Page 37 of The Dollmaker

Sharp shook his head. “Or a final statement from the killer. Right now, I don’t know. We’ll let the evidence lead us.”

“How long would it take to tattoo her face and arms?” Vargas asked.

“I can’t speak to how long the tattoo work took,” Dr.Kincaid said. “There are no signs that infection ever set in. That means the wounds would have to be washed, there would have been extensive bandaging of her face and arms, and the dressings would have to have been changed daily to avoid infection.”

“We’re looking for someone who could have gone missing a month ago?” Sharp asked.

“I’d say so,” Dr.Kincaid said.

“Thanks.”

Tessa studied the back hem of the victim’s doll dress. “This appears to be a bloodstain,” she said.

Martin nodded. “I saw that. Don’t know if it’s her blood, but it’s marked for DNA testing.”

Needing a moment, Sharp turned from the scene and walked back to his car. He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. As he shook loose a cigarette from the pack, he felt Tessa’s gaze on him. He let the pack fall back in his pocket. “What is it, Tessa?”

For a beat she didn’t speak, and then in a voice that was both tender and harsh, “You’re thinking about Kara.”

He flinched at the sound of his sister’s name. Their last big fight was over Kara. He’d been so angry when she’d tried to talk to him about letting his sister go. He’d blown up at her, dumping all his anger for his lost sister on her. Tessa had absorbed his pain to a point, and then she’d gotten angry. Two days later she was on a plane to Southeast Asia.

“So you’re psychic now?” he asked.

“I don’t need to read your mind.” An edge honed the words, telling him she would not tolerate his temper. “I know you. She’s never far away when you’re investigating a case.”

“Really?” He patted his pockets for his lighter and lit the tip of his cigarette. He sensed her disapproval, which only made him inhale deeper. It didn’t help that she was right. If their marriage hadn’t gone sour, he might have tried to free some of those compartmentalized emotions and talk.

“It was her birthday yesterday, Dakota. And your victim is a young woman who would have been about Kara’s age now.”

“Shit, Tessa. It’s been twelve years.” He said it as if the passing years had dulled his sense of failure.

She arched a brow. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” she said, lowering her voice. “For you, no time at all has passed.”

A sigh shuddered through him as he opened the car door. “I’m assuming you’re doing the autopsy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m assisting Dr.Kincaid.”

“Call me when you have this victim on the table. I want to be there.”

Tessa arrived back at the medical examiner’s office with Dr.Kincaid and the body just after ten that night. She checked the victim in as Dr.Kincaid scheduled the autopsy for the morning. After the body had been stripped and placed in cold storage, the women opted to call it a night.

It was close to midnight when she made the drive through Richmond and over the Mayo Bridge into the Manchester section of the city. The drive took less than ten minutes. As she pushed through the front door of her cousin’s converted warehouse apartment, relief shuddered through her. She had six hours’ break before returning to the office for the autopsy.

For a moment she stood, staring out the large windows overlooking the James River and the city. As she had done since she began her rotations on the hospital floor in medical school, she stripped off her work clothes and turned on a hot shower. When the steam rose, she stepped into the spray and allowed the heat to wash over her skin and rinse away her day.

As the water pulsed over her face, her thoughts turned back to the kiss she’d given Sharp yesterday. Loving him would never, ever be easy. And still, touching him had felt right. “God, Dakota, let me help us figure this out.”

When she’d dried and changed into sweats and a T-shirt, she went into the living room. The furniture in the apartment was eclectic, minimalist, and highlighted her cousin Rebecca’s travels. The rugs were from Morocco, a vase filled with fresh tulips was from Paris, and the collection of black-and-white photos featured many of the places she and her late husband had visited.

When Tessa and Sharp had been together, she’d made an effort to create a nice home. But when she’d left him, she left all they’d acquired behind. Soon, she’d have to find her own place and start collecting secondhand and discount furniture. For most of the last year, she’d all but lived out of a tent, so in her mind, any furniture was a step up. The only piece she was determined to invest in was a quality mattress and bedding. No more sleeping on hard, lumpy surfaces.

One of the keepsakes she’d held on to after her departure was a collection of pictures framed in white distressed wood. She’d kept her wedding picture, though it was in storage. What was displayed on her dresser was a picture of Tessa, her mother, and her aunt at Inner Harbor in Baltimore sixteen years ago, right before her mother died. As she stared at her mother’s pallid, sunken features, it was obvious she was gravely ill. But at the time as an idealistic fourteen-year-old, she’d remained hopeful her mother would beat the illness. Another picture showcased four young girls fresh to college. Kara, Diane, Elena, and Tessa. The image was taken at the fall festival several days before that last Halloween party. They stood at the apple-bobbing tent. They were all smiling, but she was the only one with wet hair. The only one who’d dared ruin her makeup to catch a bobbing piece of fruit in her teeth.

She lifted the image and studied their faces. Twelve years was an eternity. Kara, as always, stared boldly at the camera, her hands crossed in a playful way, a breeze catching her dark hair and gently blowing it from her face. Sadness tightened Tessa’s throat. “Happy belated birthday, Kara.”

The front door opened, and she turned to see Rebecca dressed in her scrubs and holding a pizza. Rebecca was a nurse practitioner at the hospital. “So you survived your first day on the new job?”

“Barely.”

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