by Mary Burton
Out in the hallway in the dark, she ran blindly, her heart jabbing so hard against her rib cage, she thought bone would crack.
“Harmony! No. This is dangerous. You need to rest and heal.”
Her breathing came harder and faster, and she pulled at the bandages on her face, so desperate to have them off, her nails scraping her tender face. Wherever her fingers clawed, her skin burned. God, what has he done to me?
She spotted a door at the end of the hallway but stumbled to her knees before scrambling back to her feet. She closed the distance to the door. Trembling fingers wrapped around the knob. She twisted, and nearly wept when she discovered it was unlocked. She pushed it open. Cool air and a cloudless night sky greeted her. She stepped outside, gravel biting into her bare feet. She ran, unmindful of the pain. Ahead, she saw a stand of trees and thought desperately that if she could get to the woods, she could hide.
Behind her, she heard an anguished wail that forced her to glance over her shoulder. Footsteps followed and a flashlight clicked on.
“Harmony, don’t leave me. Not yet. You aren’t finished.”
She didn’t want to know what finished meant. Stones cut into her bare feet as she made her way toward the woods. Beyond the trees she saw lights. God, someone help me! She tripped and nearly fell before catching herself as she approached the stand of trees. Her heart pounded in her ears, her lungs ached, but she believed she would get free of this madman.
Just as she reached the first trees, strong arms grabbed her by the hand and yanked her back. She bumped backward against a hard chest as arms banded around her waist. He whirled her around and punched her in the gut, cutting off her air and silencing a scream.
He supported her sagging weight as he whispered, “This is very naughty of you, Harmony.”
Tears stung her eyes as she tried to pry the iron hold open with her fingers. “No.”
Shadows darkened his face. “You aren’t going anywhere, Harmony.”
Elena’s fingers balled into a fist and she swung wildly, connecting with his nose. He grunted in pain.
He grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms painfully behind her back. “Don’t make me hurt you. I don’t like to hurt you.” He dragged her several steps forward into the beam of moonlight and stared at her torn bandages and damaged skin. “You’ve ruined my work, you selfish little bitch.”
She spit into his face. “What work? What have you done to me?”
Grabbing her chin, he turned her head from right to left. “What have you done to yourself? I’ve spent hours working on you. Days!”
She tried to break free and kick him. “Fuck you!”
His hands slid from her arms to her neck as he dragged her into the shadows. Strong fingers tightened around her delicate neck as he squeezed. She grabbed at his face, tried to push him away, but he tightened his hold. Her breath caught, and soon her lungs screamed for air.
Her vision blurred, and she became light-headed. “Stop. Let me go.”
“You’ve made me angry, Harmony. You’ve been rude and ungrateful.”
Her legs gave way, and he lowered her to the ground, squeezing harder with each whimper. “Please.” She didn’t recognize her voice. It sounded distant, lost, and desperate.
He straddled her, locking his knees around her ribs and sitting on her midsection. “Harmony, I was ready to give it all to you. But you’re an ungrateful doll.”
Those were the last words she heard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Monday, October 10, 8:00 a.m.
Sharp arrived at the office of Shield Security after fighting rush-hour traffic clogging I-95 between Richmond and Washington. He showed his identification to the guard at the front gate and then to a second guard inside the building. “They’re expecting you, Agent Sharp. Take the elevator to the fifth floor.”
“Thanks.”
His heels clicked at a determined pace as he crossed the polished floor and punched the elevator button. The ride to the fifth floor took mere seconds. The doors opened to a frowning Garrett Andrews.
“You’re late,” Andrews said.
“Traffic.”
“What do you have?”
“I want to hear everything you’ve learned from Knox’s files and your interview with him. He died last night.”
Andrews showed no expression. “How?”
“Looks like an overdose,” Sharp said. “He left a note that said, ‘I’m sorry. I should have done more.’”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“As I mentioned, I asked him basic questions about your sister’s investigation, and he wouldn’t answer me,” Andrews said. “He said the day she was found, he was short staffed because there’d been an arson incident that day. And as I told you, he also suggested he wiped her face clean before other officers arrived.”
“Do you think he was protecting someone other than Roger and my mother?”
“Yes. I think he knew who killed your sister or at least who was responsible for her death, and he covered it up.” Andrews absently rubbed the back of his hand. “According to my searches, Knox came to the area from Denver. He was married, divorced, and he has two daughters. He also had a son who drowned when the boy was twelve. Neither Knox’s wife nor the daughters joined him when he moved to Virginia. After he served for ten years as police chief, the city council voted him out of office. Local newspapers reported he was furious at the ouster. He applied for his private investigator’s license and for the next eight years did work ranging from insurance company fraud to cheating spouses. His biggest client was Roger Benson.”
“Knox stayed close to Roger Benson, who lost a child while Knox was chief of police. Maybe he felt a bond with Roger because each lost a child.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Knox wanted to keep a close eye on the investigation.” Andrews opened the door to his lab and moved to his computer. “Odd that Kara, Diane, and now Knox died of overdoses. Maybe whoever he was protecting turned on him.” He pressed several buttons, and the picture of Kara, Diane, Elena, and Tessa appeared on the large screen.
Andrews enlarged the image with the swipe of his finger. “As I said, Knox mentioned an arson case the day your sister was found. Said it was a confusing, chaotic day. In fact, I found evidence from that arson case in your sister’s file.”
“Papers get misfiled.”
“I believe there’s more to it than misfiling. I’d like you to get a copy of that arson case file. I don’t think the papers were misfiled but put there intentionally. A trail of bread crumbs, if you like.”
“Leading to?”
“Evidence. I want to see if evidence from your sister’s case is in the arson file.”
“Interesting.”
“I believe Knox had a key piece of evidence and for whatever reason couldn’t destroy it, so he hid it.” He handed Sharp a printout listing six case files. “I’d also like to see these case files. They are arson cases that have occurred in your hometown area in the last twenty years.”
“Why these?”
“I suspect our killer blows off steam lighting fires.”
Sharp reached for his phone and within minutes located a contact in the town’s police department. “I need these files pulled now.” He rattled off the date Kara was found as well as the six other case files. “Look up the date. There will be an arson case that day. Call me back when you have the files, and I’ll send a trooper to get them today.” When the clerk on the other end hesitated and made an excuse about workloads, Sharp gripped his phone tighter. His tone was tight, ripe with anger. “I’m sending someone by today. Be ready.” After a rushed promise to find the records, the clerk hung up. He texted Riley and informed her of the situation. She agreed to pick up and deliver the files to Andrews.
Sharp glanced at the image on the big screen. “Can you search for any other cases similar to Kara and Diane’s and perhaps Elena’s? If we are dealing with the same killer, I’d bet money he’s been honing his skills on other wo
men.”
“Skilled tattooing takes practice,” Andrews said. “Who knows, he might also have set a few fires around the times of other murders.”
“Exactly.”
“I’d also like you to consider exhumation.”
“What?” Sharp said.
“I’ve been reading your updates on the Diane Richardson case. You said there was a doll found in the trash behind her apartment, and there was also a doll left at Elena Hayes’s home.”
“Right.”
“There was no evidence of a doll found at Kara’s crime scene.”
Tension banded up Sharp’s back. “Correct.”
“I believe this killer has evolved considerably in the last dozen years. But as much as his skills have improved, I believe leaving the doll is a kind of signature for him that might have begun with your sister.”
“You think he put something in her casket?”
“We won’t know unless we exhume her body.”
“Jesus, Andrews.”
Andrews didn’t speak.
“Let me think about it.”
The modest funeral home was located on the south side of town a block from the railroad tracks and six blocks from Terrance Dillon’s home. Sharp parked in the back of the lot and got out of his car.
Inside the funeral home, gentle music played over hidden speakers, which he supposed was intended to soothe the grieving. In an unseen room, wheels squeaked, and he imagined a casket being positioned. He thought about his sister. His mother. Roger.
Sharp shrugged his shoulders and tugged at the corners of his cuffs, already wishing he could leave this place. He hated the idea of digging up Kara’s coffin, but he couldn’t ignore Andrews’s logic. If she held the key to catching this killer in her coffin, he’d start proceedings today.
He followed the carpeted hallway to the placard marked “Office.” He knocked and found Norman DeLuca in a dark suit standing behind the receptionist desk, arranging name cards.
DeLuca looked up. “Agent Sharp. Good to see you. Still working on the Terrance Dillon case?”
“I’m looking into another case.”
“How may I help you, Agent Sharp?”
He fished around for the right words. “I came about my sister, Kara.”
“Kara Benson? She’s not been with us for a long time.”
Not with us. It sounded too polite. “I want to know about the final moments before her casket was sealed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who was there? Did anyone put any item in the casket with her?” He thought about the dolls left at Diane’s and Elena’s homes.
“It’s been twelve years. I would have to check our files for any items inventoried.”
“Can you do that now?”
DeLuca glanced at his watch. “I’ve new clients arriving soon, but I think I can do this.” He motioned Sharp toward a computer, and he pressed a few keys before the name Benson came on the screen. “Her final clothing selection was a white lace dress. She wore a heart-shaped necklace and a bracelet with her name on it.”
Both pieces were favorites of hers. He’d given Kara both the necklace and bracelet. “Anything else in the casket?”
“There was a doll.”
“A doll?”
“Yes. I personally placed it beside her just before her funeral.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“After your parents left, a young girl came into the viewing room and gave it to me. She said your mother wanted it left with your sister. The doll apparently had been Kara’s.”
No. That wasn’t right. His sister wouldn’t have wanted anything like that. “Who was the girl?”
“A friend of the family, I suppose. I didn’t recognize her. I didn’t question the girl. I hope I didn’t offend your family,” Mr. DeLuca said.
It was the killer’s signature. He was likely at the funeral. “Do you have a list of the people who signed the guest book?”
“I have a scan of it in our computer files. Would you like a printout?”
“Yes.”
More keys tapped. The printer hummed.
DeLuca inspected the pages, then handed them to Sharp.
“Never pleasant when a young one leaves us. We try to help, but it’s never easy.”
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t say why the doll mattered.”
Because the fucking killer wanted it there. “I’m not sure it really does. Just struck me as odd.”
“Why?”
“Kara wasn’t a fan of dolls.”
“Maybe she was, and you didn’t know it.”
Sharp meticulously tucked the pages in his notebook. “You might be right. Thank you again, Mr. DeLuca.”
“Of course. Return any time you have a question.”
On the way out, he glanced at the upcoming services and caught the name Terrance Raymond Dillon. “The Dillon funeral is going to be held here?”
“Tomorrow at ten.”
Sharp moved to a side table and picked up a flyer. He stared at the paper, the feelings of regret and anger weighing heavy. “And the expenses were covered.”
“It’s all taken care of,” he said.
“By who?”
“The community. A crowdfunding account was set up, and it grew quickly. What it doesn’t cover, I will.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Sometimes. Mrs. Jones is asking in lieu of flowers that donations be made to the Terrance Dillon scholarship fund at his high school.”
“Good to know. Thank you.”
“Will you be attending tomorrow?”
“I will.”
“Would you like me to reserve a seat for you? It’s going to be crowded.”
“No.” He forced a smile. “Thank you. I can fend for myself.”
“See you tomorrow.”
In his car, he called McLean, his one friend who’d attended Kara’s funeral. McLean picked up on the second ring. “What’s up?”
Sharp reached for his cigarettes. “You attended Kara’s funeral.”
Silence hung heavy between them. “I did.”
Sharp cleared his throat. “Did you see her?”
“I didn’t mean to, but yes, I saw her. I arrived late to the funeral home. The door to her viewing room was still open. I think Roger and your mother had just left.”
“Was she holding a doll?”
“Man, I don’t know. I could barely focus on her.”
“Did you see anyone else around her?”
“I heard footsteps outside the door, so I left and went to stand in the back of the chapel.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Why you asking about this?”
“Just chasing a lead. We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah, sure. Anything you need.”
Sharp hung up and immediately lit his cigarette.
He watched as a couple walked hand in hand into the funeral home. The woman was crying, and the man looked like he was barely holding up.
If the killer had attended Kara’s funeral and had killed Dillon, there was a possibility he would attend this funeral as well.
Douglas Knox’s autopsy took less than three hours. Dr. Kincaid performed the grim duty with Tessa assisting. There was no sign of external trauma to the body, other than the needle mark in his arm. Dr. Kincaid ordered a full tox screen.
“Let’s have a look internally,” Dr. Kincaid said.
Though the crime scene suggested this might have been murder, Tessa knew the medical examiner could not rule out natural causes.
Dr. Kincaid made a Y incision and soon had the old man’s chest open. She removed the rib cage, and they got their first look at his heart. It was a colored muscle twice its normal size.
“He would have been dead within the year,” Tessa said. “I’m not surprised, given all the heart medication in his medicine chest.”
“It was a miracle he was able to function at all,” Kincaid said. “I understand he left a note.”
“Yes. All it said was, ‘I’m sorry. I should have done more.’”
“Sorry for what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What was the date of his last prescription?”
“He had a half-dozen prescriptions refilled two days ago.”
“Fills his meds and then kills himself.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen this before. He was screwing up his courage.”
Dr. Kincaid examined Knox’s vital organs, discovering several others were also close to failure.
They were just finishing the autopsy and closing up the body when Dakota arrived. His gaze raked over Tessa, and her skin prickled as energy snapped through her body.
“Agent Sharp,” Dr. Kincaid said. “I’m ruling Douglas Knox’s death undetermined until I get the tox screen back. Then I’ll make a final determination.”
Nodding, he approached the table. “When will that be?”
“A few weeks.”
He glanced at the clock. “Do you have a heavy docket today?”
Kincaid stripped off her gloves as Jerry wheeled away the body. “Several hours to go, but Dr. McGowan is free.”
“Good,” he said, without giving Tessa a chance to comment. “Dr. Kincaid, there is a chance I may have to have my sister’s body exhumed.”
Tessa’s throat tightened with emotion, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She understood the logic but knew it must be tearing Dakota up.
Dr. Kincaid nodded. “If you decide to proceed, Dr. McGowan and I will be on hand and will take good care of her.”
“Thank you. I hope it’s not necessary.”
“Keep me posted,” Dr. Kincaid said.
Tessa followed him into the hallway.
Sharp stopped a few feet past the doors and turned to her. “I’m headed back to Shield Security. I have a list from the funeral home detailing all the people at Kara’s funeral. I’ve sent scans to Andrews at Shield, and he’s already analyzed it. I’d like you to tag along. You were there. And you knew the players in town.”