The Dollmake (The Forgotten Files 2)

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.”