The Local News by Miriam Gershow

Author:Miriam Gershow [Gershow, Miriam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Literary
ISBN: 9780385529709
Publisher: Spiegel & Grau
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The mug books were thick, wide, heavy photo albums; you had to turn the pages carefully, since there was very little give along the overstuffed rings. It was like looking through the family album of the most downtrodden, unkempt, red-eyed family, all of whose members were alarmed by, bored with, or made tearful by the flash. Overton had sat us at a deeply nicked wooden worktable in side-by-side metal folding chairs. The picture of Roy sat between us as we paged in tandem through the albums. There were six books in all, each marked Male and dated from 1971 onward.

It was hard to match Roy with any of the men. In all the mug shots, they were too concrete, their faces too fixed, too all there. I had a sense that when I found the right fit, I would simply know. But no one even came close. Whenever anyone had the vaguest resemblance, sharing the squinty but heavily lashed eyes or the particular constellation of cheekbones and wrinkles, David would veto it.

“Nope,” he said, tapping the sketch. “Look at the axis of mouth to nose here. The nose isn’t centered. It’s way off to the right. You have to look for that asymmetry.” He pointed to Roy’s eyes. “These are uneven—look, the left one’s higher than the right. That’s a telltale characteristic. That’s not going to change. And this,” pointing to his chin. “His chin is weak. Though he could be fatter in a mug shot, so maybe we’ll see a double chin. And you can’t rely on the cheekbones in that case either. His cheeks could’ve easily been rounder under a few more pounds.” All of this came out in a low rush, David pitched forward in his chair, his eyes beady and focused. No one would take this as seriously as quickly and as unquestioningly as he did. I felt only a hint of proprietary chafing, not wanting him to suddenly be the expert on Roy or investigative techniques or whatnot. Mostly I was appreciative.

Overton seemed to have forgotten about us. A half-hour passed, and then a full hour. Every so often we would hear his voice from the front desk with that same tone of mild aggravation, and David and I would look at each other and let out a little peep of laughter.

David kept up a constant hum of noise, whistling softly or muttering, “Okay, okay, okay” or “ Umm-hmmm,” or simply making a breathy “Ah.” I found myself more than once on the cusp of telling him to knock it off, though there was something reassuring about all of his sounds, something deeply familiar, even if they were simultaneously inching their way under my skin and driving me half crazy. I took to jabbing him lightly with my elbow whenever he started doing his three-fingered drum solos against the table.

At one point a second officer—beer belly, buzz cut—came over and asked us, “You need anything, kids?” He had several red-and-white-wrapped mints cupped in his palm, and David and I looked at each other.

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