Captured by S.J. Harper Page B

us with a shrug and a skeptical backward glance.
    I look at Zack, eyebrows raised. “This guy has a lot of fans. Think we’re wrong to suspect him?”
    Zack shrugs. “We’ll know soon enough. If the bad guys walked around like Dastardly Dan twisting his handlebar mustache, we’d be out of a job. Remember Ted Bundy? Smooth as the day is long, handsome face, disarming smile.” Zack’s phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket and checks it. “Taft just sent a text. The sketch artist is at the Andersons.”
    My gaze drifts past him to what’s going on in the office. After so many dead ends, are we finally, finally, going to have something to work with?
    “How close are they?”
    Zack takes the seat next to me in the waiting room. He’s carrying a box with two cups of coffee and a couple muffins, one blueberry, the other banana nut. “The coffee shop down the street didn’t have many options. I figured this would tide us over. If we get a break in the case, we may end up skipping lunch.” He takes a sip of coffee, makes a face. “Sorry, this one’s yours.”
    “Thanks.” I take the cup from him.
    “They’ve been at it for a full forty minutes.”
    I pull the top off the blueberry and set it aside, then start nibbling on the bottom half. “Forty-seven, but who’s counting?”
    Zack smiles before diving into the banana nut. Just as he bites down, his phone rings. It’s thrust in my direction.
    I can see it’s Taft calling. “Monroe here.”
    “What happened to Armstrong?”
    “He’s here. We don’t have anything yet. You?”
    “The sketch is finished,” he says. “I’ll send it to your phone. Want me to fax it, too, so you have a hard copy?”
    “Absolutely. Let me get the fax number here.”
    I hand the phone back to Zack and get the fax number from the gal behind the desk. She jots it down and I shove it at Zack who passes it on to Taft.
    “It’s on the way. Call once you’ve got something.” Taft rings off.
    Zack holds up his cell. “He’s sending me the Anderson sketch.”
    I set my coffee down and edge closer to the office.
    “The eyes still aren’t quite right,” I hear Natalie say. “His were more…I don’t know. Sparkly.” She looks up and sees me standing in the doorway. “Agent Monroe, we’re almost done.”
    The artist puts her pad down on the desk and stands up. “I think we’re done. I need to use the restroom.”
    I take her seat, pick up the sketch and study it. “This is the postman?”
    Natalie nods. “Yeah. That artist is really good. Do you think he saw something when Andy was taken?”
    Zack joins us. Another sketch fills the screen on his phone. It’s almost identical to the one in my lap. Natalie points to it. “That one’s better. It captures Stuart’s eyes.”
    Zack looks up. “You know his name? What else do you know about him?”
    Natalie’s face colors. “Not much, really. I chatted him up whenever he came that week. I was hoping he’d ask me out. I guess I wasn’t too subtle because he finally told me that he was married. After that, we exchanged pleasantries, but that’s it. He was a perfect gentleman.”
    “Have you seen him since he stopped coming here?” I ask.
    She shakes her head. “No.”
    We’ve got a first name, a face, a suspect.
    Zack touches my elbow. “You’ve been very helpful, Miss Schofield. If we need anything more from you we’ll be in touch.”
    Zack is on the phone as soon as we get to the car, informing Taft and Biller that the sketch from Natalie Schofield’s recollection is on the way and that we know the man’s first name—Stuart. What we want is the United States Postal Service to track him down. After listening for a few minutes, he clicks off and turns to me. “Taft and Biller are working on the warrant. They’ll call us back.”
    I drum my fingertips restlessly against the dashboard. “Do you think we’re on the right track? It feels to me like we’re on the right track.”
    “Well, if not, it’s