The Dollmake (The Forgotten Files 2)

The remaining boxes were filled with an odd mix of police files, which he suspected had been copied without permission. Cops made duplicates of case files that mattered, and clearly the case had meant something to the former police chief.

Andrews’s first order of business was to sort all the papers into stacks. Organization would need to be forged from the chaos. He began to work, grateful to let time pass and the outside world fade.

The Dollmaker sat in the dimly lit basement room, staring at the pictures he had taken of Destiny in the very early hours of the morning. Then he scrolled back more frames to pictures snapped in this room. He’d posed her in a variety of ways. Sitting. Lying down. Poised on the bed in a seductive manner.

Remembering their time together, he scrolled through the snapshots, stopping on one that captured her perfect face. He’d not used his flash for this picture, and moody shadows crossed her high cheekbones. But her eyes had been closed, and he’d felt cheated that she couldn’t see him.

“Still, such a pretty girl, Destiny. I already miss you.” He enlarged the picture and studied the fine detailing around her eyes and her mouth.

He’d worked hard to perfect his art, practicing first on himself, marking up his thighs until they were covered in ink, and then on the random whores who worked the streets. They’d been easy to drug, easy to keep for days because no one missed them. No one cared about them.

Some of the whores he dumped back onto the street, drugged and dazed. Others he’d practiced on too long and ruined their faces. Letting them go would have brought the wrong kind of attention to himself, so it had been easy to overdose each with a lethal hit of heroine before disposing of their bodies.

He scrolled through more pictures to another woman’s face. This picture he’d snapped at the mall today. She’d been buying cosmetics. Her long dark hair framed her round face and drew attention to large eyes. Her skin was pale and flawless. A high slash of cheekbones.

Pretty enough that he’d grown hard while he’d been following her and taking pictures. But the longer he watched her, the more flaws he noticed. Pretty but not perfect.

She would be his new doll. She would be his new work of art. And he’d already picked out a name for her.

“Harmony. Harmony. Harmony.” He said the name out loud several more times, liking the way it rolled off his tongue.

It wasn’t really wise to make a new doll so soon, but he could feel the pressure of loneliness building inside him. In the past he’d wait months, even years before creating a new doll.

But waiting was too hard when he remembered Destiny. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted someone to love. To taste. He needed to wait, but he could not.

He reached for a packet of matches and lit one, watching as the flame danced and swayed. A fire would calm him. It had when he was a boy. He’d not set any fires in town in over three years, so one small one now would likely go unnoticed.

Holding the match until the flame died, he smiled. One small fire. And then he’d bring his Harmony home to live with him for a long, long time.

“I’m going to make you perfect, Harmony.”

CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday, October 5, 5:00 p.m.

Under the glare of a portable lamp, the forensic crew worked the doll victim as Sharp walked through the woods to the condos adjacent to the park and knocked on the doors of the units facing the woods. No one had seen or heard anything last night. Retracing his steps, he stood at the edge of the crime scene, watching as the forensic technician photographed the body.

Judging by the victim’s bone structure and build, she’d been a beautiful woman in the prime of her life. But the garish tattooing had disfigured and perverted her features.

The medical examiner’s van arrived. Dr. Kincaid and Tessa got out with somber expressions, taking time to gather their gear. Tessa’s long black hair was pulled into a thick ponytail, and she was dressed in khakis, well-worn boots, and like Dr. Kincaid, a dark-blue slicker that read “Medical Examiner” on the back. Sharp stood straighter, watching as she and Kincaid removed the stretcher from the back of the van. He thought he could handle working around Tessa, but he realized it was going to be harder than he’d first thought.

Julia Vargas approached Dr. Kincaid and Tessa. They listened to the agent give her report on the body before moving toward the crime scene tape. When they ducked under it, he followed.

Dr. Kincaid extended her hand to Martin Thompson and smiled as she introduced Tessa. “Dr. McGowan is a forensic pathologist. You’ll be seeing more of her.”

Martin shook her hand and only tossed a quick questioning glance at Sharp. “Welcome.”

If Tessa read Martin’s questioning gaze, she gave no sign of it. “Thanks.”

The older man’s normally banal expression actually softened, and he held her hand an extra beat. “Glad to have you on the team.”

“Good to be on it,” Tessa said.

Sharp caught a couple of young officers looking at Tessa. Their gazes weren’t curious, but lewd. They didn’t realize Tessa was his wife. A primitive impulse demanded he punch each guy in the face.

“Who found the body, Agent Vargas?” Tessa asked.

“An early-morning jogger. He said he didn’t touch her. Thought she might have been a mannequin at first. He called the cops right away, and we had a first responder here within five minutes to secure the scene.”

“May I touch the body, Martin?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

“Yes. I’ve collected every bit of evidence I can find, so the body is ready to remove,” Martin said.

Dr. Kincaid knelt and with a gloved hand touched the victim’s face, circling her finger around the red circle, a cartoon version of a blushing cheek.

“It’s a tattoo,” she said, hints of surprise in her tone. “And judging by its color and skin texture, it’s recent. I’d say she only finished healing days ago.”

“Have either of you ever seen anyone with this kind of tattooing?” Julia asked.

“I’ve seen facial tattoos within the gangs,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“Some of the cultures in Asia tattoo the females’ faces, but that’s dying out,” Tessa said.

“I’ve seen women who’ve had permanent makeup applied to their faces. Eyeliner, blush, even lip color,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Even had a woman on my table who had her boyfriend’s name inked on her forehead. But a doll face is a new one.”

“It’s fine workmanship,” Tessa said. Her expression telegraphed a mixture of fascination and sadness.

Tessa pushed up the sleeve of the oversize doll dress. “The white stippling tattoo work that’s on her face also extends from her fingertips to her wrists. Her eyes are expertly lined in a dark ink, and very precise freckles dot her cheeks.” She touched the victim’s mouth. “The red heart-shape tattoo here redefines the shape of her lips.”

“She’d have to be out cold, otherwise the work couldn’t have been done to her face,” Vargas said.

“The injection site isn’t infected, and there’s no bruising, suggesting whoever inserted a needle in her arm knew what they were doing,” Tessa said.

Sharp folded his arms, trying to envision the woman before this work was done, but he couldn’t see past the ink.

Tessa pulled the sleeve back over the victim’s arm. “Look at the detail around her eyes,” she said. “It’s hard enough to do with pen and ink, let alone with a tattoo needle.”

“Only a monster would do this to an unwilling woman,” Vargas said.

“I didn’t say the person who did this was sane,” Tessa said. “I was simply commenting on the skill.”

He watched as Tessa absently rested her hand on the victim’s arm as if assuring her it would be okay, and she was now in good hands. He suspected if he weren’t standing there, Tessa would have spoken to the victim, issuing words of reassurance.

He cleared his throat. “Dr. Kincaid, do you have any idea how she died?”

Dr. Kincaid checked the victim?

??s neck for signs of strangulation and tipped her body forward to look at her back. “Dr. McGowan, what’s your opinion?”

Frowning, Tessa studied the body. “There are no signs of trauma on the body. We’ll have to check her blood levels for signs of asphyxiation and drug overdose.”

“Why the frown, Dr. McGowan?” Vargas asked.

“Her shoulder blades and the backs of her hands are discolored.”

“What does that suggest, Dr. McGowan?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

“After her heart stopped pumping, the blood settled in the lowest part of her body, which was her back.” She rolled down the knee socks and inspected the back of the victim’s calves. They were also bruised. “If she’d died here, her shoulder blades would not be discolored.”

“Correct,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“On her back,” Vargas said, shifting as if uncomfortable with the idea. “I don’t want to think what that suggests.”

“We’ll determine if there was sexual activity,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Though I might not be able to determine whether it was pre- or postmortem.”

“Jesus,” Vargas muttered.

Dr. Kincaid ran her hands over the dead woman’s arm. “The skin is smooth, and there are no signs of hair on her arms or legs. She’s been waxed recently.”

“Do you think it’s murder?” Tessa asked.