The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

  Her voice sounded rough and heavy with fatigue. Tessa knew she wouldn’t get much rest until the case broke. Cops worked nonstop in the first two to three days of a homicide, knowing there was a golden window to find a killer before the case went cold.

  Jerry raised his hand first. “Hey, Julia. This is our newest recruit, Dr. McGowan. Second day on the job.”

  “We met last night at the crime scene,” Tessa said.

  “I remember,” Vargas said as she sipped the last of her to-go coffee and dumped it in the trash. “It was a bit of a zoo. We had a dozen cops and deputies show up to steal a look. Like herding cats.” She rubbed the back of her neck as she turned to change. “I’ll get gowned up.”

  Barely seconds passed before the doors opened again, this time to Dakota. He had showered and was clean-shaven, his shirt crisp, and he moved with quick steps, his heels striking like a man on a mission. Her heart beat faster as he shrugged off his jacket and slipped on a gown.

  “Sharp, you look too chipper,” Vargas said.

  Ignoring the attempt at camaraderie, he asked, “Did you find any evidence in the park associated with the victim?”

  Vargas’s eyebrow went up, and her eyes sparked with challenge. “We combed the perimeter for hours. We found nothing. Not even a tire track.”

  “What about security cameras near the park?”

  She rolled her shoulders. “My guys pulled video from three gas stations and a convenience store, and they’re waiting for a couple of stores in a strip mall facing the park entrance to open. We’ll have it all researched by the end of today.”

  “And AFIS?”

  “No hits yet.”

  He tied off his gown and grabbed a set of latex gloves. “Maybe there’s something on the body that’ll tell us more.”

  “That’s the hope,” Julia said.

  Tessa noted that when he talked to Julia, his shoulders weren’t as rigid, and the snap in his voice, though not relaxed, didn’t crack quite as hard. But he’d always been able to get along with his coworkers. The cases they worked bonded them in ways that, during the investigation, crowded out the rest of the world.

  She resented her outlier status when Dakota worked a case. She wanted the easy banter she’d once shared with Dakota back again. One way or the other, they had to muscle past the demands of his job, the failures of the past, and move forward as a couple.

  Dr. Kincaid entered, and Tessa took her place across from the doctor. The detectives gathered at the foot of the table. Whereas Vargas absently fingered the thin fabric of her gown, Dakota clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention.

  Dr. Kincaid uncovered the victim’s face.

  Vargas automatically shifted her gaze to the victim’s eyes, then quickly looked away. “Forensics captured hair samples from her clothes. Seeing as she doesn’t have any, I’m hoping it belongs to whoever she last saw.” She shook her head. “Jesus. I hope to hell she was medicated during the process.”

  Dr. Kincaid studied the body. “That I can’t tell you with certainty. I can tell you she has had cosmetic surgery before. I suspect she’s had a nose job, and she has breast implants,” she said as she palpated the taut breast tissue. “If the fingerprints don’t pan out, I can pull the serial number from the implant and run it through the manufacturer.”

  Dakota gave no hint of what he was thinking as he watched the doctor catalogue the victim’s exterior physical landmarks. She had a scar on her forehead, two moles on her right breast, and two older tattoos, a filigree at the base of her spine and a heart on the inside of her right ankle. There was also an appendectomy scar. All these markings offered glimpses into a woman who cared about her appearance.

  The doctor leaned toward the victim’s face, pulling a magnifying glass closer to study the tattoo work as she continued to give her report. “We did a full X-ray work-up on her this morning, and there were no broken bones. She does appear to have suffered a fracture in her right wrist, but that would have been at least a decade ago. I checked her eyes and nasal passages for signs of asphyxiation, but found none. I also ran a full tox screen. I put a rush on the test results, so we should have some details back in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “How old is she?” Dakota asked.

  “I’d say between twenty-five and thirty. Her skin is in great shape, though it’s clear she liked tanning, as evidenced by the faded lines around her breasts and groin.”

  “Tan lines take a couple of weeks to fade,” Vargas said. “That might help with fixing a timeline.”

  “They fade anywhere between a week to six weeks,” Dr. Kincaid said.

  “She’s thin,” Dakota said.

  “She’s underweight by about ten pounds,” Dr. Kincaid said. “But if you look at her biceps and quads, you’ll see some muscle definition. At one point she worked out regularly.”

  “A woman who cares this much about her looks suddenly decides to disfigure her face? Makes no sense,” Vargas said, more to herself than anyone else in the room.

  “I can tell you she had intercourse right about the time of her death,” Dr. Kincaid said. “No signs of vaginal tearing, and I was able to swab a satisfactory DNA sample from the semen that her partner left behind. If this guy is in any kind of DNA database, you’ll find him.”

  “Let’s hope only one DNA signature is present. Narrows the field,” Vargas said.

  “Agreed,” Dr. Kincaid said.

  “This kind of detailed tattoo work, if done against her will, takes planning,” Vargas said. “Why plan so carefully and then leave a DNA sample behind?”

  “He might not be that smart, but I doubt it. He could have gotten sloppy, but after all the time and effort he took to change her and pose her, that makes no sense either,” Dakota said. “If I had to guess, I’d say he is simply arrogant and knows he isn’t in a database.”

  “This doesn’t look like the work of a first-time offender,” Vargas said.

  “No,” Dakota said. “He’s never been caught before.”

  The internal exam lasted an hour and proved that the victim had been healthy. Her lungs were clear and her other internal organs in top shape. Her heart was a normal weight and size. Stomach contents revealed what appeared to be oatmeal. There were no signs of a pregnancy in the uterus.

  When the entire exam was complete, Tessa began to suture the victim’s chest. Dakota backed away from the table and tugged off his gown, clearly anxious to be away from the room, and most especially, her. The body had been a barrier between them and had been a neutral subject to discuss.

  “Vargas, let me know if anyone shows on the surveillance tapes or there are hits with DNA,” Dakota said, depositing his gown in the trash.

  The agent joined him and tossed her wadded-up gown in the disposal bin. “You’ll be the first to know if we spot anyone.”

  “Good.”

  Vargas reached for her jacket and pulled it on. “Keep those lines of communication open on your end, Agent Sharp. I want to know what you know.”

  “Right.”

  Vargas turned toward Tessa, who was using the classic baseball stitch to close. “As soon as the tox screens arrive, Doc, you’ll call me?”

  “You two will be the first to know,” Tessa said.

  Dakota tossed a look toward Tessa and held her gaze for a beat. Heat rose up inside, making her cheeks burn.

  “Thank you, Dr. McGowan,” Sharp said.

  He’d never called her Dr. McGowan when they’d been together. Until their relationship was settled, working with him was going to be maddening.

  “Right, thanks, Dr. McGowan,” Vargas said.

  “Certainly, Agents. Call me with any questions.”

  Sharp had too much work on his plate to be sidetracked by Tessa. The sooner one of them filed papers, the better for both of them.

  As he slid into the car, he checked his voice-mail messages. An officer in the city of Richmond had an eyewitness who’d seen Terrance Dillon about 11:00 p.m. on Sunday. He redialed the
officer’s number. “This is Sharp. Got your call regarding Terrance Dillon.”

  “Yes, sir. We have a bartender who thinks he saw your murder victim with an older guy on Sunday night.”

  Sharp cradled the phone under his chin as he pulled a notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. “Do you have a number of the bar?”

  “Sure do.”

  Sharp scribbled the name and number, thanked the officer, and dialed. The bar manager answered and told Sharp to come in about four when the Sunday-night bartender arrived for his shift.

  He drove the twenty miles north toward Terrance Dillon’s town, parked, and walked down the street toward the diner called Bessie’s. He remembered as a teenager how he’d hated hanging around town. It had felt so small and confining, and he was always angling for any reason to leave. He’d left, anxious to chase the thrill of battle and conflict. Finding both had given him a new appreciation for large lawns with old oaks; historic, slow-paced charm; and the tedium of everyday life.

  He pushed through the front door of the diner he’d eaten at dozens of times as a teenager. The 1950s decor and the smell of coffee and burgers brought back memories as he sat at the counter. Back in the day, he sat here dreaming of better places. Excitement. Now he wondered why he’d hated the place so much.

  The waitress, a redhead in her late thirties, set a menu in front of him. Sharp ordered coffee and the number six without looking at the menu.

  “You know what the number six is?” she asked as she set a coffee mug in front of him.

  “I’ve eaten here before.”

  She filled his cup and studied his face. “You’re the Benson boy.”

  “Roger Benson was my stepfather. I’m Dakota Sharp.”

  She set a creamer pitcher within reach. “You were a couple of years ahead of me in school. Weren’t you the one who set off those fireworks in the center of town when we were in high school?”

  A smile edged up the corner of his lips. He and Jacob McLean had gotten ahold of extra fireworks left over from the Fourth of July celebration and decided to re-create the show with what they had left. It did not go over well that it was the middle of August and two in the morning.

  “That would be me.”

  “I’m Ellie Duncan. You’re a cop now, right?”

  He nodded. “Karma’s a bitch.”

  “I heard folks talking at breakfast this morning. You’re here to ask about the Dillon kid, aren’t you?”

  He sipped his coffee as the flicker of nostalgia vanished. “That’s right.”

  “Damn shame about him. Terrance was a good boy. Always looking for odd jobs and ways to make extra money. He wanted to go to college.”

  He set his cup down. “How well did you know him?”

  She rested her hand on her hip. “Knew the family better than the boy. Father was bad news, but the kid was on the straight and narrow thanks to his grandmother.”

  The front doorbells jangled and she glanced up, grinning. “Hey, Norman.”

  His answer sounded warm. “Ellie. How are you today?”

  Sharp tossed a glance toward the baritone voice as the man settled at the counter several places to his left. Tall, fit. He was the funeral director who’d overseen Roger’s graveside service.

  Ellie set a cup in front of him and filled it with coffee. “Norm, this is Agent Sharp. He’s working that dead boy’s case, like you.”

  Sharp extended his hand. “DeLuca, right?”

  His grasp was firm, his gaze direct. “That’s right.”

  Ellie tapped her fingers on the counter. “Norm, let me get your to-go order.”

  As she vanished into the kitchen, Sharp faced the man. “You will be handling Terrance’s funeral service?”

  “I am. I spoke to his grandmother this morning. Sad, sad thing to happen. They are a good family, and the kid had so much promise.”

  “You know the family well.”

  “Know them well enough to say hi. Henry has the maintenance contract with the cemetery, and I see him often. The guy works hard, and I know he was proud of his cousin’s football career.”

  “What about Jimmy Dillon? Do you know much about him?”

  “He’s been in prison for at least nine or ten years. I think his last conviction was related to drugs. He was in prison when his wife, Terrance’s mother, died.”

  “Did Terrance have any contact with his father?”

  “I did see Jimmy at Terrance’s football game a couple of weeks ago. He was off to the side, I think, trying to go unnoticed.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Intelligence burned in DeLuca’s stare. “He stayed close to the bleachers and close to the exit. Thirteen years of running funerals and you get a knack for reading people.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “DeLuca’s was a sponsor. We were being recognized that night by the boosters.”

  Ellie reappeared with a large brown bag stapled closed with a ticket on it.

  “Thanks, honey.”

  The waitress grinned as she ripped off the ticket and rang up the order. “You’re not working too hard, are you, Norm?”

  He smiled, his face warming. “No.”

  She winked at him. “See you tonight.”

  “Count on it.” He paid her a twenty, collected his change, and winked back at her before she moved around the counter to wait on another patron.

  Sharp tapped his finger on the side of his cup. “Was there any talk in town about the boy using or dealing drugs?”

  “No. Never.”

  “What about the people he was hanging out with?”

  “One of his teammates was arrested last year for dealing, but I couldn’t say how close Terrance was to the boy.”

  Sharp pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “Does that kid have a name?”

  “Jake Wheeler.”

  He scribbled down the name. “Thanks.”

  DeLuca checked his watch and pulled a card from his pocket. “I’ve got a family coming by in a half hour. But if you need anything, call me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  DeLuca picked up his order. “Good luck to you.”

  “I’ll take all I can get.”

  After Sharp ate his meal, he made a call and discovered Jake Wheeler was still incarcerated. His next call was to the maintenance company that had hired Terrance last summer. “This is Agent Dakota Sharp with the Virginia State Police. I’m looking for the owner of Dobbins Maintenance.”

  “You found him. I’m Ralph Dobbins,” the man said. “You’ve called me a couple of times. Sorry I haven’t been able to get back to you. It’s been crazy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Terry’s death was a terrible loss. Just saw the kid last week at his football game.”

  “How long had he worked for you?”

  “On and off all summer whenever we had work for him. He was a good worker and had a great attitude. Wish I could have found more kids like him.”

  “His grandmother said he was offered a job last Sunday. Was that you?”

  “No, it wasn’t me. I haven’t had Terrance on a job since August.”

  “What businesses do you clean?”

  “Well, we clean banks, a couple of insurance agencies, two salons—and we also do move-out cleanups.”

  “Did his father apply for a job with you?”

  “Jimmy Dillon. Yeah, he did. He worked a couple of jobs, but he wasn’t a great worker.”

  “What jobs did Jimmy’s crew clean?”

  “Medical offices. We got a cluster of them near Mechanicsville.”

  Doctors’ offices meant drugs in stock. And Jimmy Dillon had done time for drugs.

  “Can you get me a list of the places where Jimmy Dillon cleaned?”

  “Sure. But what’s that have to do with Terrance?”

  “Maybe nothing. I’m re-creating his last couple of weeks as well as his father’s. I’m just trying to figure out who might have killed him.
”

  “I’m on a job now, but I can send you the list.”

  “I’ll text you my contact information.”

  “As soon as I get back to my office, I’ll get it to you as quick as I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got any ideas who would have done this to that boy?” Dobbins asked.

  “I don’t know much yet. But I’m working on it.”

  “Damn shame.”

  “Did he make any friends on the crew? Was there anyone he hung out with?”

  “Not really. Most of the guys on the crews are older. Forties or fifties. He was always talking about his buddies from high school.”

  “He mention anyone in particular?”

  “Talked about Ronnie and Garcia, but I never met them.”

  Sharp had spoken to them both. “He ever give you a reason to think twice about him?”

  “No. He never said a word that gave me pause about him. Loved his grandmother and said he wanted to give her a new dryer for Christmas.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Sharp hung up. His priority now was to find Terrance’s father. He suspected his old man was at the center of the shit storm that got Terrance killed.

  The abduction was the hardest part of the Dollmaker’s job. It was the moment when the entire operation could go sideways. Discovery and arrest were always imminent.

  So to control the variables, he spent time watching and taking notes weeks in advance. He detailed the doll’s schedule. When she slept, got up in the morning, ate, went to work, the gym. He noted her friends and family. Who paid attention and had the greatest reason to sound an alarm bell when she went missing. Favorite dress shops, restaurants, hobbies. The profile was designed with one objective: to find out when she was most vulnerable.

  He checked his watch. He was minutes away from reaching this doll’s most vulnerable moment.

  Nervous energy buzzed, making his muscles tense and tight. He felt fear, but also excitement and anticipation. Soon they would be alone together.

  Her red car pulled into the parking lot two spaces from her regular spot. He’d placed orange cones in her usual spots so they appeared unavailable, forcing her to park in the shadows and out of the surveillance camera’s view.