The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

Sharp didn’t need a medical examiner to tell him the knife wound had been devastatingly efficient and had ended his life swiftly. “He did not suffer.”

  She folded her face into her hands and wept. “My poor baby. How did he die?”

  “The medical examiner will make the final determination.”

  Henry glanced up at Sharp, his gaze full of fury. “Who did this?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Sharp stood still. “I know this isn’t a good time, but I need to ask you some questions about Terrance.”

  Henry’s gaze darkened. “Can you just leave her be? Shit, she’s crushed.”

  Mrs. Jones shook her head and looked up with tears in her eyes. “It’s okay. I owe it to Terry to tell what I can. Agent Sharp, go ahead and ask me any question.”

  Sharp took the seat beside her. “I understand you filed a missing persons report on Monday morning.”

  “We were expecting him home by eleven on Sunday. He’d been out with friends and said he was on his way home when he got a line on a job with the maintenance company that gives him work from time to time. We needed the money, so I let him stay out longer.”

  “What was the job?”

  “I just assumed it was Mr. Ralph Dobbins. He owns Dobbins Maintenance. Terry worked there part-time last summer. Had to quit for football practice and school.”

  Sharp scribbled down the information. “Do you know where he was calling from?”

  “He said he was outside the Quick Mart on Route 1.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Just after nine on Sunday night.” Her voice cracked, and more tears pooled in her eyes. “I thought the job was cleaning out an office building or hauling trash. I should have known it was trouble. Who offers a boy a job on a Sunday night? I should have told him to come home.”

  Henry raised his chin. “Terry was a good kid. Straight arrow. He worked for a friend of mine last summer, and I heard he was a hard worker.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Terrance?”

  Henry shrugged. “It’s been about a week. I owned a lawn business in Nashville, and I didn’t get up here much. I only just moved back a couple of months ago.”

  “Why’d you move back?” Sharp asked.

  “The work dried up in Nashville. Hoping to get more here.”

  “I have twenty-six grandchildren,” Mrs. Jones said. “It’s getting harder and harder to get them together.”

  Henry shook his head. “Grandma raised him right despite his no-account daddy, but I should’ve helped more.”

  “Mrs. Jones, I understand he’d just gotten money from you for his birthday,” Sharp coaxed.

  Henry nodded. “Twenty dollars.”

  “Was my boy robbed and killed for twenty dollars?” Mrs. Jones asked.

  “I don’t know. You said his father was in and out of prison? Is he currently incarcerated?”

  “Jimmy’s out,” Henry said. “He’s been out over a month.”

  Mrs. Jones’s jaw tightened. “He should be rotting in jail.”

  “What’s his father’s full name?” Sharp asked.

  Henry glanced at his grandmother. “James Tyler Dillon. Jimmy to everyone.”

  “Have either of you seen him at all since his release?”

  “No,” Mrs. Jones said. “He knows I’d get my double-barreled shotgun handy, and I will shoot him if he shows up on my property.”

  Henry shook his head. “I saw him on Saturday in town. He came by my new shop looking for Terrance.”

  “You never told me,” she said.

  “I didn’t want to upset you. I know how you feel about him. I told him Terrance had missed having him around all these years.”

  Mrs. Jones wiped a tear from her cheek. “You should have told me. I’d have tracked him down and run him out of town.”

  “Grandma don’t mean that,” Henry said to Sharp.

  “Did you tell Terrance about the visit?” Sharp asked.

  “I didn’t want to, but I knew Terry had always wanted to know his daddy better. I shouldn’t have, but I called and told him.”

  “And what did the boy do?” Sharp asked.

  “Jimmy left a number for Terry to call him, and I gave it to Terry. I don’t know what he did with the number.”

  “Henry!” Mrs. Jones said. “What the hell were you thinking? Jimmy is the devil!”

  Henry nodded, his face tight with grief. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where is Jimmy Dillon now?” Sharp interjected.

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “He took off again. I called him when we couldn’t find Terrance, but he never called back. He does that. Comes and goes like a cat.”

  “He runs from trouble,” Mrs. Jones said.

  “Do you know if Terrance called his father?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “What about the job Terry told Grandma about?” Henry challenged. “Whoever offered him a job might have hurt him.”

  “I’ll go to the Quick Mart after I leave here and see if they have Terrance on surveillance tape. Do you know if Jimmy Dillon has a job?”

  Edith shook her head, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “Selling drugs, no doubt. He was in prison for dealing.”

  “Jimmy wasn’t a great father,” Henry said. “But I know he loved that boy.”

  “The people Jimmy hangs out with wouldn’t care a bit about Terry,” Mrs. Jones said. “Jimmy has no sense. Always thinks every situation will work out.”

  “Do you know the name of any of Jimmy’s associates?” Sharp asked.

  Both shook their heads, but Mrs. Jones was the first to speak. “We try and stay clear of any dealings to do with Jimmy.”

  “What about Terrance’s friends? What were they like?”

  “All good boys. Ronnie and Garcia were his best friends. All three of ’em would rather play football than eat.” She rattled off their full names.

  Sharp noted the names. “Do you know where I can find these kids?”

  “In school, no doubt,” Mrs. Jones said. “And after school the football field for practice.” The old woman leaned forward, pinning Sharp with a surprisingly piercing gaze. “You’re going to find out who killed my boy.”

  “I’m going to do my best, ma’am.” As much as he wanted to promise justice, cases like this didn’t always end in arrest. He handed Mrs. Jones and Henry cards with his contact information. “If you think of anything else, call me. And I’ll call you if any new information comes up.”

  Mrs. Jones clutched his card tightly in her hand. “Thank you, Agent Sharp. I know you’re going to find out.”

  Tension banded Sharp’s lower back. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I need to know why,” she said. “Why would someone hurt such a good boy?”

  “I want to know that, too,” Sharp said. “I want this killer caught.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Henry walked him to the door, and he passed another collection of pictures featuring Terrance smiling and holding a football. “Is it smart for Grandma to get her hopes up? I know how it goes. The killer isn’t always found.”

  The screen door squeaked as Sharp pushed it open. He imagined this same scene playing out twelve years ago with Roger and his mother.

  There wasn’t a hole deep enough for this killer to crawl into. “I’m going to turn this place upside down looking for an answer.”

  Henry flexed tense fingers at his side. “That would be real good.”

  Sharp shook hands with the man and moved to his car. Once inside, he reached for a cigarette. He fumbled with the rumpled package, cursing when he realized it was empty. Crushing it, he tossed the packet onto the passenger seat and started the engine. He promised to give the damn habit up before it killed him. Soon.

  He drove across the small town to the Quick Mart on Route 1. The store appeared to have been a part of a larger chain store at one point and then converted into a local business. A couple of car
s filled the small parking lot.

  Inside, Sharp moved to the register and showed his badge to a tall gawky kid. “I need to see the manager.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The kid rushed around the counter toward the back of the store. Seconds later a heavyset man in his late forties ambled out. He wore a short-sleeved shirt emphasizing arms covered in tattoos.

  As the kid returned to the register, Sharp again showed his badge. “I’m Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police. I’m investigating a murder, and I was hoping you have surveillance footage from Sunday night at about eleven.”

  The manager gave Sharp a long, pondering look as he slowly shook his head. “Tell me it ain’t Miss Edith’s grandson. She’s been looking for Terrance since Sunday.”

  “We found him. He’s dead.”

  The manager jabbed thick fingers through thinning hair. “Shit.”

  “The surveillance tape?”

  “Yeah, sure. We keep the recordings backed up to a hard drive for thirty days. Come on back in the office.”

  The office was piled high with boxed inventory. In the corner was a small desk covered with papers huddled around a computer screen. The manager sat and typed a few keys. Black-and-white images appeared on the screen. The time stamp was 9:00 p.m. He tapped the screen as Terrance entered from the right of the computer screen. “That’s Terrance. And I’m working the register.”

  The two watched as the boy, who was wearing the same jeans, white T-shirt, and school jacket as when Sharp saw his body, made his way into the store, chose two items near the counter, and paid for them with coins and rumpled bills.

  After sharing a laugh with the clerk, Terrance left and crossed the lot as a white sedan drove up. Terrance leaned toward the passenger-side window and spoke to the driver. At first his face was blank, almost stoic, but soon he was laughing. The driver got out and hugged Terrance, who nervously glanced around. Sharp thought about the boy’s father, Jimmy, fresh out of prison and lurking around town.

  As the car pulled away, the camera caught a partial shot of the license plate. “Can you freeze that and enlarge it?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Sharp removed a small notebook and recorded the four visible plate numbers. “Thanks. Can I get a copy?”

  “I can e-mail the video.”

  Sharp gave him his card. “Thanks. That would be a help.”

  After the manager copied and sent the footage, he turned back toward Sharp. “Still can’t believe the kid is dead.”

  Death of a youth always struck the core. “Know anyone who didn’t like Terrance?”

  “No. He was in here a lot, like most of the locals. Nice kid. Never made a fuss.”

  “Seen the boy’s father around?”

  The manager looked surprised. “I didn’t know he had a father. Lived with his grandmother. Mother’s dead. He’s got a lot of cousins in town. It’s a big family.”

  “Right. Thanks. If you think of anything, call.”

  The manager blinked nervously. “Sure. Will do.”

  On his way out, Sharp bought a packet of cigarettes and got in his car. As he opened the packet, he dug out his phone, found the number of his DMV contact, and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Samantha Davis,” she said.

  “Samantha, this is Agent Sharp, VSP. How’s my favorite lady?” He leaned back in his seat.

  Soft laughter trailed through the phone. “I’m doing just fine. Been a long time since you called. I miss you.”

  “Sorry about that.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d gone out a couple of times before he’d met Tessa. “It’s been crazy.”

  “Who are you kidding? It’s always crazy for you. You live to work, Agent Sharp. One day they’ll find you hunched over your desk, a withered old man with a case file in your cold dead hands.”

  The lighthearted comment hit a nerve. “Let’s hope the case is solved. I’d hate to leave this world hanging.”

  He could imagine her curling her dark hair around her index finger like he’d seen her do before. “Anybody tell you that you’re a workaholic?” she said.

  He traced a scratch in his steering wheel with his index finger. “Once or twice.”

  “So why’re you calling? It’s been two years, so this can’t be a date.”

  He leaned back. “I need a partial plate run.”

  “You didn’t call to see how your favorite lady was doing?” Her tone echoed a mock pout.

  “I could have called someone else, but I called you.”

  “Because no one works the magic like I do.” She sighed as paper rustled in the background. “Let me have it.”

  He read off the partial plate as well as the car’s make and model.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “I need the name of the car’s owner. He’s wanted for questioning in a homicide investigation.”

  The tap of computer keys clicked in the background. “I have a car that matches your description and the partial plate. That car was stolen,” she said. “Six months ago.”

  That wasn’t a surprise. He scribbled down the owner’s name and the entire license plate. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  She laughed. “Yes, you do.”

  After he hung up, he put out a BOLO on the stolen car and the boy’s father.

  He checked his watch, knowing he had until three to catch Terrance’s friends in school before sports practice began. He put a call into the parole board and got hold of Jimmy Dillon’s parole officer.

  “This is Jeff Taggart,” a gruff voice barked over the line.

  “Agent Sharp, Virginia State Police. What can you tell me about Jimmy Dillon?”

  “What’s he done?”

  “He’s broken no laws that I know of yet. But his son was murdered sometime over the weekend.”

  A heavy sigh huffed over the line. “Jimmy Dillon is a career criminal, and it’s a matter of time before he finds trouble.”

  “Has he kept his meetings with you?”

  Keys tapped in the background. “Yes. He’s made the first three. The fourth was supposed to be yesterday, but he missed it.”

  “Does he have a job?”

  “He said he interviewed for a janitorial job, but he hasn’t told me if it worked out.”

  “Do you know where he was trying to get this job?”

  “Dobbins Maintenance.”

  The same place where Terrance worked.

  The parole officer rattled off the information as Sharp noted the name and address of the local maintenance company.

  “Have you tried to track Jimmy down?” Sharp asked.

  “I’ve made a few calls. I’ll issue a warrant for his arrest now.”

  “Did he give you a phone number or address?”

  “Gave his mother’s home address and phone.”

  “She’s not seen him since his release.”

  “Great.” A pause. “If I get any fresh tips or he’s picked up, I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sharp put the car in gear and pulled up to Route 1, waited for the road to clear, and turned left toward the sign reading “Richmond.” He called the maintenance company’s service number where Jimmy Dillon was supposed to be interviewing for a job. He landed in voice mail and left his name and number.

  The thrill of the hunt burned through him. He wouldn’t rest until he had tagged Jimmy Dillon.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tuesday, October 4, 2:00 p.m.

  After her interview with Dr. Kincaid, Tessa drove back to her cousin’s apartment, where she crashed for a few hours. She’d been back in the States nearly a week, but jet lag still dogged her. However, sleeping wasn’t as easy as she’d expected. Thoughts of Dakota troubled her until finally she gave up on sleeping and got up. To burn restless energy, she went for a run. Afterward, she showered and changed into jeans, a blouse, and boots before heading to the coffee shop. Once again, she was early.

  She ordered an espresso, not because
she needed another hit of caffeine, but because she needed an activity to keep her hands busy while she waited for Dakota.

  As the young man behind the counter made her espresso, her phone buzzed. It was Dr. Kincaid. She drew in a breath and answered, “Dr. Kincaid.”

  “Good, I caught you.” No chitchat. “The job is yours if you want it.”

  She blinked, ducking her head as she moved away from the counter. She lowered her voice. “Really?” The job locked her into Richmond for a year. No avoiding or running away for twelve months. “That’s wonderful. I accept.”

  “You don’t want to think about it?”

  “No. I want this job.”

  “All right, then. Can you start tomorrow? The sooner the better.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in the morning at seven. I’ll e-mail you details.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  She ended the call. When she paid the clerk and reached for her cup, her hand trembled just a little. Damn. She was taking the next step in her life. This was good news, right?

  She dumped her extra change in the tip jar and chose a seat that put her back against the wall just as Sharp had shown her when they were dating. “Know your exits,” he’d said during one of his many safety lectures. At first she’d found the lectures endearing, but in the end she began to think he just didn’t trust her to stay safe. “I’m not a child, Dakota.”

  She traced the rim of her cup, and then, fishing out her phone, replayed Dakota’s voice-mail message, hoping to glean any hints from his tone. As his terse voice rumbled in her ear, the bells on the front door jingled.

  She looked up. Dakota stood in the door, the bright afternoon sun at his back. He wore his trademark dark glasses that hid what little emotion he projected, a black suit that skimmed broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt, and a conservative red tie she’d given to him for Christmas two years ago, though she doubted he remembered where he’d gotten it. He was leaner, and if possible, more rigid.

  She shut off her phone and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She moistened her lips and prayed her heart would stop beating against her ribs.

  He pulled off the glasses, letting his eyes adjust to the room as they swept left to right. She thought for a moment he didn’t see her, but the gray eyes swung around like the barrel of a gun and landed on her. A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he moved toward her with a determined, if not grim, stride.