We sat in an empty office at the sheriff’s department with Doc Wilson, the county forensic sketch artist, and various people from law enforcement. J.T. had just returned from an update call to SSA Spelling. He told our boss that with any luck, we might have a composite to give to the news stations later that evening. Even though the case against our stranger in the woods was circumstantial, if the sketches matched well enough, we would go forward without hesitation. Same guy and same modus operandi in each park warranted a strong enough case to push ahead, in my opinion. Now, all we needed to know was his name and where he went.
After the introductions, the sketch artist, Connie Hiller, started with the obvious. “What was the man’s race?”
“He was white.”
Connie opened her pack and pulled out the folder for Caucasian men. She placed on the table dozens of partial face templates made of sturdy cardboard. Templates of eye colors, nose sizes, beards and mustache examples, cheekbones, face shapes, dimples, lip fullness, and eyebrow shapes all sat in front of Doc Wilson.
“This looks overwhelming,” he said.
“Don’t worry. Just tell me what you know for sure. I’ll organize everything from there. Let’s start with what you actually remember, and we’ll work our way through it. Was he clean shaven?”
“He was sporting a few days’ growth, and I couldn’t see his eyebrows because of the cap he wore.”
“So, kind of a shadowy beard and mustache, an unkempt sort of appearance?” Connie put away the cards of full mustaches and beards and kept out the shorter version of both. “More like this?”
He nodded.
“Did you notice his eye color?”
“No, but they didn’t stand out like light blue would have.”
“So dark?”
“I’d say so.” Doc pressed his temples.
I smiled at him. “You’re doing fine. Just take your time.”
Connie wrote that information down and pulled out the card for dark eyes. “Okay, was his nose sharp, hooked, wide, slender, or bulbous?”
“I didn’t see it from the side, just straight on. It looked normal, not fat or bulbous. I could use a glass of water.”
The lieutenant got up and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of cold water and a stack of plastic cups. Doc nodded a thank-you and poured himself a cup.
Connie pulled out a few nose cards and told him to choose the one that best matched our suspect. He pointed at the third one, and she set it aside.
“Only three more facial traits, Doc, and then we’ll be ready to put everything together. How about his face shape?”
“Um, I guess it would be considered kind of square. It wasn’t slender or oblong. He had a short beard, remember? I couldn’t tell you what kind of chin he had.”
“Understood.” She set the facial shape card with the others. “Okay, thick lips, average, or thin?”
“I’d say average, even though his top lip was covered with the short mustache.”
“Good. Now finally, high cheekbones or nothing noticeable, and dimples or no dimples?”
“No dimples that I noticed. Of course he didn’t grin, so I wouldn’t know for sure. And cheekbones? They weren’t high and bony, so I guess that means they were average.”
“There, we’re all done. I’m going to put these pictures together kind of like a jigsaw puzzle. I’ll draw a sketch of the composite, and then I’ll fill in anything that doesn’t look right to you with the pencil.”
Doc let out a deep breath. “I guess that wasn’t so bad.”
Connie pieced together the cardboard facial pictures and had him study the composite face. “What do you think?”
“The eyes seem too close to his nose from what I remember.”
“I can change that.” She reached for a few different sets and placed them, one by one, in the opening on the face. “Tell me when to stop.”
He tapped on the second set. “I think these might work.”
She set the rest aside. “Lean back a few feet and look at the overall picture. Is it better?”
“Yeah, we’re getting close.”
When his phone rang, the lieutenant excused himself. I glanced up and watched as he walked down the hallway until he was out of sight.
“How long will this take, Connie?” I asked.
“We should be done in thirty to forty-five minutes.”
The lieutenant returned and opened the door. “Jade, J.T., I need a word with you.”
“Excuse us. We’ll be back soon.” We pushed back our chairs and walked out of the room.
“What have you got, Lieutenant?” J.T. asked.
“Several things just came to light. First off, Baxter County Sheriff’s Department called and said they have a guy on video leaving Bull Shoals-White River State Park on foot. It was the early morning hours as well, before the park actually opened for visitors, so nobody was at the guard shack, but the camera caught him. It was light enough to see him better than on our video.”
“That’s perfect. Does the description fit our guy?”
“Yep, down to the large, dark-colored backpack. What really stands out, though, is that baseball cap. We can read the logo and the town. It’s from Conway, Arkansas, and the image is of the side of a semitrailer. It has Millstead Trucking written across it. The interesting thing is according to the map, it’s nearly a straight shot from Conway to Bull Shoals on State Highway 65.”
I slapped my hands together. The noose was tightening around the killer’s neck. “Bingo! We’re closing in on this dirtbag.”
“Not so fast, Jade,” the lieutenant said. “Why is he on foot if he’s a trucker?”
J.T. agreed. “Good point, Lieutenant. Are they emailing you that video?”
“They sure are.” The lieutenant pulled up his sleeve to check the time. “And it’s probably already sitting in my in-box.”
“I’ll check on Connie’s progress.” I turned to leave.
“Jade, I need to know if anyone other than Doc uses his truck. Forensics needs a rough idea of how many sets of prints they’re dealing with.”
“Got it. I’ll ask him and call your cell.”
J.T. tipped his head toward the lieutenant. “I’ll go with him.”
I reentered the small conference room where Connie and Doc Wilson worked together. “How’s it going?”
Connie set the pencil down. “What do you think, Doc? Is there anything else you can recall, and does this composite look like the guy?”
“You drew what I saw. Unfortunately, that baseball cap hides everything from the bridge of his nose up, including his hair, but yeah, that’s him.”
“We certainly appreciate your help, Dr. Wilson. May I?” Connie handed the pencil sketch to me. I thanked her and stared at the composite. I sat down, studied it, and held my side. “This guy—”
“Something wrong, Agent Monroe?” Connie asked.
I let out a slow breath. “No, I’m fine. I had a sharp pain in my stomach for a second. I wish the man didn’t have on that cap, but I suppose that’s deliberate on his part.” I gave the sketch back to her.
“I’ll run off a dozen copies for you, Agent Monroe.”
I turned toward Doc Wilson. “The lieutenant asked if anyone else ever uses or handles your truck.”
“Nope, just me. The wife has her own car.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. It shouldn’t be much longer with your truck.” I followed the hallway to the lieutenant’s office while I rubbed my stomach. I knew it couldn’t be the food from Roy’s—it was too delicious.
J.T. sat on a guest chair next to the lieutenant’s desk. They were both staring at the computer screen when I walked in.
“Doc Wilson says he’s the only one that uses the truck.”
“Okay, hold on.” The lieutenant called the evidence garage, where the forensic team was going over the truck. “Hey, John, it’s Lieutenant Taft. According to Agent Monroe, Doc’s fingerprints should be the only ones on the truck. There could be random ones here and there, I suppose, but he’s the only person that uses the vehicle.” The lieutenant listened for a few seconds, gave an affirmative response, and hung up. “They should be done with the truck in twenty minutes.”
I rounded the lieutenant’s desk and peered over their shoulders at the computer screen. “Looks like you have him dead to rights.”
J.T. responded. “Yeah, but with the camera mounted overhead, we don’t see his face. We do have a good lock on that baseball cap, though. It’s as clear as day. Looking at the guy, I’d put him at six three, maybe six four, and over two hundred fifty pounds. Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant?”
“That sounds about right. So we have the same cap, backpack, and dark windbreaker. The guy on both videos is one and the same, and he’s coming out of parks in two different states where similar killings took place. I’d say he’s definitely our man. What worries me the most,” Taft said, “is wondering what kind of diabolical killing tools he’s got hidden in that backpack.”