The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(20)

The kid shifted his stance. “No, he was clean. He was easygoing. Never pissed anyone off.”

The other kid, shorter, thicker, had raven-dark hair and large brown eyes. He had to be Garcia. “Everyone liked him.”

“Garcia, right?” Sharp asked.

“Joey Garcia. I’ve known Terrance since the sixth grade.”

“Did you ever see Terrance with his father?”

“I never saw him, but I know they talked on the phone. Jimmy started calling Terrance a couple of weeks ago.”

“Do you know what they talked about?”

“Terrance never would say,” Garcia said. “He was a little nervous about talking to Jimmy. He was afraid his grandmother would be upset.”

“Did Terrance have a girlfriend?” Sharp asked.

“He did,” Garcia said. “But they broke up six months ago. Terrance’s grandmother didn’t want him dating anybody. She wanted him focused on school and football.”

“You sure about that?” Sharp asked. “When he was found, he was dressed nice. Did he always dress up?”

“He liked to look nice,” Garcia said.

“Did he have a date?” Sharp asked.

The boys looked at each other, then back at Sharp. It was Ronnie that said, “He never told us.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes talking about Terrance. He learned the kid often went to a diner in town named Bessie’s with the other players. Nothing else the coach, kids, or principal had to offer amounted to a lead.

“Thank you for your time,” Sharp said. “Call me if you hear anything.”

Outside in the bright sunshine, he put on his sunglasses. He couldn’t do much to fix his personal life, but he sure as hell could find justice for Terrance.





CHAPTER SIX


Tuesday, October 4, 10:00 p.m.

Sharp had spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with Terrance’s neighbors. The door-to-door visits took time and energy, but he’d learned as a cop that there was no substitute for the footwork. Forensic science might sway television juries, but in reality, knocking on doors solved more cases.

In the end he only confirmed what he’d heard so far. Terrance was a good kid, who not only had played football but also had been one of the stars in the region. He’d had a shot at a scholarship to an NCAA Division II school—not the big leagues, but it would have been a full ride and likely his only ticket to a better life. Terrance, or Terry as his neighbors called him, had dated a girl named Stephanie earlier this year, but as his friends had indicated, they’d broken up in mid-February. He had a host of friends and all liked the kid. Everyone was shocked he’d been stabbed.

A few old-timers remembered Jimmy Dillon, and they all agreed he had been a deadbeat before he went to jail. For a time Jimmy, his wife, and Terrance lived with Mrs. Jones, and once or twice the cops had been called when neighbors heard screams. The neighbors said it was flat-out domestic abuse, but when Sharp returned to the office and checked Jimmy’s arrest record, he found no charges of domestic abuse had been filed.

Jimmy had still not checked in with his parole officer, and so far there’d been no sightings of him. Sooner or later, rats like Jimmy had to crawl out from under their rocks.

By the time Sharp arrived at his town house, he was tired and in a foul mood. As he dug out his keys, he spotted several boxes piled in front of his door. He reached for the lid of the top box. A glance at several pages told him they were Kara’s files. Douglas Knox had found his personal address. Once a cop, always a cop.

Sharp rolled his head from side to side as he closed the lid. The knot in his gut tightened.

He wanted all the questions around Kara’s death answered, but he wasn’t the man to find them. His lack of objectivity coiled around too much emotion meant he could easily screw it all up.

He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed Clay Bowman’s number.

Bowman picked up on the second ring. “Sharp.”

He wasn’t any good at calling in favors. Rather chew on broken glass. “I hear Shield is organizing a cold case group.”

“It’s in the works.”

“I have a case.”

“Riley told me.”

“I’ve a half-dozen boxes full of files.”

“Good. I’ve already spoken to Garrett Andrews, our tech guy. He’s ready for them.”

No quibbling. No questioning. Just a pledge that now shouldered some of the burden. “Thank you.”

“Riley is on patrol tonight, and she’s wrapping up her shift. Let me call her.”

“I can bring in the boxes.”

“If she’s close, it makes sense to send her. Stand by.”

Bowman hung up. Sharp opened his front door and readied to haul in the first box when his phone dinged with a text from Riley. Five minutes away.

He texted back. Thanks.

He loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket, which he draped on the back of a chair by the door. He rolled up his sleeves and waited only a few minutes before a Virginia State Police K-9 SUV pulled up in front of the town house.

Riley got out of her vehicle, her black Lab watching from his window. She glanced from side to side before moving forward. State troopers worked alone on the road most of the time and quickly became accustomed to checking their surroundings, a habit most carried to the grave. As she moved away from the car, the dog’s focus never left Riley.