by Mary Burton
Dakota received another text. “Shit. DNA is also a match to Knox. This guy we’re looking for is Knox’s son.”
Sharp entered the interview room where Dana Coggin and her attorney sat at a simple desk. He took the chair opposite them and pulled it around to the side of the desk. Right now he wasn’t looking to antagonize Ms. Coggin. He needed her help finding this killer, and if he could make her believe they were on the same side, then so be it.
“Thank you for coming,” Sharp said as he reached out his hand to the attorney.
Ms. Coggin didn’t speak but shifted in her seat and glanced at her attorney, a lean gray-haired woman whose dark suit made her pale complexion look sallow. A thin strong hand shook his. “I’m Martha Wells.”
“Good to meet you.” He smiled at Ms. Coggin. “And I do appreciate both your help.”
Dana sat straighter, tugging the edges of her coat nervously. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
Sharp opened his notepad case and clicked his pen. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me. Today, I may not be too concerned about you selling drugs if you’re willing to deal. Tell me about the man you were selling to.”
Ms. Coggin opened her mouth to speak, but her attorney held up her hand. “I’m not sure how my client can help you.”
He produced a smile that he hoped was friendly. He pulled out two photos and laid them both facedown on the table. “Dana,” he said, ignoring the attorney. “Let me show you what we’re up against.” We. A united front.
She folded her arms and sat back, silent.
He flipped over the first image. It was Diane Richardson’s Department of Motor Vehicles picture. “I’ll grant you this wasn’t the best picture taken of her. I’ve seen other pictures of her, and she was a stunning woman.” He tapped his finger on the picture, waiting for her to look at the image. When she did, he reached for the other image but didn’t turn it over right away. Both attorney and client were silent as they waited. Sharp flipped over the picture. It was Diane Richardson’s autopsy photo.
The stark contrast caught both women by surprise.
He pulled out two more pictures. Elena Hayes before. And the grisly after shot.
Again, Sharp waited as the weight of the images took hold. “This killer was able to do this because he could keep her drugged for long stretches of time.” He grimaced. “This face gives me nightmares.”
Ms. Wells now seemed to fully understand the implications for her client. “And if my client could possibly help you, you’d consider a reduced charge?”
“Yes.” As much as he hated to let this woman get away with her crimes, he had a bigger fish to catch, and he had no doubt if he were patient, he’d nail Ms. Coggin again. “Who is the buyer?” He made it sound nonthreatening. He didn’t dare voice his contempt for the woman.
“I’m not a petty drug dealer,” Ms. Coggin said.
Her attorney held up her hand, again silencing her. “She’ll plead guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge. Can we agree on that?”
Sharp stared at Ms. Coggin for a moment before he shifted his attention to the attorney. “She has to tell me everything.”
Ms. Wells nodded to her client. “Agreed?”
“Yes,” Ms. Coggin said.
“Tell him what you told me.”
The woman hesitated. “I used to date Jimmy Dillon when we were in high school. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and a month ago I saw him back in his favorite bar holding court.” She shook her head, regret clear on her face.
“Go on.”
She cleared her throat. “I knew why he’d gone to jail, and I was looking for someone who needed quick cash. It didn’t take much convincing to get Jimmy to say yes.”
Sharp didn’t want to hear her backstory. If he didn’t need her right now, he’d be talking to the commonwealth’s attorney about maximum jail time. “Who was the buyer?”
“I never met the buyer in person. I got a call one night from a man, and he said he knew I might be someone who could help.”
“How did he know that?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“A little.”
“Who did you sell to?”
Ms. Coggin glanced at her attorney, who nodded. “The doctor treated a patient last year who also had cancer. The gentleman was having trouble sleeping. Dr. Bailey refused to prescribe any additional meds, believing the patient was exaggerating his situation. The patient then asked me if I could help. I knew what he needed, but I played dumb. He came back again for a follow-up visit, and this time he begged me for help. He said he’d pay top dollar. I told him it could be arranged, and then I visited his house with several vials of propofol. I showed his wife how to set up the IV. The man died of cancer six months later.”
“Who was the man?”
“Eugene Radcliff. He lived in the area.” She met his gaze.
“Did he use them to kill himself?” Sharp asked.
“No. He didn’t want to die. He was trying to live long enough for his daughter’s wedding.” She shifted in her seat again. “I went by the house to get the extras, but his wife couldn’t find the vials.”
“And you believed her?”
“Yes. Mrs. Radcliff was really worried. She thought her husband might have resold some of the drugs to a third party. Mr. Radcliff was worried about paying for his daughter’s wedding and leaving money for his wife. The woman was terrified she was going to jail if anyone found out.”
“She say who the buyer was?”
“Her husband never told her.”
“And then?”
“I got a call from this guy, who said he wanted more of what I’d sold to Radcliff.”
“And you did what?”
“Nothing. I thought he was a cop. But he called again. And this time he offered a lot more money. I wasn’t going to make the delivery and risk arrest, so I asked Jimmy.”
“And Jimmy got his son.”
“I suppose.” Her slim white fingers twisted around the strap of her purse. “I never saw the buyer or met him directly. But I did see a white van parked outside my house recently. It gave me the creeps.”
“What can you tell me about the van?”
“It was outside my house three nights in a row. I knew it was the buyer. I just knew it.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“I couldn’t see his face. He sat back, staying in the shadows.”
“What about a license plate?” he challenged.
“I wrote down the license plate of the van. At least part of it. I couldn’t see it all.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and put it on the table.
Sharp looked at the scrawled numbers and letters that were three short of a full license. Not a name. But a lead. Playing into her fear of this man, Sharp offered, “You’re likely in danger until we catch this man. If you think of anything else, call me immediately.”
He gave her his business card, moved out into the hallway, and called Andrews, giving him the partial license number. Andrews promised an answer within minutes.
Tessa kicked off her shoes as she entered her cousin’s apartment. After twelve hours on her feet, she was exhausted. As she padded into the kitchen, the front doorbell rang. Checking her watch, she moved toward the door, carefully remembering Dakota’s words of warning.
She glanced out the peephole and saw Veronica holding a bag. She opened the door.
“Veronica.”
A brittle smile tugged at red lips. “I asked around and found out where you lived. I wanted to see you and talk to you about Elena.”
“Dr. Kincaid gave you a full briefing, didn’t she?”
“Yes, yes, she did. But it’s not the same. I wanted to talk to someone who knew Elena. Please, can I come in?”
“I’m happy to meet with you in my office tomorrow. Now is really not a good time.”
“I know this is out of the ordinary. But we knew each other a litt
le as kids. Please, I need closure.”
Tessa, against her better judgment, stepped aside. “Sure, come on in.”
Veronica glanced around the apartment. “I found this bag on your front porch.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting it.
“Aren’t you living with your cousin? How is she doing?”
“She’s great.” Tessa rolled her head, trying to release the tension.
Veronica looked around. “Is she here?”
“No, we have the place to ourselves.”
“Good. It’s hard enough to talk about this.”
Tessa glanced toward the bag, but when Veronica began to cry, she set it aside.
“I was on the phone with Mom and Dad,” Veronica said finally. “They’re flying back from California right now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head, wiping away a tear. “I’m trying to understand this. I’m trying to figure out why someone would be so full of hate that they’d do what they did to her face.”
“I don’t know, Veronica. This person is clearly sick.”
“You know Elena was sorry she didn’t visit with you after your accident.”
Absently, Tessa rubbed her leg. “It was a long time ago.”
“Does it still bother you?”
“Only when I’m tired and have been on my feet too long. For the most part, it’s not too bad.”
“How did you get hit by a car?”
“You didn’t come here to talk about my accident.”
“No, I didn’t. I met with the police sketch artist, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. It was basically the face of a thousand different men.” She fiddled with a ring on her index finger. “I’ve been trying to remember if there were any super creeps that stood out when Elena was in college. There were always guys staring at her. She was so pretty. So perfect. But I can’t place anyone in particular.”
“I’ve been doing the same. I just don’t remember anyone.”
Veronica shook her head. Tears glistened. “This is all so surreal. You know I have an appointment with the funeral home tomorrow? Jesus. I never pictured this moment in my life, ever.”
“No one ever does. I was overwhelmed when my mom died. There were so many details to think about. I don’t think I could have gotten through it all without my aunt.”
Veronica shoved out a sigh. “Look, I can see you’re tired and need to put your feet up. You’re the only one I can really talk to about this.”
“It’s okay.” As Veronica turned toward the door, Tessa said, “You need to be careful. We still don’t know the killer.”
“I saw the cop parked out front of your house. Are you scared?”
“More angry than scared. I want this guy caught.”
She opened the door. “Be careful.”
“Right.”
When Veronica left, Tessa locked her door and turned her attention to the bag. Inside, she found a simple brown box. Carefully, she removed it and pulled off the top to find a layer of white tissue. Peeling back the layers, she caught the glimpse of black hair and then a glass eye with a fixed stare. Her heart rammed against her ribs. It was a doll. “My God.” She dashed to the front door, snapped it open without thinking, hoping she could catch Veronica. But when she opened the door, the man standing there stopped her midstep with the touch of a stun gun to her gut.
“Dr. McGowan?”
Gritting her teeth, she couldn’t form words as she looked up at the man, knowing they’d met recently. Her body tingled, twitched, and burned from the effects of the stun gun as her legs crumbled. He lifted her, supporting her weight as he took her inside the apartment.
Before the door closed, she looked past him to the cop car. The cop’s head was slumped forward. She opened her mouth to scream, but she couldn’t draw in air to speak. The door closed. Finally, she muttered, “Don’t do this.”
He stood her upright and released her as he searched his pockets for something. All the while he watched as she staggered to an entry table for support, willing her legs to work.
Hands trembling, she reached for a vase, gripping the lip as she concentrated on lifting it. It felt as if she were lifting hundreds of pounds. Finally, she turned and hurled it at him.
The man easily deflected the missile with one arm as he held a syringe in the other. “There is no need to be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to transform you, my sweet little doll.”
Screaming weakly, she turned to run, but her body still wouldn’t perform. She tripped, and strong hands grabbed her.
“You are being naughty, little doll. You need to be still. You need to be silent.”
He threw her to the ground, and the power of his thrust sent her tumbling to her hands and knees. She began to crawl. “No. I’m not a doll.”
Easily he overtook her and pulled her hair, yanking her head back. “Why did you make me hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Stop, please.”
He pushed her flat against the floor and tugged her arms behind her, tying them tight at the wrists. “I know what I’m doing, little doll. Stop fighting me before you hurt yourself.”
“Stop!” she hissed, barely able to form the word. Blurred vision and muscle spasms made it impossible for her to sit up.
He bound her feet and rolled her on her back. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it in her mouth. “This isn’t fun for me. It breaks my heart to have to be so rough with you. But soon you’ll be thanking me. I’ll take care of you. Love you. You’re my perfect Serenity doll.”
Panic tore through her, a muffled scream escaping as he pressed her cheek against the floor.
She felt the prick of a needle in her arm and seconds later the warmth of some drug sliding into her. She blinked her eyes, terrified she’d fall asleep.
“You don’t remember me, but I’ve been watching you for years.” He smoothed his hand gently over her head. “Time and people have kept us apart, but now it’s time for us to be together forever.”
She shook her head, blinking again as her vision clouded.
“I’ve done this dozens of times before, though most of the people I spent my time with were far quieter. But don’t worry, Serenity. I’m not here to kill you. We have so much living we can do together.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she pictured the faces of Diane and Elena. As he pushed the syringe’s plunger again, her head swirled and she thought about Dakota. Regrets. How much she loved him.
Sharp was driving north on I-95 when his phone dinged with a text from Ms. Knox. He opened the attachment to a picture of a young boy who couldn’t be more than ten. Familiarity teased as he struggled to connect the dots. Then the phone rang. Andrews.
“Given the parameters, I’ve narrowed it to one man. Norman DeLuca lives near Terrance Dillon and he owns a business in town.”
“Shit.” DeLuca. The picture sent from Carol Knox was of a younger version of DeLuca. He forwarded the text to Andrews. “Just sent you an image of Knox’s son taken when he was a boy.”
There was only a brief hesitation. “DeLuca,” Andrews said.
“He owns the damn funeral home. He likely knew Radcliff and his situation. Probably offered to buy the propofol from him. Big wedding for daughter coming up and leaving a widow. Money was too tempting. He’s been around all their lives. He was at Roger’s funeral. Terrance’s funeral.”
“And no doubt, your sister’s. He’d been in town less than a year when your sister died, and he was working at the funeral home then.”
“He put the doll in her casket.”
“A very logical assumption. He never attended the college, but it’s an open campus, and as a local, he could easily have been around them. He’s only a few years older, so he wouldn’t have stood out too much around the students.”
“And the prostitutes killed in Colorado fit what his sister told me,” Sharp said.
“Explain.”
“Knox’s ex-wif
e told her daughters she was certain she saw her son years ago. She lost the guy in the crowd. Really rattled the woman,” Sharp said.
“I’m trying to connect the deaths to his credit card receipts. If he traveled, there’d be some kind of record. Given a little more time, I’m confident I can show a link.” Keys clicked in the background. “And DeLuca’s Funeral Home was a corporate sponsor of Terrance’s football team. That’s how the kid recognized him.”
“I’ll head to the funeral home now.” Sharp drove toward DeLuca’s.
He dialed Tessa’s phone, and when it went to voice mail, he cursed. “Tessa, where the hell are you? I think I know who killed Kara, Diane, and Elena. Norman DeLuca. Tall, with dark hair and olive skin. Just stay the hell in your house or close to the cop assigned to you.”
His next call was to the cop on duty. On the fourth ring he received a crisp, “Officer Smith.”
“Where is Officer Baugh? He’s supposed to be on duty in front of Tessa McGowan’s house.”
“Officer Baugh is being taken away in an ambulance. He was drugged. Still passed out cold.”
“Where is Tessa McGowan?”
“Missing.”
He floored the accelerator as he redialed Andrews. “Tessa is missing. What can you tell me about the funeral home?”
“I’m pulling building plans now. Bowman is with me, and he wants to talk to you.”
Sharp barely registered. “Sure.”
“Bowman here. I’m sending our newest man and putting him on an intercept course with you at DeLuca’s.”
“I don’t need a new guy.”
“It’s McLean.”
Tessa woke in stages. At first she was aware of a quiet shuffling around the room, then the strong smell of chemicals, and finally an aching pain in her side. Eyes closed, she tried to raise her hand to her head but couldn’t lift her arms.
What was wrong with her? Was she still asleep? She thought back to when she was in the car accident and she couldn’t move her legs. Fear sliced through her as she tried to convince herself that she was okay. But her legs didn’t move. She didn’t feel the prick of the doctor’s probe on the bottom of her feet. Had she been in another accident?