnson back to his apartment again?”

Alan seemed more than ready to have the whiny old man taken off his hands. “You got it,” he agreed, a genuine, wide smile on his face.

“I don’t have to go right away,” Johnson protested. “I thought I could hang around here for a while, until you brought that woman in. You know, do a personal ID, that kind of stuff.”

“I’m afraid that that sort of thing might take a while, Mr. Johnson. I have your number. We can give you a call if we need you,” she assured him, then turned toward the sketch artist. “Alan, that ride...?” She let her voice trail off, thinking that the hopeful note in it was enough to tip the man off that he wasn’t the only one who really wanted Johnson taken home ASAP.

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