Chapter 32 Dom
DOM
We were back at square one.
Boone was working his ass off, no doubt about that. But it wasn’t enough. They had questioned the loner, then let him go.
“The crime lab in Missoula is backed up,” I told Autumn, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “It could take weeks for facial recognition. And digital composite only gets you so far.”
“So what? You find a real forensic artist?” she asked.
“The sheriff’s office can’t swing that. Even Missoula PD might not have anyone on-site. I need Susan Nolan.”
Autumn tilted her head. “Who’s Susan Nolan?” Something sly uncoiled in her gaze. “And why has your face gone all blushy?”
Trust her to notice.
“She’s…a forensic unicorn,” I said. “She doesn’t just sketch. She builds faces from fractured memories and raw data. She helped me crack more cases than I can count.”
Autumn waited with a single brow raised.
I stared at the ceiling for strength. “Fine, we had a thing. A one-off. It wasn’t serious.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Autumn, I mean it.”
Her arms crossed. “Sure. Then call her. Speaker.”
I sighed. “Why stop there? Let’s go full show-and-tell.” I dropped the phone on the table and hit video.
She gave a small roll of her shoulders, full of anticipation.
Susan answered immediately.
“Powell,” she said. “Tell me, are you a full cowboy now? How many bones have you broken?”
Autumn scooted just out of frame, watching and gloating.
“Good to see you, Susan.”
Her smirk deepened. “Are you asking for an encore?” She tapped her red lips with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “With motive, or just because you miss me?”
I could feel Autumn’s stare drilling into me. A silent order that was loud as hell: Don’t you dare cut her off. Let her roast you.
Susan leaned in, as if she could see the damage from there. “Wow, you’re blushing. That’s adorable.”
I sighed. “Susan—”
“Come on! Don’t kill the vibe. Let me enjoy this. I mean, you did leave L.A. in a hurry. Then never texted back.”
“I didn’t text because I wasn’t obligated to.”
She clutched her chest. “Wow, so I really did wear you out.”
I closed my eyes while my lungs almost emptied themselves. “Susan—”
“Oh, come on. You had stamina, Powell, I’ll give you that. But even you had to tap out eventually.”
“That’s not—”
Beside me, Autumn let out a choked snort.
Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Was that—do you have company?”
I jabbed a finger at the screen. “Susan. Focus.”
Too late. Autumn’s shoulders shook with laughter.
Susan grinned like a cat spotting a cornered mouse. “Ohhh, tell me she heard that.”
“Autumn,” I muttered, “don’t encourage her.”
Autumn doubled over, her hand clamped over her mouth.
Susan looked positively delighted. “That’s a yes.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can we skip to the part where you’re the forensic artist I need?”
“Sure. But first, who’s the giggler?”
I sighed, already regretting this. With a hand on Autumn’s arm, I tugged her into the frame. “Susan Nolan, meet Autumn Jones,” I said. “Autumn, this is Susan. Artist, scientist, and relentless smartass.”
Susan’s eyes brightened. “Oh, you did well, Powell. She’s stunning. And I bet she’s smarter than you.”
Autumn beamed. “No bet. It’s a proven fact.”
Susan let out a satisfied laugh. “Did Powell ever tell you he got banned from a courthouse library?”
I groaned. “Susan—”
Autumn’s eyes sparkled. “No, but please continue.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Susan said. “So, big trial coming up. He was knee deep in legal precedents and stacks of books, with no time to breathe. He finds this one ancient volume that’s out of print and fraying at the edges, the kind of thing law nerds write odes to.”
“It wasn’t even that fragile,” I muttered.
Susan ignored me. “Library policy was no checkouts on anything from the archives. What does Powell do? He sneaks it out in his briefcase.”
Autumn choked. “You stole a book?”
“I borrowed it,” I said. “I brought it back the next day.”
Susan grinned. “With a sticky note inside that said, ‘You fought the good fight, and your margins deserve medals.’”
Autumn was wheezing now. “Stop it. You wrote to a book?”
“It had character,” I muttered.
Susan nodded solemnly. “And they banned him. One month. No exceptions.”
I shook my head. “It was worth it. That footnote won me a motion.”
Autumn beamed at me. “Of course it did.”
I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “Okay, everyone, listen up. Especially you, Susan Nolan. I need your help. There’s a missing person’s case here in our county, and Autumn might’ve seen the man involved.”
Susan’s smirk dropped instantly. “Dom…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Of course.”
“Just help us.”
She nodded, her posture straightening. “Anything you need.”
“Autumn got a good look at the guy, and we had a digital composite done. It’s not useless, but you know how it is.”
Susan groaned. “Digital sketches? Please. They’re the paper dolls of law enforcement. Click to add eyes, swap a jawline, slap on some hair.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So, can you help us redo it?”
“Of course.” She paused, then grinned. “When?”
Autumn and I exchanged glances.
Susan tapped her desk. “Come on, Powell. You didn’t call me just to reminisce. Let’s do it now.”
She was already reaching for her sketchpad and adjusting her camera. No hesitation. No “give me a day” or “let me schedule this.” Susan was ready.
“After what we just put poor Powell through,” she said to Autumn, “I’d say you’re relaxed, which helps more than you think. Tension screws with memory. People grab onto the wrong details or make up ones that were never there.”
“Okay,” Autumn said.
Susan looked at her. “This isn’t a test, and you’re not trying to get 100 percent. We’re building a rough map. If something weird pops up, say it anyway. Sometimes the truth hides in what seems off.”
They started.
Autumn began with the stiff neck. It was an unusual entry point, but Susan didn’t flinch. She just jotted it down and gently guided her toward describing his facial features.
“His face shape was kind of average,” Autumn said. “Just a regular guy. Not square-jawed or anything like that. Pretty skinny though.”
Susan hunched over her sketchpad, her movements precise and assured. She checked in now and then, tilting the pad, waiting for a nod or a correction.
“His mouth was narrow,” Autumn added. “Not pouty or wide. Just…thin.”
Piece by piece, the face took shape.
Then Susan held the final sketch up to the camera.
Autumn’s reaction was immediate. Her sharp inhale said more than any sentence ever could. The sketch was nothing like the digital composite.
“That’s him,” she finally whispered.
Susan stared at the drawing, then at us. “Jesus. I almost spooked myself drawing him.”
“Can you run it through facial recognition?”
She nodded. “I’ll queue it up. Give me two days.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Powell.” Her grin made a comeback. “You still blush like you’re twenty. Adorable.”
“Susan,” I warned, mock stern. “Work.”
“Nice meeting you, Autumn,” she said, her voice sing-song sweet.
Autumn smiled. I ended the call before Susan could get another jab in.
“You okay?” she teased in full otter mode. “Need a minute to recover?”
I rubbed my face. “I’m never calling her in front of you again.”
Before she could say anything else, an incoming call came through. Boone.
I put it on speaker.
“The site where Autumn saw the guy?” Boone’s voice was heavy. “We got nothing. The storm washed most of it out. The ground looked disturbed, but nothing conclusive.”
Autumn’s hands balled into fists. “So what now?”
I looked at her.
Now? Now we wait.
And I hated waiting.