Peering through the heavy glass at a uniformed officer flipping the pages on a clipboard, Maggie twists her hands together nervously.
“You’re sure they won’t be able to see me?”
“They won’t be able to see you,” Wolfrom assures her. “You’re behind one way glass. They’ll know somebody is here, but nobody can see who.” Maggie nods.
Wolfrom doesn’t tell her it will be different if it gets to court. He keys the mic. “Bring them in.”
The officer opens the door and a half dozen men walk in and stand in front of the backdrop. Maggie thinks this is just like something on TV. Piece of cake.
The officer lines the men up, positioning each under a number stenciled on the wall behind them.
They all look roughly the same, white guys, under six feet, brown hair, glasses, no facial hair. Gee, they all do look alike, what’s that all about.
“Try not to look at them as a group.” Wolfrom suggests, as though reading her mind. “Just look at them one at a time, focus on each one, individually.”
Maggie nods and turns her attention to the first guy.
Wolfrom keys the mic again. “Number one step forward please.”
As he does, Maggie looks at him. Tries to see a person. Okay, wide broad face. Looks a little like Boris maybe, only shorter. Not as built. The uniformed officer signals to the man to turn and he does. Maggie shakes her head. Not him.
Wolfrom speaks into the mic again. “Thank you. Number two step forward please.”
Maggie looks at this guy.
Beyond the superficial average white guy looks these men all share, this one has sallow skin, lank hair hanging limply. The glasses reflect a wicked glint in the overhead light, making it difficult to see his eyes. Could it be this one? Or is it just because he doesn’t look as clean cut as the first one.
“Turn please number two.” As the man turns Maggie gets a good look at his profile. From this angle his nose is much more prominent. Pointy.
“Not him,” she says softly.
Wolfrom nods, and tells the mic, “That’s fine number two. Number three please. Step forward.”
Maggie watches as number three looks around nervously.
Okay, this guy is acting guilty. The question is, is it the guy? He steps forward. Another clean cut one, a hint of beard along the jawline. One of those guys needs to shave three times a day. If it was me, I’d grow a beard, she thinks.
“Turn please.”
Maggie purses her lips. Who the hell knows. He just looks like some guy. Like every other guy. So he’s acting guilty. But she doesn’t know him. She thinks. God. This is harder than she thought. Wolfrom is looking at her. She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Wolfrom nods before keying the mic. “Thank you number three. Number four step forward please.”
Oh god they all look the same. Like they were stamped out of the same mold. Wait. This one walks differently. There’s something funny about him. Like he was assembled from parts. Wound tight. The way he walks. Tense. Lopsided. Does he look like the guy? Does anybody? Does she even remember after all this time?
“Turn please number four.”
As number four turns he clenches his jaw, and Maggie can see that his jaw is out of alignment somehow. Is it because he’s clenching it or is he clenching because it’s out of alignment. There’s something. Meh.
They need an artist or somebody who knows how to look. She doesn’t know how to look at people. Or at least not how to see them. Or their parts, anyway.
What’s wrong with this picture? This guy’s glasses are a bit smaller than the others. His eyes are glittery. Is she imagining this? Is she trying to make it be one of these guys so it will be all over? Maybe.
“I don’t know about this one either.” she admits.
“Thank you number four. Number five step forward.”
Gee, where do they get these creepy guys, she thinks as she takes in the half smirk on this one’s face. Pointier chin. Glancing back at number four’s chin for a comparison she thinks, gah, after that one anybody’s chin would look pointy.
Okay okay. Look at him. Number five, Really look at him. But Maggie doesn’t want to look at him.
He’s making her feel uncomfortable. Look at him. Some wave in his hair. She doesn’t remember his hair at all, it was under the panythose. No beard, not even stubble. Perfectly round glasses like Harry Potter. Looks a bit younger than the others. He’s glancing around when Wolfrom says, “Turn please” and the guy startles. She sees the way he moves and she knows. It’s him. Chills run down her back and she starts to shake.
“That’s him. That’s the one.”
“Are you sure? Take your time.”
“That’s him that’s him that’s HIM.” Wolfrom draws back, Maggie feels suddenly light headed, dizzy even, thinks maybe she’s maybe gonna faint but then she feels bile rising, so she grabs the waste paper basket just in time.
Wolfrom looks away as she throws up. When she’s done he passes her the box of tissues, then keys the mic.
“Thank you number five. Number six step forward please.”
Maggie looks at him wanly. “But it’s number five. I made the identification.”
Wolfrom says, “Procedure.”
