The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

  She shoved her phone back in her pocket before smoothing her hands over her jeans. She rose, bumping the table, jostling her coffee and sloshing it over the rim. Automatically she snagged a couple of napkins from a dispenser and mopped up the wet mess as it dripped over the edge of the table. By the time she looked up, he was standing next to her, staring, studying the soggy mush of napkins in her hand like one of his crime scenes.

  Shit. So much for smooth. She pushed aside the coffee-soaked napkins, now a crumpled wet ball, and straightened. Coffee had splashed her jeans and dampened her fingertips, which she quickly wiped against the denim. Should she extend her hand or hug him? He made no attempt to break the ice or make this moment easy. She’d called the meeting, and he was letting her run the show.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know it was last-minute.”

  “No problem, Tessa.”

  “Can I get you a coffee?” she asked.

  “No. Thank you.”

  She muzzled the urge to prattle on and sat back down, fairly certain her legs might give way if she kept standing.

  He pulled out a seat, moving it to the side so he had the front door in his peripheral vision.

  “I can trade seats,” she said. “I know you like your back to the wall.”

  “Not necessary.” Slowly he folded up his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket.

  “Right.”

  When she didn’t expound, he raised a brow. “Why the meeting, Tessa?”

  “I wanted to let you know I’m back in Richmond. I’ve applied for a yearlong fellowship at the medical examiner’s office. In fact, Dr. Kincaid just offered me the job. I start in the morning.”

  That muscle twitched again in his jaw. “She’s smart. Manages a good shop. Why tell me?”

  Ice coated each word. He wasn’t attempting cordial. But then it had never been easy with him. “We’re going to run into each other. In fact, the medical examiner’s office has one of your cases on the docket for tomorrow.”

  “You could have told me all this in a text.”

  “I know you don’t like texts.”

  As he sat back, his jacket opened a fraction, offering a glimpse of his badge clipped to his belt, inches from the grip of his weapon. He waited.

  She tucked another strand of hair behind her ear. “I understand this victim is young.”

  He impatiently tugged at the edge of his jacket. “When you officially start, we’ll talk about it.”

  Old frustrations stirred, and she remembered he could be abrupt, his tone blunt when he was upset. She knew he was angry with her. She’d blasted out of his life on a rush of emotion and little thought.

  Now, when she wanted to say the right words to mend a once-strong connection shattered into so many pieces, words alone felt inadequate.

  Dakota’s question was as piercing as a honed blade. “So that’s it? You wanted to give me a heads-up?”

  “That was part of the reason.”

  He didn’t speak. Barely seemed to breathe.

  “I wanted to see you. To see for myself you’re doing okay.”

  He shook his head, as if he were bracing for a second shoe to drop.

  “I also wanted you to know I remembered today is Kara’s birthday. I haven’t forgotten.”

  He didn’t blink. “Okay.”

  “She was my friend, too. What happened to her changed my life as well.” Her thumb rubbed the underside of her ring finger as if expecting to feel her wedding band.

  “Happened?”

  “Yes.” She’d hoped mentioning Kara would chip away at the wall between them, but it only added more bricks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rub salt.”

  A weary sigh leaked from his lips. “I assume you’re now making small talk and screwing up the courage to talk about a divorce.”

  Their broken marriage dangled between them like glass shards. Hardly anyone would have noticed any hope glinting around the jagged edges. “No, I’m not.”

  “No, you’re not what?”

  This was the moment she’d rehearsed a hundred times on the long plane ride home. “I’m not filing the papers.”

  His gray eyes narrowed. “You want me to?”

  “No,” she blurted.

  Wariness flashed as his eyes narrowed. “Why not? A clean break means you can get on with your life.”

  If this had been a tug-of-war game, she’d have been digging in her heels. “Is that what you want?”

  Staring. Silent. Still. He was giving her no glimpse of his thoughts. She’d have to work for every inch of progress.

  “I’ve done everything I can think of to get free of you. I was sure ten thousand miles would do the trick. But no luck.” As the words rushed over her lips, she regretted them immediately.

  Challenge sharpened already keen features.

  A cold chill swept over her and threatened to scatter whatever hopes she’d painstakingly collected over the last weeks as she continued, “I thought eight months apart would mellow us both.”

  “I haven’t changed and neither has my job, Tessa. It never will. I don’t know why you imagined I’d change.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  Shaking his head, he rose as if he could no longer stay still. “Do yourself a favor and move on with your life. File the fucking papers, and I’ll sign them.”

  She stood quickly, again bumping the table, sloshing more coffee. As he turned away, she fired back, “I never figured you for a chickenshit, Sharp.”

  He might recognize her outburst as one of the investigative techniques he used interviewing a hostile witness, but that didn’t mean he was immune when the tables were turned. “Provoking my temper won’t work, Tessa.”

  “Figured you were more of a fighter,” she pressed. What the hell did she have to lose now? “Never pegged you for a quitter.”

  Unruffled, he reached for his sunglasses. “I’m a realist. We are not suited for each other. I know. You know it.”

  She moved a step closer to him, knowing the sunglasses were one of his tells. He put them on when he was rattled. She’d hit her target. “I’m not filing papers.”

  “And then what? We remain in limbo?”

  “No. We figure it out. We make our marriage work.”

  “There’s nothing to figure, nothing to fix.”

  She’d met him years ago through his sister, Kara, when Tessa was seventeen. More than a decade would pass before they reconnected and, after a quick, electric courtship, rushed into a marriage that had lasted eight months. It hadn’t taken long before the demands of his job bled into their marriage and she realized being married to a cop wasn’t easy. He worked long, hard hours and was dedicated to the work. The eleven-year age difference also began to widen the cracks forming between them. She wasn’t sure what she could have done, but darting halfway around the world hadn’t been the answer. Now she was back, determined to fight for a second chance.

  She took his hand in hers, savoring the rough edges of his fingertips she’d once welcomed on her body. It had been so long since they’d touched. Kissed.

  She expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Her bravery growing, she moved closer to him, sensing his gray eyes studying her.

  Bolder now, she slid her hand up his arm and behind his neck. He watched her closely as she pulled him toward her. She pressed her lips to his mouth. Instinctively, he kissed her back.

  The kiss sent a ripple of desire through her body, making nerve endings fire and muscles grow weak. Anger and resistance hummed under his touch, even as his hand came reluctantly to her side. She leaned in a fraction, skimming her breasts against his chest. She relished his scent. His taste. As heat rose up in her, she made no move to douse it.

  “I haven’t been able to forget you,” she whispered.

  Dakota lingered a beat before the fingers on her hip curled into a fist and he broke the connection. “Sex was never an issue with us.”

  “The bedroom wasn’t the only place we connected,” she said.

/>   “You’re wrong. Out of the bedroom was our issue. Still is. Like I said, I’ve not changed, Tessa,” he said, his voice strained. “And I mean it when I say I’ll never change.”

  “Maybe I’m kidding myself.”

  “You are.”

  She shook her head. “But I’m willing to risk that I’m not.”

  “Like I said, I am a realist, Tessa. I know when to cut my losses.”

  He wasn’t ready to talk. Fair enough. What had she expected? That he’d greet her with open arms? There was always a challenge with Dakota.

  But Tessa would embrace this damned second chance no matter what he said. “I’ll see you in the autopsy suite tomorrow, Agent Sharp.”

  With measured movements, he turned and left without another word.

  She dragged a shaking hand through her hair, glancing around to see who had witnessed the kiss. This was a hangout for cops, and several people were staring. No one said a word, but news would spread. Fine. Let ’em talk. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Sharp had been braced for Tessa’s one-two punch of divorce, but reconciliation had been an unexpected left hook.

  There’d been no drama. No gushing words. But that was Tessa. She was always reasonable. Calm. Even when she’d told him she was leaving him, she’d been in control. He’d been the one who’d been pissed. Instead of listening to her plans to leave the country, and her desire to return to him after a sabbatical, he’d slammed the door to their house and left.

  And now she was back. For a yearlong fellowship. And when it was over? And when she figured out he’d meant what he’d said and she realized he’d not changed, what would she do? She’d leave. Again.

  Those thoughts chased Sharp twenty miles north on I-95 toward the high school Terrance Dillon had attended. He parked in the visitor lot and made his way to the office and the long counter that portioned students off from administration. Showing his badge, he asked to speak to the principal.

  A short, fit man in his midfifties came out immediately and introduced himself as Principal Woodrow Tucker. “This must be about Terrance.”

  “Yes, it is. There somewhere we can talk?”

  “Of course. My office.”

  Sharp followed the principal to his office and took a seat in a gray chair. “Have you ever met the boy’s father?”

  “No. But one of my teachers met him years ago when she was teaching elementary school. Mr. Dillon wasn’t in prison then, and he came to one of Terrance’s class concerts. He was inebriated and by intermission was asked to leave school property. He wasn’t happy with the administration, but he did finally leave. We’ve never seen him again on our campus.”

  “Terrance ever talk about his father with you or any of his teachers?”

  “Not to me, but if he did talk, it would have been to his coach.” He reached for the phone on his desk. “This is Coach Wagner’s planning break. He should be able to join us.” A quick call and the principal arranged for the coach to come straight to the office.

  While they waited, Sharp couldn’t help but remember his days in this school. He’d been an average student, but his interest had not been in the books, which he’d considered a necessary evil until he could enlist in the marines. It wasn’t until his midtwenties that he’d started taking online college classes. It had taken him nearly a decade of taking classes part-time before he could cobble together enough credits for a degree.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he rose to see a sturdy man with a short haircut at the threshold. He wore a golf shirt in the school’s trademark burgundy along with khakis and athletic shoes.

  Sharp shook his hand and introductions were made. “Did anyone carry a grudge toward Terrance?”

  “The kid had no enemies. Easygoing. One of the kids I pictured with a real future, despite the fact his father wasn’t worth much.”

  “What do you know about Jimmy Dillon?”

  “That Terrance wanted to please him. The kid loved his father and wrote to him while he was in prison. He was excited that Mr. Dillon was about to get out of prison. The kid thought they could be more like father and son.”

  “You sound skeptical,” Sharp said.

  “The man made promises in his letters that he’d come to the kid’s games, but he never showed as far as I know. Hard to see a good kid spurned by his father.”

  “Would Mr. Dillon have killed his own son?”

  “I don’t know. But I know the guy’s been in prison and wouldn’t be surprised if he introduced the kid to someone who did kill him.”

  “Any names?”

  “None. Sorry.”

  “What about Terrance’s friends?”

  “He hung out with Ronnie and Garcia,” the coach said.

  “Either of them here?”

  The principal entered the names into the computer. “I can pull them from class if that will help.”

  “It would. Thanks,” Sharp said.

  The principal made calls to the boys’ classrooms, and minutes later they appeared. Both looked worried, nervous.

  Sharp rose as the principal introduced him. “I’m here to ask you about Terrance.”

  The boy on the left—tall, lean, and well muscled, with pale skin and red hair—spoke first. “We still can’t believe it.”

  “And your name?” Sharp asked.

  “I’m Ronnie. Ronnie Tolley.”

  “Okay, Ronnie. Did Terrance hang out with anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  The kid shifted his stance. “No, he was clean. He was easygoing. Never pissed anyone off.”

  The other kid, shorter, thicker, had raven-dark hair and large brown eyes. He had to be Garcia. “Everyone liked him.”

  “Garcia, right?” Sharp asked.

  “Joey Garcia. I’ve known Terrance since the sixth grade.”

  “Did you ever see Terrance with his father?”

  “I never saw him, but I know they talked on the phone. Jimmy started calling Terrance a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Do you know what they talked about?”

  “Terrance never would say,” Garcia said. “He was a little nervous about talking to Jimmy. He was afraid his grandmother would be upset.”

  “Did Terrance have a girlfriend?” Sharp asked.

  “He did,” Garcia said. “But they broke up six months ago. Terrance’s grandmother didn’t want him dating anybody. She wanted him focused on school and football.”

  “You sure about that?” Sharp asked. “When he was found, he was dressed nice. Did he always dress up?”

  “He liked to look nice,” Garcia said.

  “Did he have a date?” Sharp asked.

  The boys looked at each other, then back at Sharp. It was Ronnie that said, “He never told us.”

  They spent the next fifteen minutes talking about Terrance. He learned the kid often went to a diner in town named Bessie’s with the other players. Nothing else the coach, kids, or principal had to offer amounted to a lead.

  “Thank you for your time,” Sharp said. “Call me if you hear anything.”

  Outside in the bright sunshine, he put on his sunglasses. He couldn’t do much to fix his personal life, but he sure as hell could find justice for Terrance.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tuesday, October 4, 10:00 p.m.

  Sharp had spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with Terrance’s neighbors. The door-to-door visits took time and energy, but he’d learned as a cop that there was no substitute for the footwork. Forensic science might sway television juries, but in reality, knocking on doors solved more cases.

  In the end he only confirmed what he’d heard so far. Terrance was a good kid, who not only had played football but also had been one of the stars in the region. He’d had a shot at a scholarship to an NCAA Division II school—not the big leagues, but it would have been a full ride and likely his only ticket to a better life. Terrance, or Terry as his neighbors called him, had dated a girl named Stephanie earlier this year, but as his friends had indicated, they’
d broken up in mid-February. He had a host of friends and all liked the kid. Everyone was shocked he’d been stabbed.

  A few old-timers remembered Jimmy Dillon, and they all agreed he had been a deadbeat before he went to jail. For a time Jimmy, his wife, and Terrance lived with Mrs. Jones, and once or twice the cops had been called when neighbors heard screams. The neighbors said it was flat-out domestic abuse, but when Sharp returned to the office and checked Jimmy’s arrest record, he found no charges of domestic abuse had been filed.

  Jimmy had still not checked in with his parole officer, and so far there’d been no sightings of him. Sooner or later, rats like Jimmy had to crawl out from under their rocks.

  By the time Sharp arrived at his town house, he was tired and in a foul mood. As he dug out his keys, he spotted several boxes piled in front of his door. He reached for the lid of the top box. A glance at several pages told him they were Kara’s files. Douglas Knox had found his personal address. Once a cop, always a cop.

  Sharp rolled his head from side to side as he closed the lid. The knot in his gut tightened.

  He wanted all the questions around Kara’s death answered, but he wasn’t the man to find them. His lack of objectivity coiled around too much emotion meant he could easily screw it all up.

  He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed Clay Bowman’s number.

  Bowman picked up on the second ring. “Sharp.”

  He wasn’t any good at calling in favors. Rather chew on broken glass. “I hear Shield is organizing a cold case group.”

  “It’s in the works.”

  “I have a case.”

  “Riley told me.”

  “I’ve a half-dozen boxes full of files.”

  “Good. I’ve already spoken to Garrett Andrews, our tech guy. He’s ready for them.”

  No quibbling. No questioning. Just a pledge that now shouldered some of the burden. “Thank you.”

  “Riley is on patrol tonight, and she’s wrapping up her shift. Let me call her.”

  “I can bring in the boxes.”

  “If she’s close, it makes sense to send her. Stand by.”