Page 9 of The Dollmaker

CHAPTER THREE

Tuesday, October 4, 6:45 a.m.

Agent Sharp rolled up on the homicide scene, slowly drawing in a deep breath. Shutting off the engine of his unmarked police car, he stepped out, noting the half-dozen local police cruisers gathered, lights flashing, on the side of the rural road twenty miles northwest of Richmond. Tugging on his jacket, he moved across the open field toward the glare of floodlights, absorbing the morning chill hearkening an early winter.

Tall brittle grass brushed his pant legs as he made his way toward the uniformed trooper who stood guard at the edge of yellow crime scene tape. Sharp didn’t need to ask for case details since he’d received them en route. The body had been found on the creek bank near Roger’s hometown.

A local man checking on deer stands this morning had spotted the victim’s white shirt as his flashlight’s beam swept the creek’s bank. The responding officer had secured the scene and found a driver’s license lying on the victim’s blood-soaked chest. The dead man was Terrance Dillon, age eighteen.

Sharp extended his hand to the officer, Trooper Riley Tatum, who along with her search-and-rescue canine, Cooper, patrolled along this section of the I-95 corridor. Sharp and Tatum had graduated in the same class at the police academy, and they’d both worked patrol together until two years ago when he transferred to the criminal investigations unit. “Riley.”

Riley took his hand, her assessing gaze taking in his slightly damp hair, neatly shaved face, and black suit. “I think if I woke you up in the middle of the night, you’d be clean-shaven and wearing a suit.”

He liked Riley. She worked hard and didn’t pull any punches. “Don’t hate me for being soGQ, Tatum.”

“No, man, I just wonder if you ever let your hair down,” she said.

He smoothed his hand over his closely cropped hair. “My hair’s always down, Tatum.”

Riley laughed. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you in the ass.”

“I’m not that out of touch.”

“You’re aging exponentially, Pops.”

At forty-one with a six-foot-one frame, he kept his body fit so Father Time’s damage wasn’t as apparent. He’d accepted the flecks of gray in his hair and deepening lines around his eyes as enviable marks of character. But,Pops? No.

“Where’s Cooper?” he asked.

“In the car. We’re about to wrap up the night shift and head home. I’d like to be there when Hanna takes off for school this morning.”

“I remember my senior year of high school. Lots of fun.”

She held up her hands in protest. “Don’t tell me about your exploits. It’ll give me more things to worry about.”

He grimaced. “You’re sounding like a mom.”

Riley was only thirty but had slipped into the role of mother to an adopted daughter, who was almost eighteen. “I’m a fast learner.”

When Kara was in high school, he’d been overseas, so their infrequent conversations were limited to the telephone. He’d enjoyed listening to her prattle on about her life, even if he didn’t catch all the endless details about fashion and friends.

“Dakota!”Kara shouted.“This is important! Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, what’s the color of the dress I’m wearing to prom?”

“Red.”

“Oh, that’s close. It’s blue, Mr.Distracted!”

Sharp reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of latex gloves pressed against a rumpled package of cigarettes. He tucked the cigarettes back in his pocket and, unsealing the gloves from a wrapper, tugged them on.

“They’re going to kill you,” Riley said.

“We all gotta die sometime.” On a good day he pretty much avoided the cigarettes, but lately, there’d not been a lot of good days.

She shot him a look he was used to getting from her now—sisterly exasperation. She was dating Clay Bowman, the new chief operating officer at Shield Security, a firm based sixty miles north near Quantico. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, but when Bowman’s name came up, her demeanor softened.

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