by Mary Burton
Sharp moved closer to the screen. “Were there any suspects in any of the cases?”
“A local drug dealer in Denver came under scrutiny in one case,” Andrews said. “He not only had his hand in prostitution and strip clubs, but he had an affinity for young girls. But he was cleared.”
“Cleared or he hired a good attorney who got the charges dropped?”
“Good attorney who got the charges dropped. But this suspect was shot and killed last year in a nightclub fight.”
“Were there any other similar murders matching this killer’s MO?” Sharp asked.
“I checked the FBI database and didn’t see any other crimes that matched the criteria. Doesn’t mean they didn’t occur.”
“How did he keep them immobile?” Sharp asked.
“There were multiple needle marks on their arms. I think he dosed them often with heroin.”
“He chose the most vulnerable, and he picked areas where he was less likely to be caught.”
“What about victims before Kara?” Sharp asked.
“There were no similar cases that came up in my search engines predating her death.”
“Do you think she was his first?”
“I would say so. I would guess seeing Kara with friends dressed up as dolls flipped a switch in the killer. Many aspects of her death suggest a lack of planning. But whatever payoff he got when he killed her has spurred him to kill more.”
“He’s a professional now,” Bowman said. “He won’t stop.”
“He doesn’t want to be caught,” Sharp said. He thought about Madison’s tears and shaky hands when he’d pressed him at the studio. Some killers were eaten up with remorse and left clues for the police, subconsciously hoping they’d be stopped. Not this guy. “But if this is the same killer, he’s now choosing women who are going to be missed. Why the switch?”
“I’d say confidence,” Bowman said. “A bigger stage for his exhibit.”
“I believe this guy is local,” Andrews said. “He thought he could make a drug buy in the city that would remain anonymous. Dumb luck lands him face-to-face with a local kid. Just as I believe dumb luck put your sister in his path twelve years ago.”
Bowman cleared his throat. “What do you know about your sister’s last days?”
“We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks before she went missing. It was during the first days of her freshman year. She talked a lot, but I only processed about a quarter of what she said. She was like that. Talked a mile a minute.” How many times had he replayed that last conversation?
Andrews rolled a pencil over his fingers like a majorette would a baton. “Let’s get back to the boy who was stabbed to death. Assuming he knew the killer and recognized him, who could he have seen? Did he know Stanford Madison?”
“I haven’t come up with a connection yet,” Sharp said. “I should have his DNA back tomorrow and will know if he’s our guy or not.”
“Riley Tatum dropped off the twelve-year-old arson file,” Andrews said. “In it was a note indicating there were three DNA samples in the county’s climate-controlled storage attached to the Kara Benson file. I’d like to test those.”
Sharp considered what Andrews was suggesting. “Knox hid the DNA from Kara’s case in the arson file. For whatever reason, he didn’t destroy it.”
“That’s my theory. That’s why the arson case report was mingled in with her case. Why Knox mentioned the case to you.” Andrews folded his arms. “As I said, Knox’s trail of bread crumbs could lead to the truth. Knox didn’t want the killer revealed, but he wanted to hang on to the evidence just in case.”
“Leverage. He wanted leverage against the killer,” Sharp said.
“Knox made a point of giving you these files, which tells me he wanted the killer found,” Bowman said.
“The timing explains the motive for killing himself,” Andrews said. “The truth is coming out.”
The words I’m sorry scrawled in Knox’s final note rattled in Sharp’s head.
“Who would he want to protect so badly?” Bowman asked.
“When Kara died, the man had no family in the area. His son was dead. Roger said Knox was isolated the last dozen years.” Sharp shook his head. “Roger thought Knox’s withdrawal from the world indicated he was troubled by Kara’s death. Roger saw Knox as a kindred spirit.”
“The Knox boy’s case is bothering me,” Andrews said. “I dug further. The boy’s body was never found. A funeral was held for him, and there’s a grave marker in Denver, but there’s no body in the coffin.”
“You think the kid is alive?” Sharp asked.
Andrews nodded. “It’s a working theory at this point.”
“So he creates a new identity for the kid.”
“A man like him would know how to do it,” Andrews said.
“All these years, that bastard was Roger’s friend,” Sharp growled.
“What better way to control any subsequent investigations into Kara’s case than to do it yourself,” Bowman said.
“Tessa is retesting the sample located in the official Kara Benson file,” Sharp said.
“I’d wager the results won’t be different from the last time,” Andrews said. “It’s the new samples that matter. The ones filed with the arson case.”
“Get the sample to us,” Bowman said. “We can move faster than the state, and we’ll have an answer by the end of tomorrow.”
Likely a court would not accept a DNA sample misfiled over a dozen years ago, but it could help to zero in on the target. Sharp would worry about making his case stick later. “Right. Thank you.”
“If your sister’s case and this new case are connected by DNA, then this would be the one place where the Dollmaker has repeated his kills,” Andrews said. “By the way, those numbers you sent me for Terrance Dillon. Neither the burner or his personal cell is online, but if and when either does show up, I’ll pinpoint it within minutes.”
What had Knox said? Keep an open mind.
The registered letter was waiting for Sharp when he arrived home. It was from Roger’s attorney. Tearing it open with his thumb, he unlocked the front door and nudged it open with his foot. He flipped on lights, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and shrugged off his coat. The letter was simple, direct. He was Roger’s sole heir. What remained of the estate, namely the lake house, was his. “Shit. I don’t want this.”
He opened his refrigerator and pulled out a beer, twisting the top and taking a long pull. The doorbell rang. He set the beer aside and put his hand on his weapon, moving toward the door. A glance through the peephole. Tessa.
He closed his eyes, relieved and worried all at once. He snapped open the door. “What are you doing here?”
She held up a bag filled with Chinese food. “I brought food, which I’ll trade only if you tell me how it went today at Shield.” Smiling, she pushed past him and walked straight toward the kitchen, where she unpacked the cartons. “I want to know all about it.”
“It’s been a long day, Tessa. I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Déjà vu. I’m not buying it,” she said, laughing.
His response had been the theme of their marriage. Her begging him to talk, him too spent to talk. Now she wasn’t begging. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about Shield, we’ll eat, and when we’re finished, I’ll clean up and leave. You were never good at eating when you were working.” She set her bag on the counter and slid off her jacket.
“You put protein bars in my jacket pocket. They tasted like cardboard.”
She unpacked the small white boxes along with a couple of sodas. “But it kept you going. Just like letting off a little steam and talking will do the same.”
He unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah.”
She unpacked plastic forks and handed him one. “The beef is still your favorite, right?”
He accepted the carton. “Yes.”
She unwrapped a fork. “Eat up.”
She settled on a
bar stool and dug her fork into a bucket of vegetables. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, so he ate.
Finally he said, “I just received a letter from Roger’s attorney. Roger left me his lake house.”
She jabbed her fork in the half-eaten dish and left it there. “Wow. That’s got to feel weird.”
“I don’t want the house.”
“Then sell it. Donate the money, if it makes you feel better. Set up a scholarship in Kara’s name. But before you do any of that, remember that you were all Roger had left, and he wanted you to have what was his.”
“Roger and I didn’t get along.”
“When it came to the big issues, you were more alike than different. When’s the last time you saw the house?” She rose and moved toward him, taking his white carton and setting it aside.
“Twelve years ago,” he said.
When he didn’t say more, she asked, “Are you at least going to see the house again? There could be items inside you want to keep.”
He looked at her, his gaze heavy with loss. “I don’t know.”
“I can go with you.”
“Why?”
“Moral support. I’m not working tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“There’s a lot I don’t have to do. But I do it anyway.”
He rose up from the bar stool. She set her food aside and turned toward him. He laid his hands on her hips, pausing, waiting for her to move away. She held her ground.
“You can kiss me,” she said. “I won’t bite too much.”
His frown deepening, he traced her collarbone with his thumb. “I do.”
She laughed. “Just you try. I’m faster on my feet than you.” She cupped his face with her hand, and the sensation was a cutting blend of pleasure and pain. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
He stood stock-still. “I assumed our last hookup was about pent-up emotions and hormones. What’s this time about?”
“I want you. That’s never changed.”
“Why do you want me?”
“I love you.”
He tilted his head, his eyes level on her. “Love wasn’t enough the first time. And I’ll never be easy.”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” She took his hand in hers. “I’m a little older and wiser now. I see your methods might not be easy, but your heart is in the right place.” She kissed him again, and this time he placed his hands around her waist.
She closed her eyes and allowed him to taste her lips, to explore her mouth, to savor her. When he drew back, she moistened her lips and reached for the buttons of his shirt.
“This time it doesn’t have to be so frantic,” she said. “I want to enjoy this.”
Nothing was fixed between them. The issues ran too deep. And knowing that didn’t stop him from reaching for the tail of her shirt and pulling it over her head. He cupped her lace-covered breasts and kissed her again. He slowly undressed her.
They made it to the bedroom, but barely. By the time she dropped back onto his bed, he was pulling off his shirt and all but ripping his undershirt off. Shoes, socks, pants went in seconds. When she scooted up on the pillows, he was seconds behind her. And when she parted her legs, he drove into her, hoping this was slow enough for her.
She wrapped a leg around his waist and pushed her pelvis up, matching his downward thrusts. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she kissed him.
When he growled out his release, she quickly followed, and he collapsed on top of her, their sweat mingling between their naked bodies. He stroked her hair back from her face, staring, afraid to voice his feelings.
They’d made no promises. And that was good.
No matter how sweet it was now, he wouldn’t kid himself about forever. Forever was a fantasy. But God help him if she tried to leave again. He would not make it nearly so easy for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wednesday, October 12, 7:30 a.m.
A local.
Keep an open mind.
The words had churned in Sharp’s head most of the night. Tessa had lain curled against his side sleeping soundly while he stared at the ceiling, one hand wrapped around her, the other tucked under his head.
When Tessa awoke, her hand slid slyly to his erection. As she stroked him, the plaguing thoughts vanished, and he was lost in pure pleasure. She straddled him and her body hungrily enveloped him. She moved up and down, desire building until they both tipped over the edge as ecstasy washed over them.
Her body coated in a fine sheen of sweat, she ran her fingers over his chest, finally resting on the rapid beat of his heart. She leaned forward and kissed his lips.
He pulled her to his side and held her close. They lay in silence for a few minutes.
“I need a shower,” she said. “Join me.”
He smiled and cupped her buttocks.
They showered, dressed, and stopped at a local diner for breakfast.
“So what’s the deal with McLean?” she asked. “No sign of him last night.”
“His mother still has a house near where we grew up. He’s likely up there.”
“You’ve known him since high school. He knew Kara.”
“He was like a big brother to her in a lot of ways.”
“Did he ever meet Diane?”
“He must have. She and Kara were friends.” Keep an open mind. “What are you suggesting?”
“He’s charming and fun to be around, but how well do you know him?”
“I also served with him. I saw him save a lot of good men.”
Keep an open mind.
“You’re frowning. I’m not trying to make you angry. I’m just asking the question.”
“Vargas asked the same questions about you.”
“She’s a smart agent. She’s willing to look under every rock for this killer.”
“It’s not McLean.”
“Okay.”
He balled up his napkin and tossed it on the table. “Before we go to the lake house, I need to pick up DNA from the county sheriff’s evidence locker and drop it at Shield.”
“What DNA?”
“We found a reference in Kara’s file suggesting there might have been more DNA found on her.”
She shook her head. “I doubled-checked the files. There was only one sample.”
“Knox indicated there’s more filed under an arson case that occurred the day Kara was found.”
“Interesting. Do you want me to test it?”
“Shield Security will do it.”
“It likely won’t be admissible.”
“I’m not looking for admissible. I’m looking for evidence.” He tossed a twenty on the table. “I called yesterday. The sample will be waiting.”
“Then let’s go.”
It took less than an hour to get the samples and drop them at Shield Security before doubling back to Roger’s tree-lined street. Now his. He didn’t want the place. Didn’t want any ties to this past, but until Kara’s killer was found, he knew he’d hold on to the old house.
He parked in the driveway and studied the white clapboard house with the expansive front porch. A massive willow tree draped its long and lazy leaves. The gardens were filled with overgrown boxwoods that cast off an aroma he always associated with the old and titled families of Virginia. As he got out of his car, he looked toward the swing that creaked back and forth. Empty stone planters now sported only dirt and dried vines. The building that had once felt oppressive now only looked lost.
“Roger wasn’t taking care of the place,” Tessa said.
Digging the key from his pocket, he walked up the wide front steps, remembering the time he had sailed down them on an old mattress destined for the dump. Kara had snickered. His mother looked horrified, as if someone had seen and would report back to Roger. She’d always lived in fear Roger would see beyond her beauty to the frightened young girl who’d moved out of her parents’ two-room house in search of love.
The steps cre
aked under their feet as they climbed to the porch. The old lock was rusted and stiff, but when he wiggled the key back and forth, the tumbler turned. The door begrudgingly swung open, letting in light that illuminated the dust dancing in the air.
He reached for the light switch, knowing from the attorney’s letter the electricity was paid until the end of the year. The dusty chandelier came to life, casting a weak light that couldn’t penetrate the dark, musty rooms. To his right was a large parlor, and to his left the formal dining room. Both sat bare now.
“Where’s the furniture?” Tessa asked.
“Roger told me when I saw him in June that he’d sold off most of it. Said he was simplifying his life.” Sharp hadn’t thought much of it. Hell, he’d always wondered how one man could use all this space. Now as his footsteps echoed in the emptiness, he realized how much Roger had lost.
Sharp had lost a sister. Roger a child. Both should have understood the other’s grief, but each was so wrapped up in misery, neither thought to reach out to the other.
Sharp climbed the center staircase, flipping on the upstairs lights as he moved. The carpet in the hallway had dulled, and the formerly colorful walls had faded.
With Tessa following silently, he paused at the first bedroom, which had been his. Turning the knob, he slowly opened the door to find it stripped bare.
He moved to the next room and hesitated.
“This was Kara’s room,” Tessa said. “I remember it.”
“Yes.” He turned the knob and switched on the light. The room remained furnished just as it had been the last time he’d seen her on the canopy bed, shooing him out so she could talk on the phone to one of her friends. Memories of that day flooded back.
“Dakota,” she’d growled at him as she sat up. “Would you butt out?”
He’d lingered, knowing it pissed her off more. Even at twenty-six he enjoyed riling her temper. “I thought you wanted to go running.”
“I do.”
He tapped his finger on his watch. “Daylight’s wasting.”
“I’m not a marine. Just go away. I’m talking to my friend Tessa.”