Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(29)

“I asked Colson if he got a photo of Priest from his brother. He wouldn’t answer me.”

Brennan said, “Wait a minute, are you saying this guy wasn’t Ben Priest?”

“I like to confirm everything. Not just assume.” Pine glanced at Rice. “Did you guys just assume, or did you confirm?”

“I don’t like your tone, Atlee,” replied Rice.

“And I don’t like getting played, Harry.”

Brennan kept looking between the two feds, the confusion on his features growing.

“So, Mark, I need you to come with me for the sketch artist.”

“But I got stuff to do here.”

“Find somebody else to do it.”

As they walked out into the daylight, Brennan said quietly, “What’s going on here, Agent Pine. I mean, you guys are both with the federal government, right?”

“Right. But the federal government is a big, unwieldy beast at times. And I go my own way.” She pulled out her phone and brought up the photo that Edward Priest had sent of his brother. “See the tall guy in this photo? You recognize him? Could he have also been in the group of ten with Priest?”

“No, no way. Nobody that tall was in the group. And nobody who looked close to that guy.”

“Did you take a group photo? Did anyone take photos of each other?”

“People could have taken shots of each other. But there wasn’t any group photo that I know of.”

Pine put her phone away. “Okay, let’s go see that sketch artist.”





Chapter

15



J?ENNIFER YAZZIE WAS MARRIED to Joe Yazzie Sr., who was an officer with the Navajo Nation Police. He was one of about two hundred sworn cops and pulled patrol duty working out of the Tuba City Police District on the western side of the Navajo reservation. Riding in his department-issued Chevy Blazer, Yazzie alone was responsible for about seventy square miles of territory. Pine knew he performed his duties with a Glock 22 sidearm, pepper spray, an AR-15, a shotgun, body armor, an expandable baton, and his most important tools: a calm demeanor and an understanding of the area and the people that inhabited it that came only from having grown up there.

Jennifer Yazzie worked as one of about three hundred support staff at the Nation Police. Although her main duties were in the IT department, she was an accomplished artist, having sold her pieces throughout the Southwest and having her works shown in numerous regional exhibitions. She was the police force’s unofficial sketch artist in residence.

Yazzie also worked in the Tuba City Police District, and that was where Pine drove to with Brennan.

Though she had a child who was twenty-four, Yazzie was only forty-five. She was a lean five five with long, dark hair and finely etched lines around her eyes and mouth. She possessed an easy smile, as though whatever she was doing brought her great joy.

Pine had met her within a month of moving to the Shattered Rock RA. Along with working hard to meet with all the local law enforcement agencies, she had provided them resources and assistance over many cases. Pine also had sat on her share of bar stools drinking with them, getting to know them and the policing realities here. The Bureau actually graded an agent on her ability to strike up good relationships with the locals, and would even speak directly to these other agencies, to find out whether the FBI agent in question was doing a good job at that or not.

During one of those times, Yazzie had joked with Pine that women in law enforcement were still rare enough that they all needed to keep up the professional sisterhood. Pine had agreed. The representation of women in law enforcement was still appallingly low in most parts of the country. Here, in the wild and wooly Southwest, Pine thought it was negligible.

After Pine had introduced Brennan and discussed what she needed, Yazzie led them to a small conference room, where she had not paper and brushes or pens but a laptop computer.

Yazzie smiled and said, “Like just about everything else, sketch art has gone digital.”

Pine and Brennan sat down across from her while Yazzie punched in some keys and brought up a computer program. She looked over at Brennan.

“You ready?”

He nodded. To Pine, the man looked nervous and uncertain, as though he were about to undergo a painful medical exam or polygraph instead of feeding a memory of a certain person to Yazzie, so she could recreate the image on the computer screen.

Yazzie asked a series of questions, each one a little more detailed than the last. From the basic, male or female, to the shape of a nose, the curve of a chin, the wrinkles on a neck and around the eyes, to the texture of the person’s hair, along with the color.

After about an hour of this back and forth, Yazzie swung the computer around so they could see the finished results.

“How’d I do?” she asked.

Pine watched as Brennan’s jaw dropped. “Damn, ma’am, that’s him.”

“Nice to get positive feedback,” said a smiling Yazzie.

“Jen, can you print that image out for me and also email it to me?” said Pine.

“You got it.”

As they were leaving, Pine drew Yazzie aside after telling Brennan she would meet him at the truck.

“Ran into your son the other night outside my apartment building.”

Yazzie’s easy smile devolved to a frown. “Joe Jr.?”