The Whole Truth

Chapter Three: Adele, 2011

"Can you describe the man for me once more?" Chief Parker asked, although Adele had already been through it at least twice. It was sadistic, how these guys liked her to describe it all, in detail, repeatedly. To be fair, the sketch artist had joined them, and he needed to hear it from the beginning.

But still.

Adele took another sip of heavily creamed and sugared coffee and winced. It was cold. Chief Parker, a greying gentleman with kind eyes, gestured to someone beyond Adele's vision, apparently standing behind the one-way window, and within seconds there was another steaming cup of coffee in front of Adele.

"Thank you," she said, and yawned.

The sketch artist was blonde and in plain clothes. Adele didn't know if he was actually a policeman, but he looked like a guy straight out of one of the clubs she and her friends frequented. He lay out his pad of paper and pencils and made eye contact with her. He held out a hand, and she shook it limply.

"I'm Johnny," he said. "I'm sorry to put you through this again."

"It's okay. I just... As I said before, I didn't get a great look at him. I was facing away and just got a glimpse as he was running out the door."

Adele's stomach was in knots, and repeatedly going over the story wasn't helping.

Johnny nodded. "I understand. But if we're able to get something down while the image is fresh in your mind, we can compare it with any suspects later on down the line."

Adele bit her lip. "Okay. I'll try."

Johnny gave her a sympathetic smile and held his pencil at a 45-degree angle with the paper.

"Whenever you're ready."

"I guess, um, the first thing that struck me was that he seemed tall. Not like a basketball player or anything, but I had to kind of crane my neck to see his face. Which I didn't see all that clearly, but..."

"But...?" Johnny smiled encouragingly.

Adele tore her eyes away from his. "But I thought he was cute. Like I was embarrassed to be sick in front of him." She couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth, but it was the truth. Despite the guy's messed up shirt, he didn't look different from anyone else at that party. Shouldn't she have been able to tell that there was something wrong with him? If she couldn't, did that mean something was wrong with her?

"It's okay, Adele," Johnny said gently. "You didn't know. You couldn't have."

"That was before--" She had to stop.

"Take your time," Johnny replied.

She lifted her eyes to his face. She wondered what had set him on this path in life. Had he witnessed a tragedy like this? She couldn't stop thinking about Marie. The way her head was split open. The blood. Oh god, the blood.

Burying her head in my arms, Adele said, "I don't know. Please. I'm sorry. I don't know."

"Adele," Chief Parker said, and it was a completely different voice from before. Whereas before it had been comforting, now it was firm. Authoritative. "You have to think. This is the worst crime this town has seen in years. You have to help us."

Adele took a deep breath and sat up, telling herself she could do it. "Dark hair, I think. Kinda wavy."

Johnny's pencil started to move. "What about a part? Did it seem to lay one way or the other?"

"Um, I don't know. He had facial hair. A beard." As she spoke, the picture became clearer in her head. It was just a glimpse, but something about it was significant. It was the fear in his eyes. She had been a factor he hadn't figured into his equation.

And that gave her power.

"He had blue eyes," she said. "Like ice."

"Good. That's good. Keep going," Johnny responded, adding to his picture as he spoke. "How old?"

Adele shrugged. Age was strange to her at that point in life. It seemed like people were children or her age or over the hill. "Um. Your age?" she asked, trying to avoid insult.

"Twenty-six?" he asked.

"Maybe twenty-four? Younger?" she guessed.

"How about build?"

"He was thin. Not skinny, but not with huge muscles, either. He looked like he was in shape but not a body-builder. Maybe a runner?"

Johnny's picture was starting to take shape, and Adele was impressed with how much he was able to recreate with so few details. Still, there was something missing.

Something important.

"He was wearing a t-shirt. And jeans."

"What was on the shirt?" Johnny asked.

A crapload of blood, she thought, feeling ill.

But no. That wasn't it. Beneath the gore (the blood, oh god, the blood), there had been letters. Greek. Although she hadn't made it in when she pledged with her friend Rose freshman year, she could recognize them. The shapes, at least.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"I think he's in a frat."

Johnny tapped his pencil on the outlined t-shirt.

"Can you remember the letters?"

"No, but I think I could recognize them."

It was a start.