Sharp moved closer to the screen. “Were there any suspects in any of the cases?”
“A local drug dealer in Denver came under scrutiny in one case,” Andrews said. “He not only had his hand in prostitution and strip clubs, but he had an affinity for young girls. But he was cleared.”
“Cleared or he hired a good attorney who got the charges dropped?”
“Good attorney who got the charges dropped. But this suspect was shot and killed last year in a nightclub fight.”
“Were there any other similar murders matching this killer’s MO?” Sharp asked.
“I checked the FBI database and didn’t see any other crimes that matched the criteria. Doesn’t mean they didn’t occur.”
“How did he keep them immobile?” Sharp asked.
“There were multiple needle marks on their arms. I think he dosed them often with heroin.”
“He chose the most vulnerable, and he picked areas where he was less likely to be caught.”
“What about victims before Kara?” Sharp asked.
“There were no similar cases that came up in my search engines predating her death.”
“Do you think she was his first?”
“I would say so. I would guess seeing Kara with friends dressed up as dolls flipped a switch in the killer. Many aspects of her death suggest a lack of planning. But whatever payoff he got when he killed her has spurred him to kill more.”
“He’s a professional now,” Bowman said. “He won’t stop.”
“He doesn’t want to be caught,” Sharp said. He thought about Madison’s tears and shaky hands when he’d pressed him at the studio. Some killers were eaten up with remorse and left clues for the police, subconsciously hoping they’d be stopped. Not this guy. “But if this is the same killer, he’s now choosing women who are going to be missed. Why the switch?”
“I’d say confidence,” Bowman said. “A bigger stage for his exhibit.”
“I believe this guy is local,” Andrews said. “He thought he could make a drug buy in the city that would remain anonymous. Dumb luck lands him face-to-face with a local kid. Just as I believe dumb luck put your sister in his path twelve years ago.”
Bowman cleared his throat. “What do you know about your sister’s last days?”
“We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks before she went missing. It was during the first days of her freshman year. She talked a lot, but I only processed about a quarter of what she said. She was like that. Talked a mile a minute.” How many times had he replayed that last conversation?
Andrews rolled a pencil over his fingers like a majorette would a baton. “Let’s get back to the boy who was stabbed to death. Assuming he knew the killer and recognized him, who could he have seen? Did he know Stanford Madison?”
“I haven’t come up with a connection yet,” Sharp said. “I should have his DNA back tomorrow and will know if he’s our guy or not.”
“Riley Tatum dropped off the twelve-year-old arson file,” Andrews said. “In it was a note indicating there were three DNA samples in the county’s climate-controlled storage attached to the Kara Benson file. I’d like to test those.”
Sharp considered what Andrews was suggesting. “Knox hid the DNA from Kara’s case in the arson file. For whatever reason, he didn’t destroy it.”
“That’s my theory. That’s why the arson case report was mingled in with her case. Why Knox mentioned the case to you.” Andrews folded his arms. “As I said, Knox’s trail of bread crumbs could lead to the truth. Knox didn’t want the killer revealed, but he wanted to hang on to the evidence just in case.”
“Leverage. He wanted leverage against the killer,” Sharp said.
“Knox made a point of giving you these files, which tells me he wanted the killer found,” Bowman said.
“The timing explains the motive for killing himself,” Andrews said. “The truth is coming out.”
The words I’m sorry scrawled in Knox’s final note rattled in Sharp’s head.
“Who would he want to protect so badly?” Bowman asked.
“When Kara died, the man had no family in the area. His son was dead. Roger said Knox was isolated the last dozen years.” Sharp shook his head. “Roger thought Knox’s withdrawal from the world indicated he was troubled by Kara’s death. Roger saw Knox as a kindred spirit.”
“The Knox boy’s case is bothering me,” Andrews said. “I dug further. The boy’s body was never found. A funeral was held for him, and there’s a grave marker in Denver, but there’s no body in the coffin.”
“You think the kid is alive?” Sharp asked.
Andrews nodded. “It’s a working theory at this point.”
“So he creates a new identity for the kid.”
“A man like him would know how to do it,” Andrews said.
“All these years, that bastard was Roger’s friend,” Sharp growled.
“What better way to control any subsequent investigations into Kara’s case than to do it yourself,” Bowman said.
“Tessa is retesting the sample located in the official Kara Benson file,” Sharp said.
“I’d wager the results won’t be different from the last time,” Andrews said. “It’s the new samples that matter. The ones filed with the arson case.”
“Get the sample to us,” Bowman said. “We can move faster than the state, and we’ll have an answer by the end of tomorrow.”
Likely a court would not accept a DNA sample misfiled over a dozen years ago, but it could help to zero in on the target. Sharp would worry about making his case stick later. “Right. Thank you.”
“If your sister’s case and this new case are connected by DNA, then this would be the one place where the Dollmaker has repeated his kills,” Andrews said. “By the way, those numbers you sent me for Terrance Dillon. Neither the burner or his personal cell is online, but if and when either does show up, I’ll pinpoint it within minutes.”
What had Knox said? Keep an open mind.
The registered letter was waiting for Sharp when he arrived home. It was from Roger’s attorney. Tearing it open with his thumb, he unlocked the front door and nudged it open with his foot. He flipped on lights, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and shrugged off his coat. The letter was simple, direct. He was Roger’s sole heir. What remained of the estate, namely the lake house, was his. “Shit. I don’t want this.”
He opened his refrigerator and pulled out a beer, twisting the top and taking a long pull. The doorbell rang. He set the beer aside and put his hand on his weapon, moving toward the door. A glance through the peephole. Tessa.
He closed his eyes, relieved and worried all at once. He snapped open the door. “What are you doing here?”
She held up a bag filled with Chinese food. “I brought food, which I’ll trade only if you tell me how it went today at Shield.” Smiling, she pushed past him and walked straight toward the kitchen, where she unpacked the cartons. “I want to know all about it.”
“It’s been a long day, Tessa. I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Déjà vu. I’m not buying it,” she said, laughing.
His response had been the theme of their marriage. Her begging him to talk, him too spent to talk. Now she wasn’t begging. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about Shield, we’ll eat, and when we’re finished, I’ll clean up and leave. You were never good at eating when you were working.” She set her bag on the counter and slid off her jacket.
“You put protein bars in my jacket pocket. They tasted like cardboard.”
She unpacked the small white boxes along with a couple of sodas. “But it kept you going. Just like letting off a little steam and talking will do the same.”
He unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah.”
She unpacked plastic forks and handed him one. “The beef is still your favorite, right?”
He accepted the carton. “Yes.”
She unwrapped a fork. “Eat up.”
She settled on a
bar stool and dug her fork into a bucket of vegetables. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, so he ate.
Finally he said, “I just received a letter from Roger’s attorney. Roger left me his lake house.”
She jabbed her fork in the half-eaten dish and left it there. “Wow. That’s got to feel weird.”
“I don’t want the house.”
“Then sell it. Donate the money, if it makes you feel better. Set up a scholarship in Kara’s name. But before you do any of that, remember that you were all Roger had left, and he wanted you to have what was his.”
“Roger and I didn’t get along.”
“When it came to the big issues, you were more alike than different. When’s the last time you saw the house?” She rose and moved toward him, taking his white carton and setting it aside.
“Twelve years ago,” he said.
When he didn’t say more, she asked, “Are you at least going to see the house again? There could be items inside you want to keep.”
He looked at her, his gaze heavy with loss. “I don’t know.”
“I can go with you.”
“Why?”
“Moral support. I’m not working tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“There’s a lot I don’t have to do. But I do it anyway.”
He rose up from the bar stool. She set her food aside and turned toward him. He laid his hands on her hips, pausing, waiting for her to move away. She held her ground.