The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(59)

Sharp sat back in his chair, opened his notebook, and clicked his pen several times as Dillon took a seat across from him. Dillon’s pale face made the unshaved stubble on his chin all the darker. The deputy remained in the corner, arms folded across his chest.

“Mr. Dillon,” Sharp said. “I’m Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police.”

Dillon yawned, and as he rubbed his eyes, the handcuffs around his wrists clinked softly. “Why does state police care about me speeding? Ain’t you got real criminals to catch?”

“I was hoping you could tell me about Terrance Dillon.”

“I don’t know a Terrance Dillon.”

Squashing a jolt of anger, Sharp reached in the side pocket of his notebook and pulled out a surveillance picture of Terrance Dillon laughing beside his father at the gas station. “Is that you with your son, Terrance Dillon?”

Dillon didn’t bother to look. “I haven’t seen my kid in ten years.”

Sharp tapped the picture. “So this isn’t you in the picture?”

“Nope.”

Sharp leaned forward. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He understood playing it nice often earned him more information from a suspect, but right now it was all he could do not to break this man in half. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Take a second look at the picture, Mr. Dillon. Are you sure this isn’t you and your son?”

Dillon shifted in his seat. “So what if he’s my son? Why do you care?”

He watched Dillon carefully. “Terrance was found dead on Monday morning. He was stabbed, and the medical examiner estimates his time of death sometime between midnight and two a.m.”

Dillon shook his head as he rubbed cuffed hands under his chin. “Terrance is dead? What kind of bullshit is that? Why would you say that?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I sure as shit don’t. Cops like you play games.”

“I don’t play games like this.”

“Bullshit. You lie, hoping I’ll admit to some other crime also not my fault.”

The old man’s shock and outrage rang true, but then the best con artists could sound as innocent as a child at the drop of a dime. “The kid is dead. I witnessed his autopsy a couple of days ago.”

“Bullshit.”

Sharp removed another picture without saying a word. It was the boy lying dead on the medical examiner’s table.

Dillon stared at the picture a long moment. He blinked. And then he leaned back in his chair. “That picture is fake. I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me or not. I don’t care. But know this, I’m filing murder charges as soon as I can get the commonwealth’s attorney on the phone.”

Dillon’s eyes widened. “Murder. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Murder. As in the next twenty to thirty years in prison.” He tapped the pictures again.

Dillon shook his head, careful not to look at the pictures. “I didn’t fucking kill the kid. He was my son.”

“You picked him up at the convenience store at nine on Sunday night. What happened to Terrance after he got in your car?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look at the picture. Look at your dead son and tell me you didn’t know what happened to him.”

Dillon shifted in his chair.

“Look at it!”

Dillon’s gaze dropped to the picture. “Could I get a soda? I’m not feeling so well.”

Sharp wanted to grab the man by the scruff of the neck, but he didn’t. He would back off, knowing the short reprieve might get him what he wanted faster. “Deputy, would you have someone bring Mr. Dillon a soda?” He raised a brow. “Would you like a cup and crushed ice?”

Dillon looked at Sharp closely. The man had been in the system long enough to know when the thin ice under him was cracking. And he rightly sensed there wasn’t an ounce of goodwill behind Sharp’s smile.

When another deputy returned a minute later with a cold soda and a cup, Sharp popped the top and slowly filled the plastic cup. He set it carefully in front of Dillon.

The older man drank, paused to take in a breath, and then drank more. When finished, he burped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hit the spot.”

Sharp poured the remainder of the soda in the cup. Images of Terrance on the autopsy table flooded his thoughts. This kid deserved Sharp’s best. “Talk to me about Terrance. What happened after you two left the Quick Mart?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Jimmy, you’re not stupid. In fact, I think you’re smart. We both know you did time for drugs. Did you use the kid for a buy?”

“I might have had a bag of goods that needed to be dropped off.”

“What was in the bag?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re really starting to irritate me.”

“I didn’t know because I didn’t want to know what was in the bag. I’ve always found it safer to know as little as possible during a transaction.” He drummed his fingers on the side of the cup.

“When you sell drugs?”

He tapped one finger some more. “When I sell any item. The dumber the better.”

“Who put the drugs in the bag?”