“Okay, are you sure this is the best view of him?”

“I’m sure.”

“Can you see any of his hair?”

“Yes.”

“What color is it?”

“Dark, like a dark brown or maybe black.”

“What length, can you tell?”

“It looks short.”

“What about the hat? Describe the hat.”

“It’s a baseball hat, and it’s gray. Washed-out gray.”

“Okay, is there any writing on the hat or a team logo?”

“There’s a design, like a symbol.”

“Can you describe it?”

“It’s like letters overlapping each other.”

“What letters?”

“It looks like a C with a line cut through. A one or a capital I or a small L. And then there’s a circle-I mean an oval-around the whole thing.”

McCaleb was silent for a moment thinking about this.

“James,” he then said, “if I give you something to draw on, do you think you could open your eyes and draw this design for us?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I want you to open your eyes.”

McCaleb stood up. Winston had already turned the pad she had on a clipboard to a fresh page. McCaleb took it and her pen and handed both to Noone.

Noone’s eyes were open and staring blankly at the pad as he drew. He then handed it back. The drawing was as he had described it, a vertical line slashing down through a large C. This design was then captured in an oval, McCaleb handed the pad back to Winston, who briefly held it up to the mirrored window so those watching on video could see.

“Okay, James, that was good. Now close your eyes and look at the picture of the driver again. You got it?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see either of his ears?”

“One. His right.”

“Is there anything unusual?”

“No.”

“No earring?”

“No.”

“What about below the ear? His neck, can you see his neck?”

“Yes.”

“Anything unusual there? What do you see?”

“Uh, nothing. Uh, his neck. Just his neck.”

“This is his right side?”

“Yes, right.”

“No tattoo on his neck?”

“No. No tattoo.”

McCaleb blew out his breath again. He had just effectively eliminated Bolotov as a suspect after spending the day building him as one.

“Okay,” he said in a resigned voice, “what about his hands, can you see his hands?”

“On the steering wheel. They’re holding the wheel.”

“See anything unusual? Anything on his fingers?”

“No.”

“No rings?”

“No.”

“Is he wearing a watch?”

“A watch, yes.”

“What kind?”

“I can’t see. I see the band.”

“What kind of band? What color?”

“It’s black.”

“Which wrist is it on, his left or right?”

“His… right. His right.”

“Okay, can you see and describe any of his clothing?”

“Just his shirt. It’s dark. A dark blue sweatshirt.”

McCaleb tried to think of what else to ask. His disappointment in not being able to come up with a substantial lead so far was crowding his focus. Finally, he thought of something he had passed over.

“The windshield, James. Are there any stickers or anything like that on the glass?”

“Mmm, no. I don’t see them.”

“Okay, and take a look at the rearview mirror. Anything on that? Like hanging down or hooked to it?”

“Not that I can see.”

McCaleb now slumped in his chair. This was a disaster. They had lost this man as a potential court witness, eliminated a potential suspect and all they got from it was a detailed description of a baseball cap and a dentless Cherokee. He knew the last step was to take Noone forward to his last view of the Cherokee speeding away, but it was likely that if the front license plate had been covered, so too would be the rear plate.

“Okay, James, let’s hit fast forward to the point that the Cherokee is past you and you are shooting the guy the bird.”

“Okay.”

“Zoom in on the license plate, can you see it?”

“It’s covered.”

“With what?”

“A towel or a T-shirt. I can’t tell. Like the front.”

“Zoom back. Do you see anything unusual about the rear of the car?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Bumper stickers? Or maybe the car dealership’s name on the rear?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Anything on the window? Any stickers?”

McCaleb registered the desperation in his own voice.

“No, nothing.”

McCaleb looked at Winston and shook his head.

“Anything else?”

Winston shook her head.

“Do you want to bring the artist in?”

She shook her head again.

“You sure?”

She shook her head one more time. McCaleb turned his attention back to Noone though he couldn’t help but think about how this had been a gamble that had not paid off.

“James, over the next few days I want you to think about what you saw on the night of January twenty-second and if anything new comes to mind, if you remember any other details, I want you to call Detective Winston, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now I’m going to count backward from five and as I do this, you are going to feel your body rejuvenating and you will become more and more alert until I say, ‘One,’ and you become fully alert. You are going to have a high level of energy and feel like you’ve just had eight hours of sleep. You’ll stay awake all the way to Las Vegas but when you go to bed tonight, you won’t have any trouble sleeping. Okay on all of that?”

“Okay.”

McCaleb brought him out of the trance and Noone looked at Winston with expectant eyes.

“Welcome back,” McCaleb said. “How do you feel?”

“Great, I guess. How’d I do?”

“You did fine. You remember what we talked about?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. You should. Remember, if anything else comes to the surface, you call Detective Winston.”

“Right.”

“Well, we don’t want to hold you up any further. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“No problem, I didn’t think I’d get out of here until after seven. You’re giving me a head start.”

McCaleb looked at his watch and then back at Noone.

“It’s almost seven-thirty right now.”

“What?”

He looked at his watch, surprise showing on his face.

“People in the hypnotic state often lose time,” McCaleb said.

“I thought it was only like ten minutes.”

“That’s normal. It’s called disturbed time.”

McCaleb stood up and they shook hands and Winston walked him out. McCaleb sat back down and clasped his hands together on top of his head. He was bone tired and wished that he could feel like he had just had eight hours’ sleep.

The door to the interview room opened and Captain Hitchens stepped in. He had a dour expression on his face that was easy to interpret.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked as he sat down on the table next to the scissors.

“Same as you. It was a bust. We got a better description of the car but it still only narrows it down to ten thousand or so. And we got the hat, which there may even be more of.”

“ Cleveland Indians?”

“What? Oh, the CI? Maybe, but I think they have a little Indian guy on their hats.”

“Right, right. Well… what about Molotov?”

“Bolotov.”

“Whatever. I guess we’ve painted him out now.”

“Looks it.”

Hitchens clapped his hands together and after a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Winston came back in and stood there with her hands in the pockets of her blazer.

“Where’s Arrango and Walters?” McCaleb asked.

“They left,” she said. “They weren’t impressed.”

McCaleb stood back up and told Hitchens that if he got off the table he’d put it back in place and then put the light bulbs back into the ceiling. Hitchens said not to bother. He told McCaleb that he had done enough-which McCaleb took to mean in more ways than one.

“Then I guess I’ll be going,” he said. Pointing at the mirror, he added, “You think at some point I could get a copy of the tape or the transcript? I’d like to look at it at some point. Might get a few ideas for a follow-up.”