‘His nose was regal, no—hornish, no—bugle like. And it had all these blues lines spreading out across the bridge like a city’s streetscape at night.’

‘Ah, huh. Eyes?’

‘Oh, the eyes. Like the cobalt blue of a winter sky in the Outback, cold, empty and big.’

‘Ya could’ve just said blue. Shape?’

‘What do you mean shape?’

‘Almond, tiered, you know.’

‘No. Do you have a brochure of types to choose from?’

‘No. Maybe I should make one,’ he mumbled.

‘You should. Would save time.’

‘Ah, huh. Chin?’

‘Bearded.’

‘What kind of beard.’

‘Big bushie thing. Like the Ned Kelly beard in serious need of a barber’s visit to trim the edges.’

‘Right… Bushman’s beard. Colour?’

‘Like a toasted tortilla.’

‘What?’

‘He eats enough of them you can see the crumbs blend so well.’

‘Okay, brown beard it is. So hair is brown.’

‘No, it’s more of a Hazelwood blend that matches his baked sugar cookie complexion.’

He looks up at her, pencil paused in hand. ‘His what?’

She blinks at him and smiles. ‘I like cookies – that he stole! The monster.’

The police sketch artist arched his eyebrow at the officer seated at his desk in the police station. ‘Really, so we’re looking for a cookie monster?’