Angels Fall

I do a little sketching. Even got a couple of charcoals in The Gallery."
    "I keep meaning to get in there."
    "Ought to. They've got some nice work by local artists. Still and all, I've never done anything like this before, so I did a little research on the procedure. I'm going to ask you to think in shapes first, if you can. Think of the shape of her face to begin with. Square, round, triangular. Can you do that?"
    "Yeah, I think I can."
    "Close your eyes a minute, get the picture in your mind."
    She did, and saw the woman. "Oval, I guess. But a long, narrow oval. Ellipse?"
    "That's good. On the thin side, then?'
    "Yes. She wore her hair long, and the cap—the red cap—was pulled down low on her forehead. But I got the sense of a long, narrow face. I couldn't see her eyes at first," Reece continued. "She wore sunglasses. Wraparounds, I think."
    "How about her nose?"
    "Her nose?" She drew a complete blank. "God. I don't think I'm going to be very good at this."
    "Do the best you can."
    "I think… I think long and narrow, like her face. Not prominent. I noticed her mouth more because it was moving. She was talking— yelling I thought—a lot of the time. Her mouth seemed hard to me. She seemed hard to me. I don't know how to explain."
    "Thin mouth?"
    "I don't know, maybe. It was… mobile. What I mean is she seemed to have a lot to say. And when, she wasn't talking—that I could tell—she was scowling, sneering. Her mouth kept moving. She wore earrings— hoops, I'm nearly sure, I caught the glint of them. Her hair was past her shoulders, wavy, very dark. Her sunglasses tell off when he knocked her down, but it all happened so fast. She was so angry. I had the impression of big eyes, but she was so angry, and then so shocked, and then…"
    "How about distinguishing features," Hoc continued in the same easy tone. "Scars, moles, freckles?"
    "I don't remember any. Makeup," she said suddenly. "I think she wore a lot of makeup. Red lipstick. Yes! Very red, and… it could just have been temper, but I think too much blusher. There was a vividness to her that seemed overdone, now that I think of it. Maybe temper, maybe, or too heavy a hand with the blusher. It was so far away, even with the binoculars."'
    '"That's all right. It you had to guess her age?"
    "Oh boy. Ah, late thirties maybe. Give or take a decade," Reece added and pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Hell."
    "Just go with your first impression. Is this close?"
    Reece edged forward in her chair when Doc turned the pad around.
    He was better than she'd assumed. It wasn't the woman she'd seen looking out at her from the pad, but the potential of her was there. "Okay. Okay," she muttered as one of the knots in her stomach unraveled. "I think her chin was a little more pointed. Just a little. And, um, her eyes not that round, a little longer maybe. Maybe."
    Reece picked up her tea again, used it to soothe while Doc made adjustments. "I couldn't tell the color of her eyes, but I think they were dark. I don't think her mouth was that wide. And her eyebrows—God I hope I'm not making this up—her eyebrows were thinner, really arched. Like she'd plucked them to death. When he yanked her head off the ground by the hair, her cap came off. Did I forget that before? Her cap came off. She bad a wide forehead."
    "Take a breath," Brody suggested.
    "What?"
    "Take a breath."
    "Right." When she stopped to take one, she realized how hard her heart was pounding, that her hands were starting to tremble enough to slosh the tea in her cup. "Her nails were painted. Maybe red. I forgot that, too. I can see the way they dug into the dirt while he strangled her."
    "Did she scratch him?" Brody asked her.
    "No. She couldn't. I don't think… He straddled her, and he had his knees down on her arms. She couldn't lift them to scratch at him. She didn't have a chance. Once she was down, she didn't have a chance."
    "How's this? "
    Reece studied the sketch. Things were missing, she thought. Things she wasn't sure she had the skill to convey or the artist the skill to invoke. The fury, the passion, the fear. But it was closer.
    "Yes. Yes, it's good. I can see her in it. That's what counts, isn't it?"
    "I'd say so. Let's see it we can refine it a bit. You eat one of those cookies, Reece, before Brody scarfs them all down. Dick made them. Man makes a hell of a sugar cookie."
    She nibbled on a cookie while Doc asked more questions. She drank another cup of tea while she watched as he changed or