Heart of Ice. Gregg Olsen

      The lights went up inside, and the miniblinds that covered the window/mirror rose.

      Five men stood in a row. Three were jail inmates; two were DUIs, and the third was a burglary II. One was an assistant jailer who often pulled duty for a lineup. He had the kind of bland face and average build and height that made him good filler for lineups. Mitch Crawford was also in the mix. He, like the others, was clad in jeans and a button-down shirt.

      Steffi inched forward and studied each one.

      “Take your time,” Camille said. “This isn’t about being fast. We’re looking for truth here.”

      “All right,” Steffi said, this time without a laugh.

      “I’m going to have each one move forward and turn to the right and left,” Camille said.

      One by one, each man followed the command.

      “Number five looks familiar,” Steffi said.

      “Take your time,” Camille said, her heart sinking a little.

      Donna impatiently shifted her weight and pulled her handbag close. “I think she’s doing fine.”

      Steffi looked at the defense lawyer, then back to the five men. She was so far from laughing by then, that Emily wondered if Steffi Johansson was about to cry. Frustration on her face was unmistakable. Her lips were tight and her eyes seemed glossy with tears.

      “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Number five seems so familiar, but I can’t be sure.”

      Donna Rayburn turned to leave. “This identification is over. Thanks, ladies. I’m off to Chicago.”

      No one said good-bye to Donna. She slipped away and headed toward the jail office.

      “I’m sorry,” Steffi said, a tear rolling down her check.

      “You did your best, Steffi, that’s all we can ask.”

      As the three women started to leave they saw Donna walking down the hallway. She wasn’t alone. She was chatting with man number five.

      It was Mitch Crawford.