The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(24)

A thin woman in her early thirties approached him. She was dressed in jeans, a loose T-shirt, leather jacket, and booted heels. Ink-black hair skimmed her shoulders, a delicate cross on a chain hung around her neck, and a detective’s shield was clipped to her belt. Her lips were fixed into a grim line.

He recognized her. She was new to the Richmond division of the Virginia State Police, having transferred in from the Tidewater area where she’d worked undercover.

Sharp pulled his badge from his breast pocket, held it up for her to see, and attached it to his belt. “Agent Dakota Sharp.”

She extended her hand. “Agent Julia Vargas. Thanks for coming so quickly.” Her handshake was firm, her gaze direct.

“What do you have?”

Agent Vargas rubbed the back of her neck as she glanced back toward the body. “I received a call from the local deputy because this scene is so odd. One look and I knew I needed a second set of eyes.”

“Male or female?”

“Body of a young female. I’ve seen a lot of heinous acts, but this one takes the cake.”

“What’s different about her?”

She shook her head. “You’re going to have to see it for yourself.”

“Okay.” He tugged a set of black latex gloves from his pocket and slid them on over his hands. “Lead the way.” She turned toward the yellow tape, raising it to allow him to pass first. A ring of officers and forensic technicians parted as he approached.

For a moment, he simply stared at the scene. His brain didn’t quite process what he saw until he brushed away the shock and refocused.

Leaning against the tree was the body of a woman, dressed like a doll. White billowy dress, knee socks, shiny patent-leather shoes. However, it was her face and eyes that took his breath away. Her eyes were tacked open, revealing unnaturally large pupils staring sightlessly at him. Her face was painted white, cheeks tinted a blush red, with eyebrows arched in a thin line. The hair, twisted into twin braids, was a wig.

His gut clenched. When he spoke, his voice sounded ragged, rough. “It’s paint?”

“No, it’s not paint,” Agent Vargas said. “It’s ink. All tattoos.”

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Every bit of her face, scalp, and hands is covered. Must have taken weeks to do the work.”

“Cause of death?”

“We don’t know. There’re no signs of trauma on the body other than the eyes, and the forensic team thinks the stitch job was done postmortem.”

“Have you searched the area?”

“We have officers fanned out searching a half-mile radius right now.”

Sharp stared off into the thicket of woods and spotted several uniforms canvassing the area. Beyond the woods he saw the outline of what looked like condos or apartments. “Who found the body?”

“An early-morning jogger. He came running through about five a.m. along the path from the condos and spotted the victim. He called 9-1-1, and the responding officer immediately closed off the area.”

“Where’s the jogger?”

“I interviewed him and let him leave for work. I’ve his name and number if you want it.”

“Uniforms find any evidence?”

“So far, nothing. The front gates on the park weren’t locked, so whoever left her here could have driven her in that way, parked in the lot, and carried her the thirty feet to this spot. There are no cameras in the park or at the entrance. I think he or she could have been in and out of here in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Assuming she was driven in.”

“Correct.” She nodded toward a graveled path angling into the woods. “That leads to a condo complex with plenty of parking. It’s about ten yards to the parking lot. The association has an after-five-p.m. towing policy, which the killer may or may not have realized. I checked with the towing company, but they weren’t patrolling the area between one and four in the morning. The flatbed was already full, and they were taking their bounty to the impound lot.”

“Unless our killer lives in the condos.”

“Possible. We’ve called the management office. Got voice mail and hoping for a callback soon.”

He squatted and studied the garish face. “The tattoos are healed. That takes a couple of weeks.”

His gaze dropped to her hands placed so demurely in her lap. Carefully, he touched the arm and found it was locked in place by rigor mortis.

“For the killer to position her like that would require that she still have flexibility in her limbs,” Vargas said.

Sharp studied the wide, vacant eyes. “Twenty-four hours for rigor mortis to set the muscles, so she would have been dead at least fifteen hours before he brought her here and posed her.”

“Jesus, what was he doing with her for fifteen hours?”

He had an idea but didn’t want to voice it yet. Instead, he focused on her pale arms. “There’s one needle mark. Any signs of trauma?”

“Other than the needle mark, no. The medical examiner will be able to tell us how she died. I’m betting asphyxiation or overdose.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“We were able to pull prints. We’ve sent them to AFIS.” AFIS was the Automatic Fingerprinting Identification System managed by the Virginia State Police.