You Can't Catch Me(25)

“Pictures of Jessica Two,” I say.

“Ah.”

“You want to take a look?”

“Sure.”

“Drink?”

“That too.”

I put the bags on the shelf holding the TV and pull out the Canadian Club. There are two glasses in the bathroom that seem clean, but . . . “No ice,” I say to Liam.

He’s sitting on the edge of one of the beds. It’s covered in a multicolored comforter that’s seen better days. The rug on the floor is another multicolored pattern, picked, I’m sure, for its capacity to hide stains. The furniture, such as it is, is laminated pine and probably was made before I was born.

“I think I saw a machine next to reception,” I say to Liam.

“Maybe later.”

I screw the cap off and pour us each a drink. I hand Liam his, and down half of mine. It stings in the way I was hoping the shower would.

“That’s the ticket.”

Liam gives me a look, but I wave it away with the envelope. We move to the small round table in the corner. It has a lamp suspended over it that provides some faded light. The large window that looks out over the parking lot is covered in a slatted blind that Liam rolls up. It’s close to sunset, and the sky is pink and purple over the pine forest across the road.

I place the photographs on the table one by one, then take out my own set from my bag.

“This doesn’t even look like the same person,” I say.

My Jessica Two has black hair that falls in a straight line to her chin. Her face looks narrow, her nose straight. She’s all angles. I remember thinking she was taller than I am, but we never stood next to one another. She wore heels and slim, fitted black pants. Her red lips and nails were the only other things that stood out.

In contrast, Jessie’s photographs show a redheaded woman with long, wavy hair and a rounded face. Her clothes are loose, giving the impression of a plumper body underneath.

“She’s good, I’ll give her that,” Liam says.

“What am I missing?” I finish my drink. I’d love nothing more than to pour myself another one of equal strength, but I sense judgment from Liam, so I hold back.

Liam points to how the woman in Jessie’s photographs and then mine is wearing her hair. “See here, you can’t see her ears in either photograph. Or her forehead.”

“Why’s that important?”

“It’s hard to change the shape of an ear, or where a natural hairline is.”

“She was wearing earrings. Diamond studs, I think.”

“That’s smart. It gives you something to focus on rather than their shape or other things like freckles or moles.”

“What about the nose? Isn’t that hard to change?”

Both of these women have straight noses, but one looks narrower than the other, and longer.

“That’s easy to shade with makeup.”

“How would she know how to do that?”

“There’s lots of good tutorials on changing your face contours on YouTube.”

“YouTube? You watch YouTube?”

He gives me an exasperated look. “Everyone watches YouTube.”

“Sure. YouTube, but not Facebook. Got it. And makeup tutorials, apparently. You were saying?”

“I watch them for professional reasons. Anyway, if you take a look, you’ll get an idea of what you can do. Someone with skill can completely change their appearance.”

“But what about things like height and weight?”

“That can be adjusted with shoes, clothing, padding.”

“Do you see any similarities?”

He holds up the best picture of Jessica Two from my series and one from Jessie’s. “It’s a woman.”

“Yeah, thanks, I could figure that out for myself.”

“Don’t be so sure. She could’ve been a man.”

I sit back in my chair. This has never occurred to me.

“But you said she’s not.”

“I don’t think so. The features are too fine. And see here?” He points to where Jessica Two is reaching toward the keypad in the ATM. “Her wrist is delicate. That’s another thing that’s hard to fake.”

“So, a woman. Anything else?”

“She probably is about your age, late twenties to early thirties. It’s hard to add more than four to six inches with shoes, so she’s between five feet and, say, five six. She’s white. She has light eyes since you said she did, and the redhead does, and colored contacts can only do so much. Given her wrists, she’s on the thin side, but I couldn’t say much more than that. I don’t think she has dark hair naturally—her brows aren’t dark enough. So, she likely has lighter hair, blonde or light brown.”

“Not red?”

“Strawberry blonde is possible, but she doesn’t seem to have any freckling on her arms or chest, which is definitely harder to cover up than most things, so probably not red hair.”

“Not all redheads have freckles.”

“I’m working on averages here.”

A pickup truck rolls into the parking lot. There’s a pack of kids riding illegally on the flatbed, like a scene from The Outsiders. They jump out and pull out a cooler.

“Tailgate party?” I say.