“I do somewhere. I would have to dig it out of storage.”
“It’s important I see it as soon as possible. Can you take a picture of it and text it to me?”
“Why do you care about my brother?”
“I have a theory that might be way off base, but I need to check it out. I’d like to see a picture of him. When I do, I’ll let you know what I’m thinking.”
A heavy silence drifted between them. “You think he’s alive, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
Her breath hitched as she spoke, and she had to stop a moment before saying, “Mom thought she saw him once about eight years ago. She swore she saw him standing on a street corner.”
“Did she speak to this person?”
“She called out to him, but then he turned and vanished into a crowd. She was troubled for days. We all were. I even went back to locking my bedroom door. But she never saw this guy again, and we figured it was just a guy who looked like him.”
“I need that picture,” Dakota said.
“I’ll look for it right now,” Ms. Knox said.
“Thank you.”
“Carol,” Tessa said. “Call me back later and we can discuss your father’s remains.”
“Right. Sure. Thanks.” The line went dead.
“You really don’t think that Robbie Knox is responsible for these deaths?” Tessa asked.
“I don’t know.”
Her phone buzzed again. Jerry was summoning her to the autopsy suite for the Elena Hayes case. “I need to go.”
“Right.”
Tessa hurried along the hallway, focused on Dakota’s deliberate footsteps behind her. In the autopsy room, Jerry pulled the sheet from Elena’s body as Dr. Kincaid watched. The outside world faded away.
Elena’s face was red and bruised from extensive tattooing. Clearly, the Dollmaker had not finished his work when she’d escaped. Tessa glanced again at the thumb that was still swollen. “Jerry, what do the X-rays of her hand look like?”
He turned and flipped on the light of the X-ray board, which illuminated an image of Elena’s right hand. “She’s double-jointed. It would have hurt like hell for her to distort it like this, but my bet is she did it as a kid.”
Tessa stared at the X-ray. “It was one of her party tricks. Used to creep everyone out.”
Dr. Kincaid studied the top of the patient’s head, which had been waxed bare. Her gaze roamed over the red skin on the face and then to the neck and the bruising there. “X-rays show a fractured windpipe and hyoid bone in her neck. Strangulation killed her.” She examined the injection site on the patient’s forearm. “There’s no other blemish on her body, but we’ll test for drugs and signs of sexual abuse. She doesn’t appear as malnourished as the other one. He couldn’t have held her longer than a few days maybe.”
“He’s not wasting any time getting to work,” Dakota said.
Dakota’s phone buzzed with a text. Frowning as he read, he said, “Andrews ran the DNA samples found on Kara, Dillon, and Richardson in his lab. The DNA found on all three victims matches. He’s now trying to see if DNA was collected from the three murdered prostitutes.”
“There are other victims?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“Across the country. This guy hasn’t been dormant the last twelve years. He’s been honing his craft.”
Dakota received another text. “Shit. DNA is also a match to Knox. This guy we’re looking for is Knox’s son.”
Sharp entered the interview room where Dana Coggin and her attorney sat at a simple desk. He took the chair opposite them and pulled it around to the side of the desk. Right now he wasn’t looking to antagonize Ms. Coggin. He needed her help finding this killer, and if he could make her believe they were on the same side, then so be it.
“Thank you for coming,” Sharp said as he reached out his hand to the attorney.
Ms. Coggin didn’t speak but shifted in her seat and glanced at her attorney, a lean gray-haired woman whose dark suit made her pale complexion look sallow. A thin strong hand shook his. “I’m Martha Wells.”
“Good to meet you.” He smiled at Ms. Coggin. “And I do appreciate both your help.”
Dana sat straighter, tugging the edges of her coat nervously. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
Sharp opened his notepad case and clicked his pen. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me. Today, I may not be too concerned about you selling drugs if you’re willing to deal. Tell me about the man you were selling to.”
Ms. Coggin opened her mouth to speak, but her attorney held up her hand. “I’m not sure how my client can help you.”
He produced a smile that he hoped was friendly. He pulled out two photos and laid them both facedown on the table. “Dana,” he said, ignoring the attorney. “Let me show you what we’re up against.” We. A united front.
She folded her arms and sat back, silent.
He flipped over the first image. It was Diane Richardson’s Department of Motor Vehicles picture. “I’ll grant you this wasn’t the best picture taken of her. I’ve seen other pictures of her, and she was a stunning woman.” He tapped his finger on the picture, waiting for her to look at the image. When she did, he reached for the other image but didn’t turn it over right away. Both attorney and client were silent as they waited. Sharp flipped over the picture. It was Diane Richardson’s autopsy photo.
The stark contrast caught both women by surprise.
He pulled out two more pictures. Elena Hayes before. And the grisly after shot.
Again, Sharp waited as the weight of the images took hold. “This killer was able to do this because he could keep her drugged for long stretches of time.” He grimaced. “This face gives me nightmares.”
Ms. Wells now seemed to fully understand the implications for her client. “And if my client could possibly help you, you’d consider a reduced charge?”
“Yes.” As much as he hated to let this woman get away with her crimes, he had a bigger fish to catch, and he had no doubt if he were patient, he’d nail Ms. Coggin again. “Who is the buyer?” He made it sound nonthreatening. He didn’t dare voice his contempt for the woman.
“I’m not a petty drug dealer,” Ms. Coggin said.
Her attorney held up her hand, again silencing her. “She’ll plead guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge. Can we agree on that?”
Sharp stared at Ms. Coggin for a moment before he shifted his attention to the attorney. “She has to tell me everything.”
Ms. Wells nodded to her client. “Agreed?”
“Yes,” Ms. Coggin said.
“Tell him what you told me.”
The woman hesitated. “I used to date Jimmy Dillon when we were in high school. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and a month ago I saw him back in his favorite bar holding court.” She shook her head, regret clear on her face.
“Go on.”