Page 41 of The Dollmaker

“Do you have pictures?”

“I do.” He shoved out a sigh. “These were taken by the officer on the scene. They aren’t the best quality and don’t document the scene adequately, but I can see why Sharp can’t look at these. They would be disturbing for anyone attached to the deceased.”

The photos of Kara Benson showed her lying on her side by the road, wearing a short red dress. Her feet were bare. Many of the pictures were out of focus, but the ones that were readable showed her face turned from the camera.

“You said she was last seen at a Halloween party?” Bowman asked.

“That’s right.”

“Explains the outfit. Were there signs of rape?”

“There were indications of intercourse. Though there was no vaginal bruising or tearing to suggest force.”

“Was semen found?”

“Yes, and it was tested. But when the sample reached the lab, technicians determined it was compromised, so a full DNA panel couldn’t be obtained.”

Bowman stared at his pale face. “Hell of a tragedy for Sharp to deal with.”

Andrews was silent for a moment. “I still don’t want to discuss this case with him right now. I want to have specific questions before we talk.”

Bowman nodded toward a pile of handwritten papers. “These are the notes Knox made during his interviews?”

“Yes. He talked to dozens of people about Kara. Each time he focused on any stranger who might have been spotted with her. Nobody saw her leave with anyone.”

“Anything else?”

“There are still receipts to be catalogued, pictures to be examined, including a copy of her autopsy report, which I’ve yet to read.”

“I can read the witness files. You can read the autopsy report, and we can compare notes.”

“Not necessary. Better I process it all and give you a report. It won’t take much more time.”

“Understood,” Bowman said. “Knox gave these files to Sharp for a reason. Said he thought if there were any new clues to find, Sharp would uncover them.”

“The case might have been solved twelve years ago if Knox and his department hadn’t done such substandard work at Kara Benson’s crime scene.”

“Maybe that explains why he never let the case go. He felt guilty.”

“It’s been my experience that the real intentions are usually hidden under the surface.”

“You think Knox is hiding something?”

“Perhaps.”

“Knox lives close by. Talk to him.”

“As soon as I read the files today, he’s first on my list.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Always.”

When Tessa’s alarm went off at six in the morning, she hit “Snooze.” She was still struggling with jet lag, and it had been a long time since she’d been this tired. The late night at the crime scene hadn’t helped. To compound the situation, she’d dreamed again about Dakota, the man who was never far from her even if she put thousands of miles between them.

In the dream she’d had so many times, she was standing at the stove of their Libby Avenue apartment and stirring tomato sauce for their dinner. Pasta boiled on a back burner.

Dakota always moved so quietly, she often didn’t hear him approach. And when he wrapped strong arms around her waist, she’d started. “Damn it, Dakota. I’ll spill the sauce.”

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