“Hey, McGowan,” one of the guys shouted. “Get your butt in gear.”
She looked over her shoulder at the group, now grinning. “Let me buy you a drink. Be nice to catch up.”
“You sure? I didn’t mean to bust into your afternoon,” he said.
“I’d like it.” She tossed her towel over her shoulder and picked up her backpack. “If you’re up for a little walk, there’s a bar a block from here. It’s cheap. And the burgers are good.”
He grinned. “Sure.”
All traces of hesitation melted from her green gaze. “Great.”
Eight months later it was a hasty Las Vegas wedding, and eight months after that they separated.
He tossed the half-used cigarette into the dirt and ground it out with the tip of his shoe. Hearing the children’s laughter, he picked up the butt and threw it in the garbage.
He’d shoved his way into Tessa’s life, and she’d welcomed him. For a time, he’d been happier than he could remember. He’d never bothered to consider their age difference or that his world-weary, cynical view of life would clash with her youthful impulsiveness.
Sharp had almost convinced himself the past was dead and buried, forever. That he’d somehow made a shaky peace with Kara’s death. But he’d been so wrong. All along the demons of the past had lurked. Hid. Stalked.
The case that had shattered their marriage had been the murder of an eighteen-year-old girl. She’d been a freshman in college, and after vanishing for two days, she was found strangled and sexually abused. He’d not slept or eaten much for weeks as he interviewed dozens of people. Tessa had been as patient as a saint. She’d pushed power bars in his pockets so he could eat. She’d not complained when he missed dinners. And then the killer had been caught. Their life should have returned back to what it had been. But the switch Sharp flipped had stayed on. Tessa had tried to talk to him. But he only grew frustrated.
Now he wondered if the switch could be turned off or if this was simply the way he’d remain.
Sharp had visited almost all the offices in the medical building fitting Jimmy Dillon’s description. As the time neared 2:00 p.m., he entered the second to last on his list. This medical practice belonged to Dr. Bailey, an oral surgeon who’d been practicing in the area for twenty years.
He showed his ID to a plump young receptionist. “Is Frances here?”
“We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
He’d received a similar response at the other offices he’d visited in the building. “Can I see the doctor in charge?”
“Sure.” She made a call. Minutes later a nurse escorted him to a corner office. A glance at the diplomas on the wall told Sharp the good doctor had an impressive résumé. But Sharp had crossed paths with many talented, smart people who took shortcuts when it came to making money. It wouldn’t be hard for a doctor to skim narcotics and sell them on the side.
A short man wearing a white lab coat entered the room. Neat black hair was brushed away from a friendly face free of worries. He extended his hand. “Agent Sharp, I’m Dr. Bailey. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a woman named Frances.”
“Who?”
“She works in this office,” he bluffed. Even if the name weren’t real, hearing it spoken by a cop would rattle cages.
“The name doesn’t ring a bell, but let me check with my office manager.” The doctor moved to his desk and pressed a button. “Dana, can you come in here? Great.” As he set down the receiver, he faced Sharp. “She’s the brains of the outfit. In fact, sometimes I feel like I work for her.”
“You don’t know the names of all your employees?”
“I’m a surgeon. I arrive at five a.m. and I work nonstop most of the day. I hired Dana because she’s efficient and knows how to run a tight ship.”
“What kind of surgeries do you do?”
“Dental work. Pull teeth. Root canals. Gum surgery.”
“So you’ve a full surgical setup here?”
“We have three suites that I move between in the mornings. Our patients are transferred to a recovery suite where we can keep an eye on them until they’re ready to leave.”
“You keep all your meds on-site?”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Is this about drugs? Did this Frances take drugs from me?”
“We don’t know.”
A soft knock on the door and an average-height woman with full brown hair, glasses, and bright-red lips entered. “You wanted to see me?”
“Dana Coggin, this is Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police. Do you know a woman named Frances who works here?”
She adjusted her glasses. “No. Should I?”
“A confidential informant identified Frances as a source for illegally traded prescription drugs,” Sharp said. He watched her closely for any body language cue that would tip her hand.
Dana adjusted her glasses again. “Why should I know this woman?”
“I believe Frances is an alias. Anyone in this office give you cause for concern when it came to the administration of narcotics?”
“No. Never.” She shifted her stance.
“According to one of my sources, Terrance Dillon, age eighteen, was given a bag containing these narcotics and told to deliver them to a specific address. He was killed in a city alley.”
“Were the narcotics found?” Dana asked.
“No.”
Dana’s gaze grew steady, as if she were doing her best not to look too upset. “That’s terrible, but how would I know about the kid’s death?”
Sharp noted how she tightly gripped a pen in her right hand. “We think someone in one of the offices in this building sold those drugs to Terrance’s father, Jimmy Dillon. There are only two other businesses in this building other than this one that fit the profile.”
Dana’s smile was quick, forced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smelled the lie. “Who is Frances?”
She stood straighter. “I don’t know.”
The hair on his neck rose, just as it did when he had been deployed. “So if I ordered an audit of your controlled drug supplies, there’d be no issue?”
She glanced at the doctor. “There would be no problem.”
“Good,” Sharp said, reaching for his phone. “I’ll have agents here within the hour along with the Virginia Board of Pharmacy.”
The doctor shook his head. “I cannot have state agents coming into my office like this. It’s not good for business.”
“I suspect someone is using the drugs taken from this office to administer to and then kill women. So if I can track the supplier, then I’ll find the buyer, who I believe is the killer.”
Dr. Bailey slid his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t realize it was that complicated. Dana, are you sure there’s no issue with the inventory?”
She looked at him like he’d slapped her. “No, there’s no issue. I haven’t sold drugs to anyone.”
“I never said it was you,” Sharp said.