The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

  “Okay.” He tugged a set of black latex gloves from his pocket and slid them on over his hands. “Lead the way.” She turned toward the yellow tape, raising it to allow him to pass first. A ring of officers and forensic technicians parted as he approached.

  For a moment, he simply stared at the scene. His brain didn’t quite process what he saw until he brushed away the shock and refocused.

  Leaning against the tree was the body of a woman, dressed like a doll. White billowy dress, knee socks, shiny patent-leather shoes. However, it was her face and eyes that took his breath away. Her eyes were tacked open, revealing unnaturally large pupils staring sightlessly at him. Her face was painted white, cheeks tinted a blush red, with eyebrows arched in a thin line. The hair, twisted into twin braids, was a wig.

  His gut clenched. When he spoke, his voice sounded ragged, rough. “It’s paint?”

  “No, it’s not paint,” Agent Vargas said. “It’s ink. All tattoos.”

  He cleared his throat. “What?”

  “Every bit of her face, scalp, and hands is covered. Must have taken weeks to do the work.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “We don’t know. There’re no signs of trauma on the body other than the eyes, and the forensic team thinks the stitch job was done postmortem.”

  “Have you searched the area?”

  “We have officers fanned out searching a half-mile radius right now.”

  Sharp stared off into the thicket of woods and spotted several uniforms canvassing the area. Beyond the woods he saw the outline of what looked like condos or apartments. “Who found the body?”

  “An early-morning jogger. He came running through about five a.m. along the path from the condos and spotted the victim. He called 9-1-1, and the responding officer immediately closed off the area.”

  “Where’s the jogger?”

  “I interviewed him and let him leave for work. I’ve his name and number if you want it.”

  “Uniforms find any evidence?”

  “So far, nothing. The front gates on the park weren’t locked, so whoever left her here could have driven her in that way, parked in the lot, and carried her the thirty feet to this spot. There are no cameras in the park or at the entrance. I think he or she could have been in and out of here in ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Assuming she was driven in.”

  “Correct.” She nodded toward a graveled path angling into the woods. “That leads to a condo complex with plenty of parking. It’s about ten yards to the parking lot. The association has an after-five-p.m. towing policy, which the killer may or may not have realized. I checked with the towing company, but they weren’t patrolling the area between one and four in the morning. The flatbed was already full, and they were taking their bounty to the impound lot.”

  “Unless our killer lives in the condos.”

  “Possible. We’ve called the management office. Got voice mail and hoping for a callback soon.”

  He squatted and studied the garish face. “The tattoos are healed. That takes a couple of weeks.”

  His gaze dropped to her hands placed so demurely in her lap. Carefully, he touched the arm and found it was locked in place by rigor mortis.

  “For the killer to position her like that would require that she still have flexibility in her limbs,” Vargas said.

  Sharp studied the wide, vacant eyes. “Twenty-four hours for rigor mortis to set the muscles, so she would have been dead at least fifteen hours before he brought her here and posed her.”

  “Jesus, what was he doing with her for fifteen hours?”

  He had an idea but didn’t want to voice it yet. Instead, he focused on her pale arms. “There’s one needle mark. Any signs of trauma?”

  “Other than the needle mark, no. The medical examiner will be able to tell us how she died. I’m betting asphyxiation or overdose.”

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “We were able to pull prints. We’ve sent them to AFIS.” AFIS was the Automatic Fingerprinting Identification System managed by the Virginia State Police.

  Sharp studied the tattooed heart-shaped lips. “This tattoo work took a lot of time and planning. You think she consented to all the tattooing?”

  “Any scenario is possible,” Vargas said. “She could be a working girl who attracts fetish customers.”

  “I’m not so sure. She wasn’t dumped. She was posed. And whoever put her here wanted her found. A panicked john wouldn’t take the time.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Whoever left her here was a careful planner,” Sharp said.

  “It’s not his first time?” Agent Vargas asked.

  “My guess is no, but if it is, he’s been fantasizing about doing this for a long time.”

  “I’m going to input the case into the FBI’s violent crimes database and see if I get any hits,” Vargas said.

  “Not a bad idea.” Sharp studied the intricate detail work on the victim’s face. “Whoever worked on her face is one hell of a talented artist. The fine lines under her eyes are perfectly smooth.”

  “Amazing in a very creepy sort of way,” she said.

  Sharp rose and took a step back. He’d thought he’d seen it all. He was wrong. “I’d like to follow this case with you.”

  She studied him. “I’m glad you said that. I think this one is going to take a hell of a lot of detective work.”

  “Understood.” He turned away from the body, knowing his expression was hard. The stone-face mask, as Tessa had once said.

  “I’ve put a call in to the medical examiner,” she said.

  “Dr. Kincaid’s one of the best.”

  “She’s in a meeting now but will return my call soon. I’ve requested her to be on scene.”

  “Good idea.”

  He looked again at the dead woman’s wide-fixed eyes. Jesus. What kind of sick fuck did this? He started walking, needing a moment away so he could calm the fury smoldering and threatening to erupt.

  Agent Vargas followed, her long legs matching his strides as he ducked under the yellow tape and pulled the cigarette pack from his pocket. He lit one and inhaled.

  “That will kill you,” she said. “Fast track.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Black lung. COPD. All that shit is linked to those sticks.”

  A trail of smoke drifted up and coiled above his head as he studied the parking lot, trying to imagine the killer driving in here late last night. With only the condos to the west, it would have been easy to come in unnoticed. There was a strip mall south of the entrance, which meant there was a chance a security camera caught an image of a passing car between one and four in the morning. “Send out a few uniforms to check the area stores. See which vehicles came up on camera last night.”

  Her tone was matter-of-fact without a trace of defensiveness. “It’s on my list. What else could I have missed?”

  “Tattoo parlors. Whoever did the work on her face is very good. Had to get training somewhere, or one of the artists might have a theory about the style or level of detail.”

  As he moved to toss what remained of his cigarette, she snapped her fingers and motioned for it. He handed it to her. She took a drag on the end of the butt, savoring the taste before she dropped it to the asphalt and ground it with her boot.

  “I hear that stuff can kill you,” Sharp said.

  “Yeah, I tell it to myself at least ten times a week as I talk myself out of the next pack. I’ve not had one in thirty days until now.”

  “Sorry to be the one to break your streak.”

  “If you hadn’t been smoking, I’d have bought a pack today. It’s going to be hard to shake the images of this case. If those tattoos weren’t her idea, then he would have needed to have worked on her for weeks.”

  He shook his head. “You really think those tattoos could have been her idea?”

  “I worked undercover vice in the beach area. Most johns are looking for straight sex, but there are some who
like the kink. She could have cornered a niche in the doll market. Fetish and fantasy pay good money, with a lot of repeat business.”

  “The tattoos appear new.”

  “She could have just decided to rebrand herself on the streets.”

  It wasn’t that Vargas couldn’t be right, but he still didn’t think the theory would pan out. Something about the entire scene suggested planning and thought. Still, he had to follow the evidence. “If she were hooking, she likely will have a record.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for. The sooner we can ID her, the better.” Vargas grabbed hold of the small cross around her neck and absently moved it back and forth on its chain. “Why did he stitch open her eyes?”

  “Makes her look more doll-like. Let’s say she was a prostitute. She might have been playing a role he took far more seriously than she did. Or maybe, it was an ego trip. He wanted her to have a good long look at the person who transformed her, then took her life.”

  “Do you really think she was dead when he stitched open her eyes?” she asked.

  “God, I hope so.”

  “Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Vargas pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Why?”

  “I’ll worry about the whys when we catch this guy.” Sharp offered her another cigarette. “Seeing as you fell off the wagon.”

  Vargas accepted the cigarette and the lighter. When the cigarette’s end glowed, she inhaled as she handed him back his lighter. “Yeah, nobody likes a quitter.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wednesday, October 5, 3:30 p.m.

  After the Terrance Dillon exam, Tessa and Dr. Kincaid autopsied a man who’d died in a car accident. By the time they’d closed up the third case, a heart attack, it was after three and Tessa’s feet and back were aching. Dr. Kincaid looked nonplussed as she stripped off her gloves and gown and tossed them into the waste bin.

  “You did well today,” Dr. Kincaid said. “It’s not normally this hectic, but you held your own.”

  Tessa pulled off her cap. “Keeping up with you will be a challenge.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  Jerry poked his head in the door. “Don’t get too comfortable, ladies. Agent Vargas called. She’d like you to visit one of her death scenes.” He glanced at a note. “Woman found in park. Covered in tattoos and no signs of trauma on the body. She’s working with Agent Sharp on the case.”

  Two murder investigations on Dakota’s plate. He would be in overdrive now, his attention focused like a laser on work.

  “What makes the case unique?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

  “Vargas said you’d need to see it to believe it.”

  “Thanks, Jerry.” Dr. Kincaid checked her wristwatch. “Looks like our day isn’t over yet.”

  “I’ll get changed,” Tessa said.

  Dr. Kincaid stopped, as if she’d caught herself. “You both were so professional this morning, it was easy to forget you two know each other.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Dr. Kincaid rubbed the side of her neck. “Why accept this job here? You knew you’d bump into him sooner or later.”

  “It’s my hometown, too. And it’s not like I hate the guy. He’s one hell of a cop.”

  “He’s intense. I like him, but I’d hate to cross him.”

  “Not a good idea when he’s on a mission to solve murder cases. He’s possessed.”

  “Because of his sister?”

  She’d never heard Dakota talk about his sister to anyone. “You know about Kara?”

  “He asked me to review her autopsy file a couple of years ago. I went over it with a close eye but didn’t discover anything that made me think the cause of death wasn’t an accidental overdose.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not sure he’ll ever know any peace.”

  “Did you know his sister?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Both of us were local girls, and we ended up at the college here together. We had a lot in common. And we got along well until that last night.” Tessa drew in a breath, knowing she was opening a door that had been so hard to close.

  “Look, I don’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s okay. Might as well tell you. Kara and I and a couple of our friends went to a fraternity Halloween party together. It was a warm Friday night, midterms had just ended, and we were ready to have a good time. I left the festivities early. I ended up getting hit by a car blocks from the party. I don’t really remember the accident or the days surrounding it. My aunt told me later friends visited me in the hospital and told me Kara’s mother was looking for her. My aunt said my cousins were there, and they offered to call around, but they all agreed what could be done to find Kara was being done. I was released on a Wednesday, the same day she was found dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Kincaid said.

  She balled up her cap and tossed it in the trash. “The whole family fell to pieces. I was on pain meds, so I really don’t remember. My cousins tell me the funeral was one of the saddest moments of their lives. It was a blur to me. Dakota couldn’t get home until a month after the funeral, and by then I was in rehab. Dakota and I didn’t meet up again until about two years ago.”

  “Ah.”

  Talking about this felt oddly disloyal to Dakota, but she wanted it out in the open. Life was full of enough drama without secrets. “We fell for each other, rushed into a marriage that imploded all in the course of one year.”

  Dr. Kincaid didn’t comment, but she was listening.

  “As you know, Dakota is totally dedicated to the job. He doesn’t rest when he has an open murder case, especially when it’s a young person. I understand somewhat where he’s coming from, but there came a point when it drove a wedge between us. When I learned about the opening on Project Identify, I took it. Now I’m back.”

  Dr. Kincaid shook her head. “He’s not changed.”

  “I know. But I have.”

  As Garrett Andrews considered taking a very late lunch, weighing the merits of Chinese versus Italian, he caught Clay Bowman’s reflection in his computer screen. Andrews turned toward the doorway, the scars from an IED explosion along his back and arms tightening as he rose.

  “Agent Dakota Sharp has sent us files,” Bowman said. “You said you wanted the first cold case Shield tackled.”

  “I thought there was going to be a review process. We’ve already received a couple dozen requests for assists.”

  “Sharp gets bumped to the front of the line.”

  Logical. He’d proved himself to be a good cop, and he’d helped close the Shark case last month. Still, Andrews liked protocol. “What’s the case he wants us to review?”

  “His half sister’s. A dozen years ago, she went missing from her college campus and five days later was found dead. The medical examiner ruled it an overdose.”

  Sharp’s emotions would understandably be running high on this case. “A tragic case, but how does it relate to us?”

  “I’m not sure it does. And if it weren’t Sharp, I’d have said no.”

  “What do you have?”

  “Sharp received case files from the former police chief who originally investigated the case. I said we’d go through the files.”

  “There’s a high probability I’ll confirm his sister made a terrible mistake that killed her.”

  “Maybe, but I’d still like you to work your magic.”

  “Not magic. Science.”

  A smile warmed Bowman’s face. “Have a look at the case.”

  Andrews was still not convinced the files deserved a second look. “The original plan for the cold cases was for me to work closely with the submitting law enforcement officer. Not possible this time. Sharp’s objectivity is compromised.”

  “Exactly why he wants us to look at the case. Is that a problem?”

  “No. Not a problem. But as you might have noticed, I’m not the best at dealing with emotional messes.”

  Bowman arched a brow. “Really? I’d always pegged you
as the warm and fuzzy type.”

  That almost prompted a smile. “You have a skewed sense of warm and fuzzy.”

  “You might be the perfect person to handle this for Sharp. He’ll need someone who’s completely detached and sees the facts for what they are.”

  “Assuming there’s any new evidence to be found.”

  “Are you telling me you aren’t up to the job?”

  A tactical challenge lurked behind the comment. Management 101. Despite recognizing this classic maneuver, he wasn’t immune to the ploy. Challenges and puzzles kept his mind engaged on the present and away from troubling replays of the past. “I’m very capable and willing.”

  “Good.”

  A half hour later, pasta in his belly and a double espresso in hand, Andrews returned to his office to find four dusty boxes on his desk. Sipping his coffee, Andrews moved to the first box and flipped off the lid. He’d barely thumbed through the first box, filled with handwritten notes of the police chief’s interviews, when Bowman reappeared.

  Without turning, Andrews set down his cup and said, “No filing system, only clumps of papers, some of which are rumpled and stained with what looks like pizza sauce. No organization. No patterns established.”

  “Making sense out of chaos is what you do best.”

  Absently, Andrews scratched fingertips over well-mapped rough scars on his left hand. “I do.”

  “If you need any assistance, ask,” Bowman said. “I want this case resolved as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get started on this straightaway.”

  “Great.”

  Alone, Andrews opened the next box and found stacks of photos. Some had been identified on the back and others left blank. As he shifted through the pictures, he found an image of four young girls dressed in jeans and sweaters in front of what looked like a college dorm. They all grinned, and interlocked arms suggested they were close. On the back there were four scrawled names. Diane, Kara, Tessa, Elena.

  He dug deeper into the files and found an image of a much younger Sharp with the girl who closely resembled him. He wasn’t more than early twenties, and she must have been about twelve. He was young and slim, and the smile on his face exhibited an exuberance Andrews suspected had long since been tempered by life.