Where had the makeup come from? And why had it been wiped from her face before she arrived at the medical examiner’s office? She’d been missing five days, but according to liver temperature readings taken in the medical examiner’s office, she’d only been dead about thirty hours. There were no signs of exposure, so presumably she’d been inside. So if there had been makeup, one night in the elements, even if it rained, would not have been enough to erase the makeup so completely.
Tessa checked the inventory of the patient’s belongings. She’d been wearing a simple red dress, black high heels, and a bow in her hair. The description matched the pictures Tessa had taken the night of the party. The only discrepancy was the bow. Kara had not been wearing a bow.
No one would have thought twice about the makeup or bow given Kara had been at a Halloween party before she vanished.
Kara’s toxicology report revealed lethal levels of barbiturates. The drugs had caused her breathing to depress and finally her heart to stop. The drugs also explained the lack of vaginal tearing. If the sex had not been consensual, she’d have been too drugged to resist anyone.
Tessa checked the files and discovered there was still DNA logged in the evidence lockers that were kept refrigerated. Knowing how much science had advanced in the last dozen years, she ordered new DNA testing on the seminal fluids found in Kara as well as a cross-check with the DNA found in Diane and on Terrance Dillon. Two women made up, one with tattoos and the other presumably with makeup. Both deaths also involved high levels of drugs that led to overdose, and there was evidence both women had had intercourse near time of death.
Terrance Dillon was still the outlier, but if he had been killed in a drug deal involving propofol, then that was a solid link to Diane, who’d died from the drug. Yes, a dozen years separated the first death and the most recent two, but the otherwise unique cases showed too many signs of interconnection to be ignored.
A couple of days ago, everyone would have considered the tests too speculative and wouldn’t have ordered them. Now she wasn’t so sure this was a long shot.
She might get flak for the expedited tests and their costs, but as Sharp once said, it was easier to seek forgiveness than ask permission.
In the park, the laughter of children swirled around Sharp as he stood in front of the spot where Diane Richardson had been found three days ago. Though most of the crime scene tape was now gone, a trace of it was tangled in a bush and drifted in the fall breeze.
He tried to imagine the possible paths the killer would have taken to get her body here. The forensic team had found faint tire tracks and taken impressions. There’d also been one partial boot print found near the body.
He walked back toward the parking lot counting the steps. Diane Richardson had not been a big woman, but carrying a dead body was unwieldy, even for the fittest killer. This guy had stamina. He walked to his car and looked back toward the tree. What was it about this place? Why bring her here?
He lives close by.
The words whispered in his head. The killer knew this small town located twenty miles north of Richmond well. From this spot, Terrance Dillon lived 3.5 miles away. Kara had been found 4.6 miles from here. The small private college where all the girls had attended was 6.2 miles away.
Killers, like everyday people, were creatures of habit. They had their routines, too. They chose to dispose of their victims in familiar areas. Easy in, easy out, and no one was the wiser.
Sharp reached for a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled and thought about the thousands of homes in this area. This guy had held Diane for weeks, so he would have needed privacy.
Houses with basements and large lots came to mind, but Sharp knew if the killer were careful and kept his victim sedated, he might be able to keep her in close quarters. Keep your grass cut and say a nice word or two to your neighbors, and for the most part, people left you the hell alone.
As he stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette, he thought about Vargas’s comments about Tessa. Vargas hadn’t ruled her out as a person of interest, but no matter how compelling the argument, he could never imagine Tessa killing anyone. Ever.
He thought back to when he and Tessa had bumped into each other two years ago. He’d had one of his infrequent visits with Roger, who had said Tessa was back in Richmond working as a resident at the state hospital. Sharp had always been attracted to Tessa, but the decade difference in age and the awkward timing had kept him at a distance. Now the years didn’t matter as much, and the timing was about as good as it would ever get.
He’d found out she hung out with friends who lived on Monument Avenue and made a point to just happen by one day. It was during his third “happen by” that he’d spotted her with some friends playing croquet in the wide grassy median strip dividing the historic avenue.
Her long black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and a sweat-stained tank top clung to her breasts. Shorts showed off long athletic legs and a great ass. He noted the scar on her right leg, the reminder from the car accident suffered the night Kara vanished. Still, she moved well.
The sun had given her skin a warm glow, accentuating her fit, toned body. Half the guys playing had been stealing glances of her as she bent forward to make a shot.
He’d leaned against a tree, watching the game. Watching her. Enjoying every moment of it.
She’d not recognized him, but when other players had broken for a break, she’d glanced over at him a couple of times.
“Tessa?” he asked.
“Yes?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, squinting as she tried to place him.
He pushed off from the tree and moved toward her. “Dakota Sharp.” Automatically, he stuck out his hand, though he could see she’d still not connected the dots. “Tessa McGowan, right?”
“Yeah.” Her head cocked to the side as she took his hand in a firm grip. Her hand was soft, smooth. She smelled of jasmine.
After another beat, her memory seemed to shake loose the connection. “Kara’s brother?”
“Right.” The association with his sister deflated some of his good mood as he reluctantly released her hand.
“I’m with the Virginia State Police now.”
She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Do you live around here?” she asked.
“No. Just getting in a run. Fresh air. I don’t get enough of either. Saw the game and then you.”
A delicate pink warmed her cheeks. “Oh.”
“What are you doing these days?”
“Pathology residency.”
He already knew the answers to these basic questions because he’d done a fair amount of digging before making contact. But he liked hearing her talk. Liked being close to her. “Sounds interesting.”
“It is.” She drank her water, and his gaze was drawn to the long line of her neck and her slender fingers wrapped around the bottle.
“Hey, Tessa, the game is about to start back up,” one of the male players shouted.
“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he lied. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh, no worries. Really. Sorry, it just took me a second. It’s been, what, nine or ten years?”
“Give or take.” He maintained eye contact and smiled.