As different as the two men were, they agreed on two things. They both loved Sharp’s mother, and they both loved the baby she and Roger had together. Katherine Whitney Benson. Kara to friends and family. Because of Kara, Sharp and Benson did their best to get along.
Twelve years ago when Kara disappeared after a college party, Sharp had been deployed in Iraq as a marine sniper and was stationed miles outside Al Fallūjah. When word of Kara’s death reached him, they’d been in the thick of some very nasty fighting. He wanted to leave immediately, but weeks would pass before the fighting eased enough so he could return home to his sister’s grave and a family torn into fragments.
Neither his mother, Benson, nor Sharp could really accept that Kara had died of an overdose. It simply didn’t fit the girl they’d loved so much. The devastating news had driven his mother to sedatives. Roger began harassing the police chief for any answer to explain why his only daughter was dead. And feeling helpless, Sharp had returned to Iraq.
His mother died a year after her daughter, and Roger grew more adamant about finding a reasonable explanation for why Kara was dead. No answers were ever unearthed, and the old man became more withdrawn and eccentric. When Sharp’s contract with the marines ended, he’d wanted to protect his home turf, not a far-off desert, so he joined the Virginia State Police. After eight years as a trooper, he was promoted to agent two years ago.
Rain droplets leaked from thickening clouds as the priest read from the Book of Common Prayer, “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.”
When the service ended, the priest made the sign of the cross, then picked up a handful of dirt, which he gently tossed on the casket. Sharp followed suit, scooping up some soil and letting it drop from his fist.
The priest said a final prayer, and Sharp turned toward the two headstones next to the empty grave soon to be Roger’s final resting place.
He muscled off the heavy grief resettling on his shoulders as he stared at the stone-etched names of his mother and sister and the dates encapsulating their lives. Flexing his fingers, he suddenly realized he’d not brought flowers. Shit. It was a small failure but another in an endless succession.
His attention settled on Kara’s headstone, and most specifically, on the day she died. The actual date was a guess. She had been missing five days before her body was found propped against a tree by a country road, so October 21 represented the medical examiner’s best estimate. Her birthday was tomorrow. She’d have been thirty.
“Dakota Sharp.”
Sharp braced and turned to see the old man in the gray suit approach. He walked with a slight limp and had bloodshot eyes. He’d been drinking.
“You’re Dakota Sharp,” the old man said.
A chill clung to the moist air and burrowed into his bones. “That’s right. Chief Knox, correct?”
“I’ve not been chief for over ten years.” His red tie, stained with a grease spot, was twisted in a large careless knot. “I became a private investigator after I left law enforcement. I worked for your father.”
“Stepfather.”
Knox reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He offered a stick to Sharp, who declined. “Right. RB told me you two didn’t get along.”
At forty-one, Sharp could acknowledge he’d not been the easiest teen to rear. Roger, in his own way, had tried to be kind. “Your point?”
“Roger and I were friends for years. He knew I became a private investigator after I left the department, and he hired me to find out what happened to Kara.”
“She died of an overdose.”
“He never believed that.”
Death and murder were a part of Sharp’s job as an investigative agent for the state police. He’d dealt with families like his own who couldn’t accept devastating loss.
Knox folded the gum wrapper in half and then into a triangle. “When did you see RB last?”
“We met for drinks in early summer.”
They’d met in a run-down bar on Richmond’s north side. Tense and feeling awkward, Sharp had nursed a beer as Roger drank gin and tonic and recalled how lovely Kara had been when she’d left for college. The old man’s hand had trembled slightly when he summoned the waiter and ordered a second drink. “She had an artist’s eye, like me,” he’d said.
Sharp had let his stepfather reminisce until the conversation circled back to the same unanswered questions about Kara’s last days. By the time Sharp had paid the tab and put the old man into a cab, he’d felt only pity.
“Roger never mentioned you two worked together,” Sharp said.
Knox sharpened the folded edge of the wrapper with a yellowed thumbnail. “He talked about you a lot. He was proud of you.”
Fat raindrops fell. Within minutes the skies would open, and they’d both be soaked. “What can I do for you, Mr. Knox?”
“Roger called me a couple of days ago. He said you’d be at his funeral.”
“He died of a heart attack. How did he know there’d be a funeral?”
“I can’t say for sure, but my guess is he sensed the end was close. RB said you were loyal to a fault. Best way for me to talk to you face-to-face was to wait for him to die. He knew you’d be here.”
Unsettling to think the old man had pegged him. “You could have called me.”
“Better to have this conversation in person.”
“Why?”
“Roger wanted you to have all my files on Kara’s case.” The weary-looking old man shook his head. “I talked to so many people. There was a time or two when I thought I might have something, but none of my leads ever panned out.”
“Why give me the files?”
“RB said you’re one of the best at what you do. He said if anyone could find a hint of foul play, you could.”
“Again, why dig into the case? The medical examiner ruled her death an accident. Overdose.”
“You know RB never believed that.”
“You were the chief of police then. You know there was no forensic data to back up Roger’s suspicions of homicide.”
“I’m not appealing to your logic, but your loyalty to RB. He wanted you to have one more look at the case.”
These files were likely a rabbit hole. A goddamned blind alley destined to loop back to an unrecoverable loss that still bred anger and blame. Jesus, Kara would be alive now if Roger had been a more attentive father. Or, shit, if Sharp had stuck around, not joined the marines, and seen to it Kara lived a full life.
Sharp cleared his throat. “Do you have my address?”
“RB said you lived on Libby Avenue.”
“That’s the old place. I moved out about eight months ago.” He pulled a business card from his pocket. “Send it to my work address. I’m there more than not.”
Knox took the card, flicking the edge with a bent finger. “I looked into everyone who knew Kara, including you.”
“Me?” Sharp had no secrets, so if Knox’s comment was meant to put him on edge, it fell flat. “I was in Iraq when she died.”
“She met people through you. I was interested in them.”
“She also met people at school. At the lake. In the bars where she used her fake ID. You look into all those people as well?”