“I meant, without wearing gloves, although I doubt it. I can check though, unless—” Trent shot me a dubious look, “—you want to take it to the police and tell them your story.”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Yeah, I do. Okay, describe the man.”
“Well-dressed, wearing an overcoat, a good one, a hat, and as I said, gloves.”
“I mean his face.”
I closed my eyes, trying to picture it. “It was getting dark, and the brim of his hat was pulled low enough it pretty much shadowed his eyes. His nose was normal, straight, nothing that said it had ever been broken. He was clean-shaven, his lips were, hell, lips.”
“Thin, thick, full, cracked, pouty?”
“Average? I don’t know, Trent,” I replied in frustration. “Definitely not cracked. Maybe thinner than thick.”
“What about his jaw?” he asked.
“Square. Strong. Like he doesn’t take any shit. It fit his build, if that makes sense.”
“It does, which helps. What was his voice like?”