Page 19 of The Dollmaker

“The surveillance tape?”

“Yeah, sure. We keep the recordings backed up to a hard drive for thirty days. Come on back in the office.”

The office was piled high with boxed inventory. In the corner was a small desk covered with papers huddled around a computer screen. The manager sat and typed a few keys. Black-and-white images appeared on the screen. The time stamp was 9:00 p.m. He tapped the screen as Terrance entered from the right of the computer screen. “That’s Terrance. And I’m working the register.”

The two watched as the boy, who was wearing the same jeans, white T-shirt, and school jacket as when Sharp saw his body, made his way into the store, chose two items near the counter, and paid for them with coins and rumpled bills.

After sharing a laugh with the clerk, Terrance left and crossed the lot as a white sedan drove up. Terrance leaned toward the passenger-side window and spoke to the driver. At first his face was blank, almost stoic, but soon he was laughing. The driver got out and hugged Terrance, who nervously glanced around. Sharp thought about the boy’s father, Jimmy, fresh out of prison and lurking around town.

As the car pulled away, the camera caught a partial shot of the license plate. “Can you freeze that and enlarge it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sharp removed a small notebook and recorded the four visible plate numbers. “Thanks. Can I get a copy?”

“I can e-mail the video.”

Sharp gave him his card. “Thanks. That would be a help.”

After the manager copied and sent the footage, he turned back toward Sharp. “Still can’t believe the kid is dead.”

Death of a youth always struck the core. “Know anyone who didn’t like Terrance?”

“No. He was in here a lot, like most of the locals. Nice kid. Never made a fuss.”

“Seen the boy’s father around?”

The manager looked surprised. “I didn’t know he had a father. Lived with his grandmother. Mother’s dead. He’s got a lot of cousins in town. It’s a big family.”

“Right. Thanks. If you think of anything, call.”

The manager blinked nervously. “Sure. Will do.”

On his way out, Sharp bought a packet of cigarettes and got in his car.As he opened the packet, he dug out his phone, found the number of his DMV contact, and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.

“Samantha Davis,” she said.

“Samantha, this is Agent Sharp, VSP. How’s my favorite lady?” He leaned back in his seat.

Soft laughter trailed through the phone. “I’m doing just fine. Been a long time since you called. I miss you.”

“Sorry about that.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d gone out a couple of times before he’d met Tessa. “It’s been crazy.”

“Who are you kidding? It’s always crazy for you. You live to work, Agent Sharp. One day they’ll find you hunched over your desk, a withered old man with a case file in your cold dead hands.”

The lighthearted comment hit a nerve. “Let’s hope the case is solved. I’d hate to leave this world hanging.”

He could imagine her curling her dark hair around her index finger like he’d seen her do before. “Anybody tell you that you’re a workaholic?” she said.

He traced a scratch in his steering wheel with his index finger. “Once or twice.”

“So why’re you calling? It’s been two years, so this can’t be a date.”

He leaned back. “I need a partial plate run.”

“You didn’t call to see how your favorite lady was doing?” Her tone echoed a mock pout.

“I could have called someone else, but I called you.”

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