The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

  “There’s no way you can see what he sees on a day-to-day basis and not be affected.”

  “I know Dakota is doing good work, but he’s not an easy man. God knows, I saw what his sister’s death did to the family. We were both at the funeral.”

  Silent, Tessa swirled her soda. “I miss him.”

  “Then sleep with him and get it out of your system. He’s not the kind of guy you want to spend your life with. Time is only going to make him worse.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “As the years pass, he’ll see more death, and Kara’s murder will only continue to fester.”

  “You don’t know that.” She rose to Dakota’s defense even though she doubted her own words.

  “Look, Tessa, I’m not a fan of fixer-upper projects. I can say that because I’m a work in progress myself. Any man foolish enough to get close to me is asking for trouble.”

  Tessa studied her cousin’s face. “Why do you say that?”

  “Never mind. Just know some of us are just meant to be alone. I never liked Sharp because I see a lot of myself in him.”

  Despite the wisdom, she still couldn’t accept it. But for her cousin’s sake, she said, “I’m not in the counseling business. I’m focused on my job now. I respect the people I work with, and I won’t screw it up over a man.”

  “In all seriousness, do me a favor: fuck the guy, file divorce papers, and move on with your life.”

  It was past 1:00 a.m. when Sharp pulled into his apartment complex. His hope was to catch a couple of hours’ sleep, shower, and be ready to roll in the morning when Dr. Kincaid did the autopsy on his Jane Doe. Right now he had little to go on. Uniforms had searched the area around the body but found no additional evidence. No ID on the victim.

  He shoved his key in the lock and noticed the apartment felt off the instant he stepped inside. His hand went to his weapon before he remembered Jacob McLean was here.

  “Don’t shoot me”—the deep voice sounded from the dark—“and I won’t shoot you.”

  Sharp flipped on the lights and found McLean lying on the couch. One hand was flung over his eyes; the other lay on the grip of a Beretta lying on his chest.

  Letting go of his weapon, Sharp shrugged off his coat. “You made it.”

  “A few hours ago. Thanks for the shelter.”

  “You still fixing up your mom’s place to sell?”

  “That’s the plan.” McLean had hated living with his mother as a kid. She’d struggled with alcoholism for years until it killed her five years ago.

  “I’d have welcomed you with a steak dinner, but I’ve been at a murder scene.”

  McLean swung his long legs over the side of the couch and sat up. He ran his fingers through lengthy hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. “Beer?”

  “Love one.”

  Sharp removed his shoulder holster and placed it on a rented dining room table, which like the rest of the furniture had been chosen in less than five minutes online.

  McLean opened the fridge and grabbed a couple of longnecks as well as a few packages of freshly cut luncheon meat and bread. “You look like shit.”

  Sharp accepted the beer, twisted off the top, and drank, savoring the cold liquid. “You didn’t come all this way to talk about my pretty face.”

  “I wasn’t going to launch into a Q and A session on Shield Security right off the bat.”

  He loosened his tie. “Catch me while you can. There’s no telling when I’ll get home again. What kind of job are you interviewing for?”

  “Security. They’ve got contracts all around the world.” McLean absently tugged on the beer bottle’s label.

  Sharp slapped cheese and roast beef on fresh bread. He was hungrier than he realized and quickly consumed it. “That will be a good fit for you. Means putting down roots.”

  “Maybe it’s about time.” McLean tipped the neck of his beer toward the living room. “Speaking of roots, there’s no sign any woman has had any influence on the decorating,” he said. “Classic postmarriage pad.”

  “Tessa and I are separated.” Sharp drained the last of his beer, unwilling to travel this stretch of memory lane.

  McLean walked to the mantel and studied a picture featuring a group of ten marines dressed in full battle gear. He gaze shifted to the picture of Kara. “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Thanks for the beer and sandwich. I’ve got to get some sleep. Keep me posted on the job?”

  “Will do.”

  An hour before dawn, the Dollmaker fingered the red tips of the matches as he saw her returning to her apartment, running through the cold. She was dressed in jogging shorts, a top, athletic shoes, and a hoodie. Her dark hair was swept into a ponytail, and she carried a water bottle. She returned from the gym every morning at this time. She was dedicated to keeping her body as hard and fit as it had been when she was a teenager.

  She always spent about an hour inside her apartment dressing, then left for work by seven fifteen. He never liked her choice of clothes, which were often peasant tops, jeans, and heels. He understood trends, but his tastes always ran to the classics.

  As she fumbled with her keys at the front entryway, he was so tempted to approach her. The more he watched, the greater his desire to own her. He imagined her strapped in his chair and transforming her from beautiful to absolutely perfect.

  The process wouldn’t take long. Maybe a few weeks. He’d honed his skills over the years and knew exactly how long the deconstruction and reconstruction process took.

  His design for Harmony would be different from Destiny’s. This one would be his dark exotic beauty. He’d been sketching geisha designs as well as Russian nesting dolls for days. He’d yet to decide and knew final choices would be made when he could touch her face with his fingertips.

  She would be his little exotic beauty.

  Simple. Obedient. Pliable. Perfect.

  As he thought about touching Destiny’s cool pale skin, he grew hard. Already he missed Destiny and was sorry now he hadn’t kept her a little longer. Why had he been in such a rush to show her to the world? He should have kept her longer. He ached for her.

  The Dollmaker was anxious to begin again. But he had to wait one more day, when this doll was scheduled to take a week at the beach. She’d blocked time away from friends and family. He couldn’t ask for better timing. Just one more day.

  He’d be patient, and he’d wait until she’d closed up her apartment and told her friends good-bye, and then he would take her.

  And after her week off, it would simply be a matter of sending texts explaining that she was extending her vacation. Some might question. But if he were calm, the texts would buy him precious time. People were easy to fool if you fed them believable lies.

  He would not rush this transformation process. He would take exquisite care with Harmony. And he just might keep this doll for a good long time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thursday, October 6, 6:00 a.m.

  Andrews glanced up from his computer screen when Bowman appeared with two cups of fresh coffee. “If I had to bet money, I’d say you were here all night,” Bowman said.

  Andrews glanced at his watch. “I took a break about three a.m. Went home and grabbed a couple hours of sleep.”

  He stood and straightened, unkinking stiff and protesting muscles impaired by scars and nerve damage, which were a constant source of “irritation,” as he called it.

  Andrews accepted one of the coffees. “Tastes good.”

  “How’s it looking?” Bowman asked.

  Andrews glanced at the two dozen stacks of paper piled on the floor around the room. “I’m still sorting. Mr. Knox amassed a great deal of information, but as I said before, he didn’t organize it at all. The man’s mind must be chaos.”

  “Any items jump out at you?”

  “I’ve not had a chance to read all the interviews closely yet. There are at least fifty witness statements taken from people who either went to school with Kara Benson or wh
o lived near the Benson house. Knox also spoke to several of Roger Benson’s business associates as well as friends of both his wife and Sharp. I’m hoping some kind of pattern materializes.”

  “Can you give me the short version of what happened to Kara Benson?”

  “She went to a Friday-night Halloween party, and sometime around midnight got into an argument with a female friend and left shortly afterward.” He detailed the search and finally the grim discovery of her body five days later.

  Bowman’s fingers tightened around his mug. “How long had she been dead by then?”

  “About a day.”

  “For four days she was alive and unaccounted for.”

  “Correct.”

  “What was the condition of the body?”

  “When found, she was fully clothed, and there were no signs of trauma on the body.”

  “Do you have pictures?”

  “I do.” He shoved out a sigh. “These were taken by the officer on the scene. They aren’t the best quality and don’t document the scene adequately, but I can see why Sharp can’t look at these. They would be disturbing for anyone attached to the deceased.”

  The photos of Kara Benson showed her lying on her side by the road, wearing a short red dress. Her feet were bare. Many of the pictures were out of focus, but the ones that were readable showed her face turned from the camera.

  “You said she was last seen at a Halloween party?” Bowman asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Explains the outfit. Were there signs of rape?”

  “There were indications of intercourse. Though there was no vaginal bruising or tearing to suggest force.”

  “Was semen found?”

  “Yes, and it was tested. But when the sample reached the lab, technicians determined it was compromised, so a full DNA panel couldn’t be obtained.”

  Bowman stared at his pale face. “Hell of a tragedy for Sharp to deal with.”

  Andrews was silent for a moment. “I still don’t want to discuss this case with him right now. I want to have specific questions before we talk.”

  Bowman nodded toward a pile of handwritten papers. “These are the notes Knox made during his interviews?”

  “Yes. He talked to dozens of people about Kara. Each time he focused on any stranger who might have been spotted with her. Nobody saw her leave with anyone.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There are still receipts to be catalogued, pictures to be examined, including a copy of her autopsy report, which I’ve yet to read.”

  “I can read the witness files. You can read the autopsy report, and we can compare notes.”

  “Not necessary. Better I process it all and give you a report. It won’t take much more time.”

  “Understood,” Bowman said. “Knox gave these files to Sharp for a reason. Said he thought if there were any new clues to find, Sharp would uncover them.”

  “The case might have been solved twelve years ago if Knox and his department hadn’t done such substandard work at Kara Benson’s crime scene.”

  “Maybe that explains why he never let the case go. He felt guilty.”

  “It’s been my experience that the real intentions are usually hidden under the surface.”

  “You think Knox is hiding something?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Knox lives close by. Talk to him.”

  “As soon as I read the files today, he’s first on my list.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Always.”

  When Tessa’s alarm went off at six in the morning, she hit “Snooze.” She was still struggling with jet lag, and it had been a long time since she’d been this tired. The late night at the crime scene hadn’t helped. To compound the situation, she’d dreamed again about Dakota, the man who was never far from her even if she put thousands of miles between them.

  In the dream she’d had so many times, she was standing at the stove of their Libby Avenue apartment and stirring tomato sauce for their dinner. Pasta boiled on a back burner.

  Dakota always moved so quietly, she often didn’t hear him approach. And when he wrapped strong arms around her waist, she’d started. “Damn it, Dakota. I’ll spill the sauce.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat as he kissed the crook of her neck. His hands slid along the sides of her sundress and then up under the thin cotton, caressing her thighs’ bare skin.

  Her breath hissed through clenched teeth as she tried to focus on her task. His hand skimmed her belly to the front of her panties and teased the nest of curls. Hot energy raced through her blood, and her appetite for food vanished. Letting the wooden spoon drop into the pot, she shut off the stove and pressed her bottom against his erection.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered close to her ear.

  “You make me crazy.” From the beginning, he’d known how to touch her body and make it react in ways she’d never imagined.

  He pulled her away from the stove and lifted her up onto the kitchen table they’d just bought a couple of weeks ago. As he stared at her, he pushed her legs open, then freed himself from his jogging shorts. He shoved her moist panties aside and pulled her close to the table’s edge. With one thrust he was deep inside her, moving both her and the table with determined lunges.

  She arched her back to take the full penetration, and he leaned forward and sucked her breast through the dress fabric. Her fingers balled into tight fists as the tempo built. He liked taking her to the brink and then easing up. She whimpered his name, begged him to continue, and then he licked her until she came.

  Finally, when the last spasm shuddered through her body, he slid inside her moist center. “Watching you lose control makes me so hot,” he whispered against her ear. He was never in a rush as he thrust in and out of her, holding her face in his hands as he growled her name until he came.

  Tessa’s alarm went off a second time, and this time she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, cradling her head in her hands. She glanced at the empty side of her bed, feeling hungry for him and aware she was alone.

  She’d wanted to kiss him for weeks and had hoped for more of a reaction from him. She could feel he wanted her, but Dakota had held himself in check and detached as stone. “I’m not finished with you, Dakota Sharp.”

  She placed one foot in front of the other until she reached the shower. Turning on the hot spray, she let the water rush over her and wash away some of the fatigue. A half hour later, she was out of the shower, her damp hair curled into a knot, and wearing clean scrubs. She made herself coffee and poured it in a travel mug before grabbing her purse, backpack, and keys.

  Tessa arrived at the medical examiner’s office twenty minutes later. The morning traffic had already fallen into a somewhat predicable routine, and she was grateful for this one consistency in her life.

  After stowing her backpack in her desk, she and Dr. Kincaid moved to the bank of refrigerated shelves to make morning rounds of the pending cases. The first case appeared to be a heart attack, but an autopsy would confirm it. The second, a fall. And the third was the Jane Doe from last night.

  Dr. Kincaid pulled out the tray. Lying on the cool table was the body of the young woman. Her body had been shaved of hair, and her face and hands were perfectly covered in tattoos.

  “I’ve no doubt she was sedated during the process. Her arms, legs, and muscles have atrophied, suggesting she moved very little in the last month,” Dr. Kincaid said.

  There was a familiarity in the woman’s features that still bothered Tessa, but without hair and a clear view of the woman’s face, she couldn’t place her. “Where are her clothes?”

  “With the forensic department. They’re testing the blood sample.”

  In the stark light, the garish doll-like features looked all the more shocking and gruesome. The classic red cheeks, freckles, and bow lips lost all their charm and innocence in this brash context.

  She stared at the eyes still open. “You removed the con
tacts?”

  “I didn’t want them fusing with the eye. But there’s no closing the lids.”

  Tessa shifted her right leg, which was aching more than usual today. She chalked it up to too much time on her feet and not enough stretching.

  “When will Agents Sharp and Vargas be here?”

  “The autopsy is scheduled for ten,” Dr. Kincaid said.

  Dr. Kincaid nodded toward her leg. “Your leg bothering you?”

  “I’m a little tired.”

  “Is it painful?”

  “Just stiff.” Even after a dozen years, long days still irritated the bone that had been nearly shattered by the car. “It’ll pass.”

  At nine forty-five she moved into the autopsy suite, where she found Jerry setting up the instrument tray Dr. Kincaid would use.

  “You’re an early bird,” Jerry said as he placed a sterile pack of instruments on a small worktable.

  “It’s the newbie in me. Once I get this place figured out, I’m sure I’ll be cutting it closer.”

  He laughed. “When you get this place figured out, would you send me the cheat sheet?”

  “I’ll be sure to copy you.”

  He nodded toward the bank of cold storage compartments in the other room, where they kept the bodies. “Help me get the next case ready?”

  They transferred Jane Doe’s sheet-clad body to the autopsy room.

  She raised the sheet and studied the woman’s face. “Have you seen any disfiguration like that here?” she asked.

  “I’ve seen some crazy stuff over the years,” Jerry said. “Piercings, body modification, tattoos, but I have never seen anything like that.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thursday, October 6, 10:00 a.m.

  Tessa turned as the doors to the autopsy suite whooshed open to admit Agent Julia Vargas. The agent had pinned up her ink-black hair in a ponytail, which accentuated an angled face and a faint splash of freckles peppering her skin. She wore a black T-shirt and blazer over dark jeans, ankle-high boots, and her badge dangling from a chain around her neck. She cradled a cup of coffee close. “I’m Agent Vargas. The victim with the doll face is mine.”