The Dollmake (The Forgotten Files 2)

“Okay.” He tugged a set of black latex gloves from his pocket and slid them on over his hands. “Lead the way.” She turned toward the yellow tape, raising it to allow him to pass first. A ring of officers and forensic technicians parted as he approached.

For a moment, he simply stared at the scene. His brain didn’t quite process what he saw until he brushed away the shock and refocused.

Leaning against the tree was the body of a woman, dressed like a doll. White billowy dress, knee socks, shiny patent-leather shoes. However, it was her face and eyes that took his breath away. Her eyes were tacked open, revealing unnaturally large pupils staring sightlessly at him. Her face was painted white, cheeks tinted a blush red, with eyebrows arched in a thin line. The hair, twisted into twin braids, was a wig.

His gut clenched. When he spoke, his voice sounded ragged, rough. “It’s paint?”

“No, it’s not paint,” Agent Vargas said. “It’s ink. All tattoos.”

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Every bit of her face, scalp, and hands is covered. Must have taken weeks to do the work.”

“Cause of death?”

“We don’t know. There’re no signs of trauma on the body other than the eyes, and the forensic team thinks the stitch job was done postmortem.”

“Have you searched the area?”

“We have officers fanned out searching a half-mile radius right now.”

Sharp stared off into the thicket of woods and spotted several uniforms canvassing the area. Beyond the woods he saw the outline of what looked like condos or apartments. “Who found the body?”

“An early-morning jogger. He came running through about five a.m. along the path from the condos and spotted the victim. He called 9-1-1, and the responding officer immediately closed off the area.”

“Where’s the jogger?”

“I interviewed him and let him leave for work. I’ve his name and number if you want it.”

“Uniforms find any evidence?”

“So far, nothing. The front gates on the park weren’t locked, so whoever left her here could have driven her in that way, parked in the lot, and carried her the thirty feet to this spot. There are no cameras in the park or at the entrance. I think he or she could have been in and out of here in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Assuming she was driven in.”

“Correct.” She nodded toward a graveled path angling into the woods. “That leads to a condo complex with plenty of parking. It’s about ten yards to the parking lot. The association has an after-five-p.m. towing policy, which the killer may or may not have realized. I checked with the towing company, but they weren’t patrolling the area between one and four in the morning. The flatbed was already full, and they were taking their bounty to the impound lot.”

“Unless our killer lives in the condos.”

“Possible. We’ve called the management office. Got voice mail and hoping for a callback soon.”

He squatted and studied the garish face. “The tattoos are healed. That takes a couple of weeks.”

His gaze dropped to her hands placed so demurely in her lap. Carefully, he touched the arm and found it was locked in place by rigor mortis.

“For the killer to position her like that would require that she still have flexibility in her limbs,” Vargas said.

Sharp studied the wide, vacant eyes. “Twenty-four hours for rigor mortis to set the muscles, so she would have been dead at least fifteen hours before he brought her here and posed her.”

“Jesus, what was he doing with her for fifteen hours?”

He had an idea but didn’t want to voice it yet. Instead, he focused on her pale arms. “There’s one needle mark. Any signs of trauma?”

“Other than the needle mark, no. The medical examiner will be able to tell us how she died. I’m betting asphyxiation or overdose.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“We were able to pull prints. We’ve sent them to AFIS.” AFIS was the Automatic Fingerprinting Identification System managed by the Virginia State Police.

Sharp studied the tattooed heart-shaped lips. “This tattoo work took a lot of time and planning. You think she consented to all the tattooing?”

“Any scenario is possible,” Vargas said. “She could be a working girl who attracts fetish customers.”

“I’m not so sure. She wasn’t dumped. She was posed. And whoever put her here wanted her found. A panicked john wouldn’t take the time.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Whoever left her here was a careful planner,” Sharp said.

“It’s not his first time?” Agent Vargas asked.

“My guess is no, but if it is, he’s been fantasizing about doing this for a long time.”

“I’m going to input the case into the FBI’s violent crimes database and see if I get any hits,” Vargas said.

“Not a bad idea.” Sharp studied the intricate detail work on the victim’s face. “Whoever worked on her face is one hell of a talented artist. The fine lines under her eyes are perfectly smooth.”

“Amazing in a very creepy sort of way,” she said.

Sharp rose and took a step back. He’d thought he’d seen it all. He was wrong. “I’d like to follow this case with you.”

She studied him. “I’m glad you said that. I think this one is going to take a hell of a lot of detective work.”

“Understood.” He turned away from the body, knowing his expression was hard. The stone-face mask, as Tessa had once said.

“I’ve put a call in to the medical examiner,” she said.

“Dr. Kincaid’s one of the best.”

“She’s in a meeting now but will return my call soon. I’ve requested her to be on scene.”

“Good idea.”

He looked again at the dead woman’s wide-fixed eyes. Jesus. What kind of sick fuck did this? He started walking, needing a moment away so he could calm the fury smoldering and threatening to erupt.

Agent Vargas followed, her long legs matching his strides as he ducked under the yellow tape and pulled the cigarette pack from his pocket. He lit one and inhaled.

“That will kill you,” she said. “Fast track.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Black lung. COPD. All that shit is linked to those sticks.”

A trail of smoke drifted up and coiled above his head as he studied the parking lot, trying to imagine the killer driving in here late last night. With only the condos to the west, it would have been easy to come in unnoticed. There was a strip mall south of the entrance, which meant there was a chance a security camera caught an image of a passing car between one and four in the morning. “Send out a few uniforms to check the area stores. See which vehicles came up on camera last night.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact without a trace of defensiveness. “It’s on my list. What else could I have missed?”

“Tattoo parlors. Whoever did the work on her face is very good. Had to get training somewhere, or one of the artists might have a theory about the style or level of detail.”

As he moved to toss what remained of his cigarette, she snapped her fingers and motioned for it. He handed it to her. She took a drag on the end of the butt, savoring the taste before she dropped it to the asphalt and ground it with her boot.

“I hear that stuff can kill you,” Sharp said.

“Yeah, I tell it to myself at least ten times a week as I talk myself out of the next pack. I’ve not had one in thirty days until now.”

“Sorry to be the one to break your streak.”

“If you hadn’t been smoking, I’d have bought a pack today. It’s going to be hard to shake the images of this case. If those tattoos weren’t her idea, then he would have needed to have worked on her for weeks.”

He shook his head. “You really think those tattoos could have been her idea?”

“I worked undercover vice in the beach area. Most johns are looking for straight sex, but there are some who

like the kink. She could have cornered a niche in the doll market. Fetish and fantasy pay good money, with a lot of repeat business.”

“The tattoos appear new.”

“She could have just decided to rebrand herself on the streets.”

It wasn’t that Vargas couldn’t be right, but he still didn’t think the theory would pan out. Something about the entire scene suggested planning and thought. Still, he had to follow the evidence. “If she were hooking, she likely will have a record.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for. The sooner we can ID her, the better.” Vargas grabbed hold of the small cross around her neck and absently moved it back and forth on its chain. “Why did he stitch open her eyes?”

“Makes her look more doll-like. Let’s say she was a prostitute. She might have been playing a role he took far more seriously than she did. Or maybe, it was an ego trip. He wanted her to have a good long look at the person who transformed her, then took her life.”

“Do you really think she was dead when he stitched open her eyes?” she asked.

“God, I hope so.”

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Vargas pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Why?”