Page 95 of The Dollmaker

“Transition? Have I changed?”

He patted her hand. “You’re fretting, and there’s no need for it. I’m here. Let me feed you some of this soup. I made it just for you.”

Despite the tug to trust, a dark fear curled in the pit of her stomach. Cradling the soup bowl, he ladled a spoon. “Be a good girl and open wide.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sunday, October 9, 1:00 p.m.

It took Andrews an hour in traffic to drive out to Douglas Knox’s house located in the small town where Roger Benson had lived. This time of year, the tree-lined roads were exploding with yellow and orange, making this some of the prettiest country he’d seen in years.

He drove past million-dollar homes in gated communities sporting massive windows that took full advantage of the crystal waters of the lake.

Douglas Knox, former police chief and investigator on the Kara Benson case, had retired to a small brick rancher in an old lakefront neighborhood close to where Kara Benson’s body had been found twelve years ago.

Andrews parked his Jeep behind an old red truck and took a moment to survey his surroundings before getting out of the car. He moved past the truck, noting the front seat was filled with a dozen fast-food wrappers and discarded paper coffee cups.

He made his way along an overgrown path to Knox’s front door. The once-white paint trimming the windows had grayed and was peeling and popping in several places. He pressed the doorbell, but there was no chime or the approaching thud of footsteps. He then knocked on the door. From inside the house a television blared. He knocked again.

Finally, he heard footsteps and what sounded like a plate hitting the floor and a burst of curses. The door creaked open to a man well into his sixties. Thinning white hair hung over a rumpled plaid collar and framed a wan face. Stained pants and old athletic shoes finished off the look.

Andrews pulled off his sunglasses. “Douglas Knox?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Garrett Andrews. I’m looking into the Kara Benson case for Agent Sharp.”

The mention of the girl’s name made the old man cringe. His right hand trembled as he raised it to rub his chin. “I gave the files to Sharp, hoping I could make it to my grave without hearing her name again.”

“Why’s that? I’d think you’d be willing to talk about the case and help us solve it.”

He shook his head, his gaze growing distant. “I spent more hours than I want to remember thinking about that poor girl.”

“I’ve read the files you gave Agent Sharp, and he has unearthed new details. Do you have a moment to discuss them?”

Knox curled arthritic fingers into a fist. Bloodshot eyes and the heavy scent of whiskey suggested the man had already had a few. “That case consumed me. I put everything I know in those files. You have the files, so you know what I do. I can’t help you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. I have questions. Let me ask them, and we’ll see what you know.”

Knox shook his head. “I’m tired of talking. And I don’t see what good it’ll do.”

“You wouldn’t have given the files to Agent Sharp unless you wanted the case solved.”

“My memory isn’t any good.”

Deflecting the excuse, Andrews said, “I’ve spent the last couple of days going through every page in the boxes you provided, so I’m very familiar with the facts. I can jog your memory.”

“All I know is in those files,” Knox said as he wrapped gnarled hands around the doorknob and moved to close the door.

Andrews easily blocked the door with his foot. “I’m sure you can spare a little time.” He attempted a smile, knowing there wasn’t anything really friendly about it. “You did a hell of a job with all those notes. Don’t quit on Kara Benson now.”

Old eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Garrett Andrews,” he repeated. “I work for Shield Security.”

A frown deepened the lines on Knox’s face, but finally his shoulders slumped. He turned and moved into the house.

Andrews followed. The house was dimly lit. The center hallway dividing the long house in two was crammed with magazines and newspapers piled almost to the ceiling. Off the hallway was a larger room decorated in mauves and grays. A strong scent of mold permeated the room. The house would have been a total loss except for a large set of sliding glass doors that looked out onto a deck overlooking the lake. Andrews noticed the old man’s recliner faced away from the view and toward a television.

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