Witnesses

The Sketch Artist

Agatha lay wide awake, staring at the roof as the steady thrum of rain beat in her ears. 

After finishing their conversation with Hort in the hospital waiting room, Agatha and Tedros had gone their separate ways. It wasn’t the last time they would see each other; they were scheduled to speak with a criminal sketch artist on Tuesday. After the appointment they would speak more with Hort and another officer about how they could further be of help in finding and catching the man who caused all of this. It would also give Agatha a chance to make it clear she wasn’t going to court. 

She rolled over in her bed with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help as much as she could; she would provide any helpful information as long as she was needed. No, the reason she wouldn’t go to court ran much deeper than that. 

She had been there once before. When she had been dragged, sobbing, away from her mother and out of the doors of the building, she had promised herself she would never go back. Callis had been framed; thrown in prison for someone else’s crime. No one in the room had  seemed to care that they were leaving the eleven-year-old girl, pledging her mother’s innocence, without a family. 

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut tightly when they began to well up. This only made her tears run faster, dancing across her cheeks in the moonlight filtering through her window. Her body convulsed with sobs as she took cover under her blankets, letting them cradle her to sleep as she cried. 

When Tuesday came, Agatha awoke with an odd feeling of excitement. She met Sophie at the door, dressed in a plain brown t-shirt dress paired with a jean jacket and boots, coffee thermos in hand.

“A dress? Are you getting married without even telling me?” Sophie teased, drumming pink talons against the door.

Agatha’s cheeks pinked and she turned around to grab her purse so Sophie wouldn’t see. She turned too late.

 “I see that blush missy! Are you meeting-” Her roommate gasped. “Are you meeting someone?” Sophie asked, nudging Agatha with her elbow. 

“Ow! No, for Pete’s sake, Soph! I’m going down to the police station. I have that sketch artist thing today. I just want to look somewhat...professional,” the words jumbled out of Agatha’s mouth before she rushed out of the building, leaving Sophie wearing a smirk she wished she could wipe off her face. 

Why had she chosen to wear a dress again?

“To look professional, that’s all. Geez, Sophie. Not everything is about-” Agatha’s grumbles were interrupted by the blaring honk of the car she just about stepped in front of. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” The driver yelled before pulling away, leaving Agatha in a cloud of dust. She spat after the car, tempted to whip out a middle finger. 

“Whatever,” she muttered, trudging the rest of the way to the police station. 

She was hit with a blast of cool air as she shouldered her way through the door and into the station’s waiting room. Agatha plunked down in a chair with a frustrated sigh before crossing her arms over her chest. The good mood she’d woken up with in the morning had all but been trampled underfoot.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” a cheery voice sounded from beside her. Agatha jolted in her chair, instinctively smacking the person next to her. “Ouch! Damn, you have fast reflexes,” Tedros whined, gripping his leg where she’d hit him. Agatha’s cheeks flushed. 

“Sorry, not exactly in the best mood today,” she said apologetically.
 
“You? Apologizing? Yeah, you’re definitely not feeling alright,” Tedros grinned.