Drea scanned the lineup carefully, looking for a familiar face. Although they all fit the basic description of the man in their shop, she didn’t think any of them were.
“Could I hear them speak?” She asked quietly.
“Certainly. What shall they say?”
“Blood pudding or Steak Tartar.”
Sandra raised an eyebrow, but leaned over the microphone. “Number One, step forward and say ‘steak tartar’.”
“Say what?” The man looked confused. He stepped forward. “Steak tartar,” he stumbled slightly over the pronunciation.
Drea shook her head. Each man stepped forward, saying the same words. Only one, Number Four, sounded close to right.
“Could Number Four say something else?” Drea said. “I’m simply not quite sure.”
“What would you like him to say?”
“I know your secret. You can no longer hide.”
Sandra gave the instructions. The man stepped forward again, saying the words rapidly.
“He has to say them like he means them,” Drea said.
“Repeat them, with feeling,” Sandra instructed.
Drea closed her eyes, listening. The man cleared his throat, then spoke in a menacing tone. Drea shook her head.
“It’s not him. It’s very close, but not him.”
“Thank you. This group can go out.” She turned to Drea. “I have another group. Would you like to see them?”
“Yes, please.”
The others filed in. Drea waited while they took their places, her eyes closed. One man tread on the heel of the fellow in front of him. The trodden upon man complained loudly, growling at the man behind him.
“Watch it, bub! Pay attention, huh?”
Drea stiffened, her eyes still closed. “Which one is that?”
“Number Six.”
“Have him say the phrase, please.” She kept her eyes closed.
Sandra gave the instructions.
He stepped forward, speaking loudly. “I know your secret. You can no longer hide.”
“That’s him. I’m sure of it.” She opened her eyes.
