by Mary Burton
“Tessa?” he asked.
“Yes?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, squinting as she tried to place him.
He pushed off from the tree and moved toward her. “Dakota Sharp.” Automatically, he stuck out his hand, though he could see she’d still not connected the dots. “Tessa McGowan, right?”
“Yeah.” Her head cocked to the side as she took his hand in a firm grip. Her hand was soft, smooth. She smelled of jasmine.
After another beat, her memory seemed to shake loose the connection. “Kara’s brother?”
“Right.” The association with his sister deflated some of his good mood as he reluctantly released her hand.
“I’m with the Virginia State Police now.”
She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Do you live around here?” she asked.
“No. Just getting in a run. Fresh air. I don’t get enough of either. Saw the game and then you.”
A delicate pink warmed her cheeks. “Oh.”
“What are you doing these days?”
“Pathology residency.”
He already knew the answers to these basic questions because he’d done a fair amount of digging before making contact. But he liked hearing her talk. Liked being close to her. “Sounds interesting.”
“It is.” She drank her water, and his gaze was drawn to the long line of her neck and her slender fingers wrapped around the bottle.
“Hey, Tessa, the game is about to start back up,” one of the male players shouted.
“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he lied. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh, no worries. Really. Sorry, it just took me a second. It’s been, what, nine or ten years?”
“Give or take.” He maintained eye contact and smiled.
“Hey, McGowan,” one of the guys shouted. “Get your butt in gear.”
She looked over her shoulder at the group, now grinning. “Let me buy you a drink. Be nice to catch up.”
“You sure? I didn’t mean to bust into your afternoon,” he said.
“I’d like it.” She tossed her towel over her shoulder and picked up her backpack. “If you’re up for a little walk, there’s a bar a block from here. It’s cheap. And the burgers are good.”
He grinned. “Sure.”
All traces of hesitation melted from her green gaze. “Great.”
Eight months later it was a hasty Las Vegas wedding, and eight months after that they separated.
He tossed the half-used cigarette into the dirt and ground it out with the tip of his shoe. Hearing the children’s laughter, he picked up the butt and threw it in the garbage.
He’d shoved his way into Tessa’s life, and she’d welcomed him. For a time, he’d been happier than he could remember. He’d never bothered to consider their age difference or that his world-weary, cynical view of life would clash with her youthful impulsiveness.
Sharp had almost convinced himself the past was dead and buried, forever. That he’d somehow made a shaky peace with Kara’s death. But he’d been so wrong. All along the demons of the past had lurked. Hid. Stalked.
The case that had shattered their marriage had been the murder of an eighteen-year-old girl. She’d been a freshman in college, and after vanishing for two days, she was found strangled and sexually abused. He’d not slept or eaten much for weeks as he interviewed dozens of people. Tessa had been as patient as a saint. She’d pushed power bars in his pockets so he could eat. She’d not complained when he missed dinners. And then the killer had been caught. Their life should have returned back to what it had been. But the switch Sharp flipped had stayed on. Tessa had tried to talk to him. But he only grew frustrated.
Now he wondered if the switch could be turned off or if this was simply the way he’d remain.
Sharp had visited almost all the offices in the medical building fitting Jimmy Dillon’s description. As the time neared 2:00 p.m., he entered the second to last on his list. This medical practice belonged to Dr. Bailey, an oral surgeon who’d been practicing in the area for twenty years.
He showed his ID to a plump young receptionist. “Is Frances here?”
“We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
He’d received a similar response at the other offices he’d visited in the building. “Can I see the doctor in charge?”
“Sure.” She made a call. Minutes later a nurse escorted him to a corner office. A glance at the diplomas on the wall told Sharp the good doctor had an impressive résumé. But Sharp had crossed paths with many talented, smart people who took shortcuts when it came to making money. It wouldn’t be hard for a doctor to skim narcotics and sell them on the side.
A short man wearing a white lab coat entered the room. Neat black hair was brushed away from a friendly face free of worries. He extended his hand. “Agent Sharp, I’m Dr. Bailey. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a woman named Frances.”
“Who?”
“She works in this office,” he bluffed. Even if the name weren’t real, hearing it spoken by a cop would rattle cages.
“The name doesn’t ring a bell, but let me check with my office manager.” The doctor moved to his desk and pressed a button. “Dana, can you come in here? Great.” As he set down the receiver, he faced Sharp. “She’s the brains of the outfit. In fact, sometimes I feel like I work for her.”
“You don’t know the names of all your employees?”
“I’m a surgeon. I arrive at five a.m. and I work nonstop most of the day. I hired Dana because she’s efficient and knows how to run a tight ship.”
“What kind of surgeries do you do?”
“Dental work. Pull teeth. Root canals. Gum surgery.”
“So you’ve a full surgical setup here?”
“We have three suites that I move between in the mornings. Our patients are transferred to a recovery suite where we can keep an eye on them until they’re ready to leave.”
“You keep all your meds on-site?”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Is this about drugs? Did this Frances take drugs from me?”
“We don’t know.”
A soft knock on the door and an average-height woman with full brown hair, glasses, and bright-red lips entered. “You wanted to see me?”
“Dana Coggin, this is Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police. Do you know a woman named Frances who works here?”
She adjusted her glasses. “No. Should I?”
“A confidential informant identified Frances as a source for illegally traded prescription drugs,” Sharp said. He watched her closely for any body language cue that would tip her hand.
Dana adjusted her glasses again. “Why should I know this woman?”
“I believe Frances is an alias. Anyone in this office give you cause for concern when it came to the administration of narcotics?”
“No. Never.” She shifted her stance.
“According to one of my sources, Terrance Dillon, age eighteen, was given a bag containing these narcotics and told to deliver them to a specific address. He was killed in a city alley.”
“Were the narcotics found?” Dana asked.
“No.”
Dana’s gaze grew steady, as if she were doing her best not to look too upset. “That’s terrible, but how would I know about the kid’s death?”
Sharp noted how she tightly gripped a pen in her right hand. “We think someone in one of the offices in this building sold those drugs to Terrance’s father, Jimmy Dillon. There are only two other businesses in this building other than this one that fit the profile.”
Dana’s smile was quick, forced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smelled the lie. “Who is Frances?”
She stood straighter. “I don’t know.”
The hair on his neck rose, just as it did when he had been deployed. “So if I ordered an audit of your controlled drug supplies, there’d be no issue?”
She glanced at the doctor. “There
would be no problem.”
“Good,” Sharp said, reaching for his phone. “I’ll have agents here within the hour along with the Virginia Board of Pharmacy.”
The doctor shook his head. “I cannot have state agents coming into my office like this. It’s not good for business.”
“I suspect someone is using the drugs taken from this office to administer to and then kill women. So if I can track the supplier, then I’ll find the buyer, who I believe is the killer.”
Dr. Bailey slid his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t realize it was that complicated. Dana, are you sure there’s no issue with the inventory?”
She looked at him like he’d slapped her. “No, there’s no issue. I haven’t sold drugs to anyone.”
“I never said it was you,” Sharp said.
She leaned toward the doctor, locking her gaze on him and lowering her voice. “Dr. Bailey, I’ve worked for you for twelve years. You know me.”
“I’ve already requested all the security footage around this building,” Sharp said. “If someone in this office is culpable, I’ll know soon.”
Dana removed her glasses and glanced at the lenses before wiping them with the edge of her shirt. “I don’t like your tone.”
Dr. Bailey stared at his office manager. “Dana, you need to tell the officer what you know.”
Dana stared at her employer, her eyes narrowing. “I think I better call my attorney.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sunday, October 9, 6:00 a.m.
Tessa came to Sharp often in his dreams. Most nights, she was dressed only in one of his white dress shirts. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, sleeves pushed recklessly above her elbows, and only a single button was fastened, offering a generous peek at the full swell of her breasts. Firm legs, but so soft to the touch.
Sharp awoke and glanced at the empty side of his bed. He was thinking about her too much during the day, and now she was in his dreams.
Groaning, he got out of bed and went straight for the shower. He didn’t bother with hot water. Ice-cold water was what he needed.
When he came into the kitchen, Sharp was grateful for the full pot of coffee waiting for him. He had only gotten a couple hours of sleep last night, and the cold shower hadn’t quite cut through his fatigue. He filled a mug and found McLean sitting on the back patio, staring at a chessboard that looked to be in midgame.
“What are you looking at?”
“I find sometimes chess allows me to focus and identify patterns.” He put his fingertips on a bishop, hesitated, but in the end, didn’t move the piece.
“Patterns.” Sharp shook his head. “I keep forgetting there’s a philosophy minor lurking behind your math major. If a tree falls in the woods, and no one hears it fall, does it make a sound? All bullshit to me.”
McLean sipped his coffee before moving a chess piece. “You would be surprised what secrets the universe will reveal if you’re simply quiet.”
Sharp took a sip of coffee. “Right.”
McLean’s eyes darkened with unspoken thoughts. “Even in chaos, there are paths. What’s on your agenda today?”
“I’m headed into the office. More surveillance footage waiting for me.”
“On the Diane Richardson case?”
“Indirectly. I’m working on the case of a kid knifed in a Richmond alley. I think the kid was killed because he recognized his killer.”
McLean’s lips curled. “So who did the boy know? What were his daily patterns?”
“I’m working on that. He came from a small town where most of the locals know each other.”
“Your killer is a local?”
“I think he was either local or in the area often. The kid’s neighborhood is right off I-95, which broadens the possible list of suspects.”
“If you need help, shout.”
“Will do.”
McLean checked his watch. “Now, I’ve got to go. Headed to meet with the Shield people.”
Sharp checked his own watch. “At this time of day?”
“They work nonstop, like you.” He placed his coffee cup in the sink and, offering a quick salute to Sharp, snatched up his keys and left.
As Sharp sipped coffee, he mentally ran through the surveillance tapes he’d reviewed, until his phone rang. It was Martin. “Working on Sunday?”
Martin’s chair squeaked through the phone. “A good excuse to skip brunch with my mother-in-law.”
“You two don’t get along?”
Without any malice in his tone, he said, “We’re polite, but she could live the rest of her life without seeing me again, and I could do the same.”
“Tessa’s mother died before I met her. She has a cousin who never liked me. The cousin knows me better than I know myself.”
“How so?”
“The cousin is a workaholic. She recognized the traits in me that I didn’t see.” He refilled his cup.
“She wasn’t charmed by your witty dialogue?”
Sharp grunted. “I’m incapable of small talk.”
“No kidding, really?”
Sharp ignored the sarcasm. “The blood in the Richmond city alley belongs to Terrance Dillon.”
“No doubts?”
“None. The kid was AB negative and the blood is a DNA match to the evidence collected by the medical examiner at autopsy. Terrance Dillon was definitely killed in the alley.”
“Any other evidence from either of the two crime scenes that are attached to this case?”
“As you might remember, there’s a partial fingerprint on Terrance Dillon’s belt buckle, which doesn’t belong to the victim. We’re running it through AFIS. Must have been transferred when the killer lifted the body. Judging by the blood trail, the killer pulled the body toward Cary Street. The trail ended abruptly two feet inside the alley.”
He thought about the white van circling Diane’s block. “He put him in a vehicle.”
“Which has to have traces of blood in it. The kid lost a tremendous amount of blood, and even if he died in the alley, he was still spilling blood.”
He remembered the faint bloodstain on Diane’s doll dress. “What about the blood on our doll victim? Has that been tested?”
“It’s in the works now.”
“Compare it to Terrance Dillon’s blood.”
Martin hesitated. “Sure.”
“What about the kid’s cell phone? Did you find any numbers out of the ordinary?”
“All the numbers on the kid’s phone can be confirmed. The father’s phone is a different story. When he was arrested, he had three phones in his possession. One had not been used. The other two were used to make calls to another burner phone. I checked with the cell towers to see if I could get a location, but the phone is currently inactive. If the killer reactivates the phone, then there might be a chance to find him.”
“If he’s smart, he’ll smash it and toss it in the river.”
“You give him too much credit.”
He wished that were true. This killer could possibly have been killing for a dozen years. “Can you send me a printout of the numbers?”
“Sure, why?”
“A man at Shield Security might be able to track the cells and see if one reactivates.”
“Sure.”
“What about the dolls found at the Richardson home and the Hayes apartment?”
“I was only able to pull a partial print from the Hayes doll. The Richardson doll was wiped clean. Both of the dolls’ heads, arms, and feet are porcelain. Neither was manufactured, so I’m guessing the parts were ordered from a craft supply store and then assembled. The clothes are also not manufactured but hand-sewn. Finding the seller of any of these materials is a tricky matter.”
With the Internet, this supplier could be anywhere in the world. “Are there similarities between the partial print on Terrance Dillon’s belt buckle and the partial on the Hayes doll?”
“I have a thumbprint on the buckle and a right index finger on the doll. The thumbprint
is a fairly good sample, but the index finger shows signs of scarring, perhaps a burn. I had no matches on the index finger and was able to match one, maybe two points on the thumbprint, but as you know, I need at least six for a solid identification.”
“Thanks. Word is you were also on the team in Elena Hayes’s apartment? Find anything?”
“Lots of prints, but no telling which ones, if any, belong to our killer. It’s a matter of sorting through the hundreds we collected and matching them to either the thumbprint or the AFIS system.”
“We’re looking for a needle in a haystack, but at least we have a haystack now.”
“I’ll forward what I have.”
“Thanks.”
As Sharp ended the call, he heard a car door close and looked out his front window. He saw Tessa approaching the door. His first thought was there had to be a problem for her to come to his house this early. He set his coffee cup aside and moved to the door, snapping it open before she could knock.
“Tessa,” he said.
She smiled. “Just the man I need to see. I have information for you.”
He stepped aside. “Come in.”
Closing the door behind her, he felt a familiar tightening in his gut when he watched her walk. Damn. When would he get over wanting her? She moved into the living room, and he motioned for her to sit. She chose the sofa.
He remained standing. “What do you have?”
She scooted to the edge of the couch, clutching a file in her hands. “I pulled Kara’s autopsy file.”
His insides turned brittle. “Why’d you do that?”
“The comment my cousin Holly said bothered me.”
“About the makeup?” A calm tone hid the fire burning in his gut. “The Kara I knew didn’t wear makeup.”
“She wasn’t wearing it that night. The picture proved it. I know my cousin remembers everything, but I thought she might have heard wrong. So I pulled Kara’s medical examiner case files and looked at the pictures taken of her when she arrived at the medical examiner’s office. Have you seen them?”
He paused to shore up his defenses. “No.”
“I know this is painful, Dakota, which is why I did the looking without talking to you first.”
He cleared his throat. “What did you find?”