The Dollmake (The Forgotten Files 2)

“If Diane Emery was murdered by the same person that killed Kara, you are an accessory if you knew anything that would have solved Kara’s case. You will not only have killed Diane, but you will be responsible for the death of another woman who is now missing. You remember Elena Hayes, don’t you?”

“Elena is missing?”

“She is.”

The pain in Knox’s eyes was raw and brimming with regret. For a moment, it took Andrews aback because he saw the same eyes looking back at him in the mirror each morning when he shaved.

“What are you hiding, Chief Knox?”

“I gave you all my files.”

Andrews understood how past mistakes often turned into festering wounds for anyone with a soul. “I’m an expert at hiding secrets, which makes me an expert at spotting yours.”

Knox’s lips flattened. He trembled as he raised his unshaven chin. “I don’t have more information to share.”

“Talk to me, Chief Knox.”

“I’m not the chief anymore.”

“Once a cop, always a cop.”

“No. I stopped being a cop a long time ago.” He pointed a finger at Andrews. “And the only one who needs to hear my sins is the Almighty himself.” He opened the front door, letting in a cool gust of wind.

Andrews stared at the old man. Then taking a pen from his pocket and a slip of paper from a small notebook, he wrote down his number. “Call me if you change your mind.”

He didn’t accept the slip of paper. “I won’t be calling.”

Andrews laid the paper on a table stacked with bills and advertising flyers near the entryway before he walked to his car. The front door slammed hard. He turned and looked back at the house, certain Knox knew so much more than he was telling.

The fading scent of Tessa’s jasmine soap still clung to Sharp’s skin when his phone rang, cutting into the silence. Turning from his computer, he checked the phone’s display: Vargas.

“Sharp,” he said.

“You sound like anything but.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, in no mood for humor. “What do you have?”

“I finally received a call from Veronica Hayes, Elena’s sister. I’d left her three voice mails since we started looking for Elena, but nothing. Veronica just returned from Mexico. Seems her beach house didn’t have cell service. Anyway, Veronica insists it’s not uncommon for Elena to turn her cell off when she’s on vacation.”

“That’s not what Elena’s office said.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to Veronica in person.”

“When?”

“An hour from now.”

He checked his watch. “Text me the address, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Will do.” She hung up and seconds later her text message arrived.

An hour later he pulled up in front of Veronica Hayes’s Church Hill townhome. It was on a cobblestone street at the top of historic Libby Hill, one of the highest points in Richmond. Bright sun shone on the grassy now-vacant park near Hayes’s house. Below, the James River meandered around a bend past the business center on the north bank, and on the south side, the industrial section. He looked upriver toward the Manchester Bridge, knowing Tessa’s place was nearby.

The rev of an engine had him turning to find Vargas shoehorning a car into a parallel spot with only inches to spare on either end. She took one last gulp from a to-go cup and got out of the car, locking it behind her.

“Some view,” she said, barely glancing toward the river.

“It is.” He turned away.

“I’ve been thinking about Veronica’s Mexican vacation. Can you imagine six days on a beach without your cell? Too much bliss to imagine.”

“The sun is bad for you.”

She laughed. “Since when do we worry about what’s bad for us?”

“Maybe we should start.”

She paused. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Damn. What has gotten into you?”

“I’m fine.”

She cocked her head. “It’s Tessa.”

He didn’t speak.

She laughed. “How hard the mighty do fall.”

Ignoring her, he climbed the brick steps of Hayes’s town house. “What was Veronica’s reaction when you spoke to her?”

“She’s understandably upset.”

He understood that kind of pain. He wondered if Veronica would handle it better than he had with Kara. “Let’s hope she has information about Elena to share.”

They walked up the wide brick steps past wrought iron pillars toward a black lacquered door with a tarnished door knocker. Vargas knocked.

Seconds passed, but they heard no sound. She knocked again and still no sound. She reached for her phone. “She said she’d be here.”

Sharp leaned to the right and looked inside the floor-to-ceiling window. He saw a flicker of movement in a back room. “Someone’s in there.”

Vargas knocked again, and this time unsteady footsteps moved toward the door.

A fit and toned woman with long dark hair opened the door. In her late twenties, she bore a slight resemblance to her sister. Whereas Elena’s face was angled and lean, Veronica’s was round. She was attractive, but compared to her sister, would have been described as plain. She wore jeans and a sleeveless blouse that revealed a cuff tattoo on a honey-tanned right bicep.

“Ms. Hayes, we’re with the police. I’m Julia Vargas. We spoke on the phone. And this gentleman is Agent Sharp, also with the Virginia State Police.”

“Please, come inside.”

Veronica guided them through the center hallway of the house to the back kitchen, which offered a panoramic view of the river. The kitchen had been renovated to include marble countertops, pendant lights, and professional-grade appliances. French doors opened out onto a deck. Prime real estate coupled with top-notch renovation equaled big money.

“I’ve just brewed a strong pot of coffee,” Veronica said. “Can I get you a cup?”

“No, thank you,” Sharp said.

Vargas shook her head.

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nbsp; “If you don’t mind me having a cup? Jet lag is kicking my ass,” Veronica said.

“Sure, go ahead,” Vargas said.

“When’s the last time you saw your sister?” Sharp’s impatience clipped his tone.

She grabbed a white cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Sipped. “Last week, before I went to Cabo. She looked fine.”

“As I said on the phone, she’s not answering her phone,” Vargas said. “And she’s not at her apartment.”

“When you called, Agent Vargas, I got worried, so I’ve been calling her cell. She’s not answering. But I never panic unless it’s been more than a few days. Like I said, she’s a free spirit.”

“Her office is worried about her,” Vargas said. “She was supposed to call in daily.”

“Elena’s boss is a workaholic who doesn’t sleep. He panics if he can’t reach her in five minutes. She probably turned off her phone to teach him a lesson. She asked for a raise, and he didn’t give it to her.”

“Her office manager thought she went to the beach. Does that sound right?” Sharp asked.

“She might have told them that, but she’s likely at our parents’ lake house. She knows she won’t get a surprise visit from her boss if he doesn’t know where she’s staying. The house is about thirty minutes north of Richmond.”

“When’s the last time you were up there?” Sharp asked.

“It’s been a while. Elena loved it, but I never liked the place.”

“Why?” Sharp asked.

“There isn’t much to do up there. No nightlife. Once you tanned for a day or two, there’s not much else. And that whole area gives me the creeps.”

“Why?” Vargas asked.

“A girl died up there when I was in high school. Elena and I are the ones who found her body.”

Sharp stood still, barely breathing. “Is that the Benson girl?”

“Yes. Elena and I were out for a morning jog a few days after she vanished. We were the ones that found her.”

“Tessa McGowan mentioned that. I wasn’t sure she’d remembered correctly given her accident.”

“Yeah, she was pretty messed up. But she’s right.”

“Tell me about that.”