Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

“Yes, like the way you became involved with me. Venable warned you against it, didn’t he?”

“You know he did. I even tried to listen. It didn’t work out,” Eve said. “But that wasn’t the kind of involvement I was talking about.”

“Your work,” Catherine said. “That reconstruction that looks like-”

“A nightmare.” It wasn’t difficult for Eve to realize the impact her work on the skull had on Catherine. Right now she was at the stage when she’d just put in the depth markers that resembled dozens of swords sticking out of the skull. It looked as if the skull were being tortured. “I told you that I didn’t want you to watch me working on it. I was afraid it would hurt you.”

“I tried not to do it. I couldn’t help myself. There was a kind of morbid fascination.”

“There’s nothing morbid about what I’m doing,” Eve said quietly. “I’m bringing him home. I don’t care whose child he turns out to be. He’ll have a face, an identity, and I hope eventually a name. Perhaps someone will remember him and think of him with love. That’s all I care about.”

Catherine nodded. “I know it is.” She looked back at the reconstruction. “You always give your reconstructions a name.” She paused, then forced herself to continue. “What did you call him?”

“Not Luke,” Eve said. “Even if I hadn’t wanted to hurt you, I would never call a reconstruction by the name of someone who is a possible. I’m always afraid it might influence the sculpting in the final stage. His name is Jeremy.”

She could see the relief on Catherine’s face. “That’s a nice name.” She studied the reconstruction more carefully. “I’m trying to be objective, but it’s not easy. I’ve got this weird maternal feeling that you’re torturing my child. Why those stick-pins?”

“Depth markers,” Eve corrected. She finished her sandwich and leaned back in the chair. She wanted to get back to work, but she could spare a few moments to ease Catherine’s disturbance. “What do you know about forensic sculpting?”

“Not much. I read up on the age progression because I knew I was going to ask you to do it.” She grimaced. “But I never wanted to see you do this voodoo.”

“It’s not voodoo. There’s a science to it up to a point, when instinct takes over.”

“The stick-pins,” Catherine prompted. “AKA depth markers. Why do you do that?”

“They’re tissue-depth markers. They’re made of ordinary erasers. I cut each marker to the proper measurement and glue it onto its proper point on the face. There are over twenty points of the skull for which there are known tissue depths. Facial tissue depth has been found to be fairly consistent in people of the same age, race, sex, and weight.”

“How do they know?”

“There are anthropological charts that give a specific measurement for each point.”

“What do you do then?”

“I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers, then build up to all of the tissue-depth points. Someone I know once called it a sort of connect-the-dots.”

“Is it?”

“If you want to dumb it down. Only it’s three-dimensional and a hell of a lot more complicated. It’s necessary to concentrate on the scientific elements of building the face, like keeping true to the tissue-depth measurements as I fill in between the plasticine strips, considering where the facial muscles are located and how they affect the contours of the face. And then there’s the nose, which is a real headache.” She took a sip of her coffee. “But you don’t want to go into this right now. I could dazzle you with measurements of the nasal spine and the midphiltrum tissue measurements and how I finally get down to the basic answers, but all I really want to do is make you comfortable with what I’m doing to Jeremy here. It’s not voodoo, it’s science.” She smiled. “And instinct. After all the measurements and calculated judgments, it all ends with Jeremy and me one-on-one. In those hours, I’ll try to let him tell me who he really is. I think perhaps he will. That’s what this is all about. Do you understand now?”

Catherine nodded slowly.

“Good.” Eve finished her coffee and got to her feet. “Because I have to get back to work. What have you been doing when you weren’t trying to make me eat? Has Kelly come up with anything?”

“Nothing definitive. I’ve been combing through the reports too, but I can’t see anything that will help us. Kelsov has been tapping all his contacts and no one knows anything. It’s as if Rakovac has dropped off the edge of the world.”

“We should be so lucky.” Eve moved toward the worktable, where her reconstruction waited. “I talked to Joe on the phone this morning and he said Venable was working frantically to locate the bastard but time is running out.”

“What about Homeland Security? Dammit, can’t they just close down the airports?”

“Venable gave them all the information he has but you know they won’t act without more proof. That’s why that suicide bomber threw out that red herring about belonging to another terrorist group. Homeland Security is running around trying to pump everyone about members of Red Darkness.”

“Typical. One of the CIA’s major problems is getting other agencies to listen to them. There’s so much bureaucracy and competitiveness that we often wonder who we’re fighting. But we know why we’re fighting, and that has to do.” She took Eve’s plate and carried it to the sink. “You need rest. Can’t you take a nap?”

“I’ll take a few hours right before the final smoothing and sculpting. I have to be fresh before I begin that part.”

“I’d think that would be a given.” She didn’t look at Eve as she rinsed the plate. “I’m trying not to bother you, but will you let me know as soon as you finish?”

“You know I will,” Eve said absently as she adjusted one of the markers on the left cheek. Clear your head. Concentrate. She had to get this part done with absolute accuracy. Yes, time was important, but she couldn’t let that influence her. “I know what it means to you. I think I’m almost done with…” She trailed off as she become lost once more in Jeremy’s world.

She didn’t hear Catherine as she left the room.

3:40 A.M.

It was time to begin.

Eve got off the couch and went into the bathroom and washed her face. She’d had two hours’ sleep but spent the last two hours just lying there and forcing herself to relax. It was enough. She’d known that she was too charged to sleep for long. Adrenaline would get her through as it always did.

Are you ready for me, Jeremy?

She moved toward the worktable.

He was waiting for her.

She stood before him.

The blank face was without identity or life.

And I’m ready for you, Jeremy.

Come to me.

Whisper your secrets.

Tell me how to bring you home.

She started to work.

Sensitivity.

Care.

Delicacy.

Don’t think.

Let the tips of fingers smooth, build, smooth again.

Help me, Jeremy.

The clay was cool, but her touch was warm, almost hot, as her fingers flew over the face.

Generic ears. She had no idea whether they had protruded or if the lobes were longer.

Nose? Another mystery.

You solve it, Jeremy.

It became shorter, slightly turned up.

Mouth?

Generic again. She had figured the width, but the shape was unknown. No expression. That could change everything, and it might affect the measurements.

Eyes?

Incredibly difficult. She had no measurements and practically no scientific indicators. Don’t get frustrated. For heaven’s sake, don’t rush. Just study the shape and angle of the orbits. The size of eyeballs was all pretty much standard and grew very little from infancy. Study the angle of the orbits and the ridge above and decide whether Jeremy’s eyes should protrude or be deep-set or fall somewhere in between.