by Mary Burton
“You have five minutes.”
She’d tossed a pillow at him, but she would be downstairs in five minutes. They’d run for five miles, and though he’d slowed his pace for her sake, she did a fair job of keeping up with him.
Roger had not altered any detail in the room. Not a pillow, a picture, or the placement of her pens and papers on her desk. It was a memorial to the kid they’d both loved very much.
As Tessa hovered at the threshold, he moved to Kara’s desk and glanced at the notes she’d jotted over twelve years ago. He picked up a picture of the two of them taken on the dock at the local lake at sunset.
“Damn it.” He set the photo down.
Tessa approached and picked up the picture. “I’ve never seen this one before.”
“I never got a copy of the picture.”
Methodically he went through the drawers in the room as he would a crime scene.
“You should keep the picture.”
“It belongs here.”
“No, it belongs with you.”
He found a sketch pad in the drawer and thumbed through it. Most of the pictures were of landscapes. Sunsets. A bowl of fruit. No great artwork. And then toward the end he found the sketch of a doll. And next to the picture in Kara’s handwriting were the words Very funny.
“Have a look at this,” he said.
As she studied the image, a frown furrowed. “Someone she knew?”
“It had to be.” His gaze raked the room. “It never made sense to me that she would get in a car or leave the party with someone she didn’t know. She was too smart for that.”
“I agree.”
He searched the rest of the desk, but in the end, he found nothing that told him who would have killed his sister. His frustration growing, he saved the sketch pad for Andrews before slamming the drawer closed. “Let’s get out of here.”
He moved to take the picture from Tessa and place it back on the desk.
“You need to keep this,” she said.
“I can’t look at it every day, knowing I failed her.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t fail her. This will be a reminder that you’ll figure this out.”
“No.”
“If you don’t want it now, let me hold on to it until you’re ready.”
“Suit yourself.” He turned from the room, moving quickly, needing fresh air.
She followed and found him on the front porch, where the morning sun would warm him and the fresh air wasn’t tainted with musty scents that only reminded him of loss.
As they stood in silence, a dented old pickup truck pulled up in the circular driveway behind his car. A younger man dressed in jeans, a clean black T-shirt, and work boots got out of the truck.
Sharp moved down the porch steps. “Henry Jones, right? Terrance’s cousin.”
“That’s right.”
“What’re you doing here, Mr. Jones?”
“Here to check out the property. My dad and I work with Mr. Benson’s lawyer, Donna Conner. When a property is empty or needs tending, she calls us. The place yours now?”
Sharp glanced at the still, dark house. “I don’t know. Just found out it’s mine.”
Henry slid a hand in his pocket and rattled change. “Lots of good memories in this house. My sister used to play with Roger’s daughter.”
The smallness of this community never failed to shock him. Tessa came to his side, and he took comfort having her close. “You knew Kara?”
“I did. Nice kid. A little spoiled, but nice.” Henry shifted his stance. “You make any progress on Terrance’s case?”
He never made promises to a family when it came to finding a killer. He had always stuck to that rule. But not now. He’d find this son of a bitch. “I’ll find him.”
Henry nodded. “Thank you.”
Sharp and Tessa moved toward his car. He found himself irritated and pissed off for no other reason than this near stranger had been here when Kara had been laid to rest and he had not.
“You’ll figure it out,” Tessa said.
“You sound so sure.”
“Damn straight.”
He’d forgotten how she could steady him and pull him back from the darkness. He leaned over and kissed her. She responded immediately, grabbing his lapel and pulling him toward her. He wanted to find a quiet spot. Strip her. Be inside her. His phone buzzed with a text. At first, he ignored it, but the damn phone buzzed with a second text.
“I have to check this.” The words traveled past his lips on a sigh.
She moistened her lips. “It’s okay.”
He checked his phone. The first text read: Homicide. The second was the address.
“I’ve got to go to work,” he said to Tessa.
She squeezed his hand. “Drop me at your place and I’ll grab my car.”
“Thanks for being here.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
When Dakota dropped Tessa off at her car, she was sorry to let him go. It had been nice being with him, working beside him and being a part of his world.
She kissed him good-bye and savored the way he leaned into the kiss and cupped the side of her face with his hand. She could feel whatever indifference he’d been able to muster toward her was melting. She’d chipped away at his guard, but would it be enough for him to take a chance on them again? Being with him had exposed raw nerves of her own. She loved the man, and she didn’t want to consider they wouldn’t work out their marriage.
Before she could back out of her parking spot, a text from her office erased her good mood. Homicide. Jane Doe. You and Jerry are on point. She texted back: Sharp? And the response: Already notified.
She met up with Jerry in the office, and together they rode in the medical examiner’s van. They arrived at the crime scene in Richmond’s north side near an abandoned one-story office building. She tossed a quick glance to Jerry behind the steering wheel and slid out of the van. Neither had spoken a word on the drive, each lost in the worry that the killer Dakota was now calling the Dollmaker had claimed another victim.
A cool wind blew, and immediately her eyes swept the scene for Dakota.
She glanced toward the flap of yellow crime scene tape and spotted his broad shoulders as he knelt by the body. Despite the chill in the air, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, exposing muscled forearms, his weapon, and his badge.
He leaned toward the victim, studying her face closely as if willing her to share her secrets. When he rose, he took a step back. He turned and his gaze captured hers, and he made no move to look away. Heat rose in her cheeks as she thought about last night with him. Tessa crossed the deserted lot toward him.
She stopped at the tape and looked toward Martin, who controlled the crime scene. “Dr. Tessa McGowan with the state medical examiner’s office.”
“You’re getting to be a regular,” Martin said.
Jerry moved beside her. “Let’s have a look at the body.”
She peered at the woman slumped by the green dumpster in the lot overgrown with trees. She wasn’t dressed in special doll clothes. Instead, she wore what looked like hospital scrubs. Her face was wrapped in bandages that were partly ripped and torn.
Tessa pulled on gloves and stepped under the tape. She knelt and studied the victim. Fearing she’d compromise evidence, she couldn’t peel back any of the bandages around the scalp and face. But she could see small patches of the woman’s red and discolored face. There were also dark-purple marks on her neck and wrists. This woman’s tattooing was in the healing stage.
Her head, eyebrows, and legs had also been shaved or waxed. In fact, like the other victim, the killer had removed all traces of hair from her body.
Tessa glanced at the victim’s thumb and saw the swollen joint. She turned the hand over and found no other signs of trauma. Her wrist had been scraped raw. “My guess is she found a way to dislocate her thumb and pull free from her restraints.” She looked at the other hand. “There are scrape ma
rks on the other wrist as if she might have been clawing at the restraint. Somehow, she freed herself.”
She felt a little out of sorts in the face of this horrific violence, but as Dakota approached, her calm returned. He’d seen so much more violence than she ever dreamed possible.
“Why did he strangle her?” he asked more to himself.
She studied the fingerprint bruises ringing the woman’s neck. “The markings suggest he used his hands, not a wire or strap. Makes me think he wasn’t planning on killing her.”
“Not yet. Not this way.”
“This kill wasn’t controlled or planned.” She pointed to the thumb and torn bandages. “She got free, somehow saw her face, and scratched at the bandages. In the process, she ruined his artwork. That made him furious.” She pointed to the scratches on the victim’s face below the eyes.
“If she’s supposed to be a doll, she should be docile and quiet in his mind,” Dakota said, slipping into the psyche of the killer. “He killed her quickly and dumped her here because to him she was trash.”
“He took so much time posing the other one,” she said. “But this one didn’t deserve that kind of care.”
“Diane was his masterpiece. This one was a castoff. A broken toy.” Bitterness sharpened the words.
Tessa tilted up the victim’s face. For a moment she felt a twinge of familiarity as she tried to look beyond the trauma. “Have you or Agent Vargas found Elena Hayes?”
Dakota shoved out a sigh. “No, we haven’t. I’ve left her several voice-mail messages, and we’ve been by her apartment, where we did find a doll. I’ve had a BOLO out on her for a few days.”
She wanted to peel off the layers of bandaging right now and prove to herself this was not Elena. But she stifled the urge, knowing to do so would risk evidence contamination. But back at the lab, unmasking this victim would be her top priority. “I think you’ve found her.”
“You think this is Elena?” Dakota said.
“I’m not completely sure. It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen her, and this woman is so covered and disfigured. But it could be.”
“Run her prints as soon as you can,” he said.
She looked at him, realizing how all these years of never really accepting the cause of Kara’s death had not been off base. Knowing he’d carried this burden tore at her heart. “If this is Elena, she’s the second of Kara’s friends to die.”
The lines around his eyes and mouth furrowed deeper. “Think about the picture taken of the four of you at the party, Tessa. Kara was far left, next Diane, then Elena, and you’re on the end at the far right. If this is Elena, he’s working his way across the photo.”
The four of them were the target of a killer? Nearly impossible to grasp, but she trusted Dakota. “Jesus. Why us?”
“Hell if I know.” His words were clipped with anger and frustration. “I’m going to tell the uniform to stick to you like glue now.”
One thing to theorize but another to tie up patrol officers. “Most of my day is spent in the medical examiner’s office or surrounded by cops. It doesn’t feel right having some officer follow me around.”
“I’m not arguing this point.”
“I made it to Southeast Asia and survived the jungles without an issue. I can get by in Richmond.”
“Your team in Vietnam also had security attached to your detail twenty-four/seven.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
“You checked? With who?”
“I still have contacts.”
He’d been checking up on her while she was away. “I’m touched.”
He showed no hints of emotion. “You get a guard.”
Easier to move a mountain when his expression hardened like this. “Sure. Fine.”
As she turned to leave, he took her arm. His fingers clamped warm, gentle, and unyielding around her arm. “I’m not doing this to be a hard-ass. You have to see that we’re dealing with someone that’s clever and dangerous.”
She lowered her gaze to his fingers. She liked his touch. Wished he could pull her into an embrace and tell her that this was all a horrible nightmare. “I understand.”
Sharp and Vargas met Veronica Hayes at the medical examiner’s office. She sat in the waiting room, her back straight, her hands gripping a handbag that likely cost more than he made in a month.
“Ms. Hayes,” he said.
At the sound of his voice, Veronica rose and faced them. Three-inch heels put her at eye level with Sharp. Dark hair draped her shoulders, and a white blouse and a fitted pencil skirt showed off her trim frame. “Why am I here?”
Vargas ignored the question by asking, “Did Elena like dolls?”
The question caught Veronica off guard. “She’s a little old for dolls, don’t you think? Why do you ask?”
“We found one in her apartment when we searched the place,” Sharp said.
Veronica squared her shoulders. “I don’t know what you found, but it wasn’t hers. Dolls are not her style.”
“Did she mention seeing anyone recently that she might have crossed paths with in college?”
Veronica glanced at her phone. “No.”
A local boy. “Anyone she might have seen recently?” Sharp asked.
Her brow wrinkled with a frown. “We were in a new restaurant near the Boulevard and Cary Street intersection. What was it called? I remember. Island View. There was a guy. He spoke with her as she was coming out of the ladies’ room. They talked for several minutes. She didn’t recognize him, but she said he knew her. She said it was a little weird not to recognize someone who remembered you so well.”
“Do you have a name?” Sharp asked.
“No. I didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.”
His phone buzzed with a text from Tessa. It read: The body has been identified as Elena Hayes. He texted back, Understood.
As he raised his gaze, he realized Veronica was watching him closely. “Ms. Hayes, I don’t have good news.”
Vargas tossed him a glance, her face hardening with understanding.
Tears sparkled in Veronica’s eyes as she held up the phone. “We just need to give Elena more time to call back. She’s on some beach soaking up the rays.”
“We asked you here because we strongly suspected that the body of a woman brought in a couple of hours ago is your sister. Our office just confirmed this as true.”
“You’ve made a mistake. How did she die?” Veronica challenged.
“The medical examiner will make the final call on that.”
“The final call. How could you not know?” She took a step back, pressing her fingertips to her closed eyes. “This just makes no sense.”
Vargas handed Veronica a tissue from a small packet she kept in her jacket pocket. “I know this is horrible, but we have to know as much as we can about this man who recognized her.”
“Do you think it was this guy who hurt her?” she asked. “Would he be so bold?”
“Some killers find it exciting to hide in plain sight. Stalking their victims is also part of the thrill and the chase,” Vargas said.
“Stalk?” Her voice cracked. “This is a nightmare.”
In the moments after he’d been told about Kara’s death, he’d felt gut punched and had been sick to his stomach. He’d been unable to process much as he went to his CO and told him. It had been weeks before the marines allowed him to leave the front line.
“I want to see this woman you keep talking about,” Veronica said. “I need to prove you’re making a mistake.”
“Her face might not be what you’re expecting,” Sharp said.
A tear spilled and melted Veronica’s well-made-up face. “I want to see this woman.”
Sharp nodded. “Let me make a call.” He moved away from the two and dialed Tessa’s number. She answered on the second ring. “I have Veronica Hayes here. She wants to see her sister.”
“Give us a couple of minutes and we’ll get her ready for viewing. I’l
l come get you.”
“Thanks.”
Sharp returned to Vargas standing next to a defiant Veronica, who was impatiently tapping her foot. “Just a couple of minutes.”
“You’re wrong,” Veronica said. “Very wrong.”
“Would you be willing to meet with a police sketch artist?” Sharp said. “You might be able to create an image of this man you saw in the restaurant.”
“It was a month ago, and I really only saw him in profile.”
“It can’t hurt,” Vargas said.
Doors opened to Dr. Kincaid and Tessa dressed in scrubs. Dr. Kincaid introduced herself and Tessa to Veronica.
Veronica looked at Tessa. “I know you.”
“I went to college with your sister.”
“You lived in town, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve seen my sister?” Veronica asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it her?”
“Yes,” Tessa said.
“You’re wrong,” Veronica said. “How long has it been since you two saw each other? Twelve years?”
“If you’ll follow me, Ms. Hayes,” Dr. Kincaid interjected.
Shaking her head again, Veronica followed, her high heels clipping the tiled floor in firm taps. They entered an exam room. No instruments were on display, and the stainless-steel sinks glistened. In the center of the room was a gurney and on it a draped body.
Veronica stopped in her tracks, her body stiffening.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dr. Kincaid asked. “We made a positive identification from her fingerprints.”
“I need to see her,” Veronica said. Some of the conviction in her voice had vanished.
Dr. Kincaid moved to the head of the table. She hesitated only a moment before she peeled back the sheet. The bandages had been stripped from the face, making the healing tattoos appear all the more raw and angry.
Veronica didn’t speak but stared at the face for a long time. “Shit. This cannot be happening. She was only thirty years old.”
So was Diane. And Kara had only been eighteen.
“I’ll meet with your police sketch artist,” Veronica said. Her voice was raw with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
