“Did you just chat in the church?” Hunter asked.
“No, she, uh, looked hungry. And she was. Our coffee and donuts are served just down the hall. The last area serves as a conference room, and we have a little coffee shop opened after our services and during our groups.” She gave them an awkward look. “Our childcare workers are volunteer, so I make sure there’s plenty of coffee for them.”
“You brought her in for coffee and donuts,” Amy said. “And to talk.”
Karyl nodded. “She didn’t have a donut. She had a turnover.”
“And you thought she seemed hungry? She ate it quickly?” Amy asked.
“Every bit. I offered her something else, but she refused. By the time she’d finished, she seemed to be growing nervous.”
“But you did talk,” Hunter said.
“For the length of time it took her to eat that turnover,” Karyl said. “I couldn’t help but feel she was nervous the whole time, afraid someone was going to come. She kept looking around. I asked her if she was afraid of someone and she just shrugged and said something like, ‘We all have to be careful, right?’ And I thought she might have muttered, ‘They could be anyone.’”
“And you haven’t seen her again?” Amy asked.
Karyl shook her head unhappily. “Everyone knows a young woman was murdered out here in a ‘ritualistic’ style, which has put incredible pressure on all of us. Then again, the fact she was found on a cross is something only shared with the various heads of religious houses, but I can’t help but be afraid now. For her. When I look back, the more I’m convinced she was afraid someone was going to find her.”
“Can you describe her?” Hunter asked. He saw Amy had leaned forward, slightly but intently. She was ready to listen. And he was sure she understood; a sketch was a kinder thing to show a friend or loved one or even an acquaintance. Autopsy and crime-scene photos could be heart-wrenching. And they could even be misleading, if the death had been cruel enough.
“Amy, can you draw from her words?”
She looked at him, startled.
“I’m not a police artist...” she murmured.
“You’re as good as any of them,” he said simply. “We can move your chair around the desk—if Pastor Karyl doesn’t mind—and she can watch and correct you. You have a pencil and a sketch pad, right?”
She nodded, reaching into the pocket of her navy-blue jacket. It was a new sketchbook, he noted, about the size of a trade paperback.
She brought her own chair around and sat next to Karyl.
“Okay, I, uh...” Karyl began. “She was about five-six or -seven, I think. That doesn’t matter here, right? You’re sketching her face?” she asked Amy.
“But it matters. Noted,” Amy said.
Karyl was thoughtful. “She had an oval face, very classical, I think. Large eyes, a soft brown. Her nose was straight, and she had an expressive mouth. Nice lips, large and well formed. Her hair was a light brown, just a few highlights in it.” She paused, watching Amy sketch. “Cheeks a little thinner. Lips more defined. Her brows had a perfect arch, and she had really light, feathery bangs.”
Amy kept sketching; everyone watched in silence. When she finished, she picked up her drawing.
It seemed she had caught more than just an image. There was anxiety in the young woman’s eyes in the sketch, a softness and a vulnerability about her.
Notes about her height and coloring were beneath the sketch.
Hunter wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried. Their victim on the cross had been a blonde.
Then again, hair dye was cheap. And if she’d been trying to hide, it was an easy way to change her appearance.
He couldn’t tell. The face of their victim had been too badly slashed. But Dr. Carver just might have a better idea.
“Is it her?” Karyl asked anxiously.
Hunter decided to be honest. He stared at Amy, meeting her gaze, noting the very slight shake of her head.
“No, I don’t think so,” Hunter said.
“Oh, thank God! I mean, I’m so sorry for whoever was killed, but...well, I had this terrible feeling I had failed, that I could have done more...”
Her voice trailed.
“We would like to find this young lady,” Hunter said.
“We sure would,” Jared Colby declared. “We help people. That’s our mission, to help all our brothers and sisters.”
“We’ll need you to keep in touch,” Hunter said, producing a card and his phone at the same time. He handed a card to Pastor Karyl and one to Pastor Jared at the same time, then angled his phone to take a picture of Amy’s sketch.
Jared and Karyl were staring at him.
“We’re going to ask the medical examiner to take a look, too,” he said. “Make sure we’re not mistaken. You do think the sketch is a strong likeness?” he asked Karyl.
“An uncanny likeness,” Karyl said.
“Thank you so much. If you see her again, please contact us immediately. Or Detective Mulberry as he may be closer. She may be in danger. She might have been running from someone.”
“But if she sees police—”
“She really may need to be in protective custody,” Amy said.
Karyl looked at Jared, and he gave her a firm nod. Hunter rose and Amy followed suit, pocketing her notebook. They both thanked the two of them for their time and headed out.
“I’ll have Ryan get you home,” Hunter told her. “By the way, thank you. I didn’t mean to spring it on you, but you are one hell of an artist. I’m surprised you didn’t go in that direction.”
She shrugged. “Thanks,” she said, giving him no further explanation. Instead, she asked, “Where are you heading now? What do you see as our next step?”
“I’m going exploring,” he told her.
“Pardon?”
“I want to hang around here awhile.”
“It’s night.”
“I am that observant,” he said lightly.
“Right. So—”
“I’m going back to the little coffee shop where I met up with everyone earlier. I’m going to check out the back when it closes, see if there’s any suggestion someone came or went that way, and I’ll try to chat with any locals. Maybe meet a few of the farmers.”
“All this...tonight?”
“There’s an old motel about a mile south. It’s been there since 27 was one of the main ways north, I think. I’m going to stay over tonight.”