The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(73)

“Don’t be so sure about that. I have questions. Let me ask them, and we’ll see what you know.”

Knox shook his head. “I’m tired of talking. And I don’t see what good it’ll do.”

“You wouldn’t have given the files to Agent Sharp unless you wanted the case solved.”

“My memory isn’t any good.”

Deflecting the excuse, Andrews said, “I’ve spent the last couple of days going through every page in the boxes you provided, so I’m very familiar with the facts. I can jog your memory.”

“All I know is in those files,” Knox said as he wrapped gnarled hands around the doorknob and moved to close the door.

Andrews easily blocked the door with his foot. “I’m sure you can spare a little time.” He attempted a smile, knowing there wasn’t anything really friendly about it. “You did a hell of a job with all those notes. Don’t quit on Kara Benson now.”

Old eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Garrett Andrews,” he repeated. “I work for Shield Security.”

A frown deepened the lines on Knox’s face, but finally his shoulders slumped. He turned and moved into the house.

Andrews followed. The house was dimly lit. The center hallway dividing the long house in two was crammed with magazines and newspapers piled almost to the ceiling. Off the hallway was a larger room decorated in mauves and grays. A strong scent of mold permeated the room. The house would have been a total loss except for a large set of sliding glass doors that looked out onto a deck overlooking the lake. Andrews noticed the old man’s recliner faced away from the view and toward a television.

Knox sat in the recliner and lowered the volume with a remote he clutched close to his chest. “Hurry up and ask your questions, young man. I got my television shows to get back to.”

Andrews understood the psychology of interviewing. He knew he should sit. Try to build a rapport with Knox. But he’d never cared about playing nice. “Sharp said you attended Roger Benson’s funeral on Monday.”

Knox twisted a button on his shirt. “Seemed the least I could do.”

“You two were friends before she died?”

“We knew each other well enough to say hello on the street. But that was about it.”

“And yet you spent years helping him with her case.”

“Benson was devastated after Kara’s death. Heartbreaking to see the tall and mighty brought to their knees.”

Andrews pulled up a chair covered in magazines, which he set on the floor. He positioned the chair in front of Knox so they’d be eye level. He wanted to see the man’s facial expression clearly. Ninety percent of communication was nonverbal. “You were one of the first officers at Kara’s crime scene, correct?”

“Yeah. I was on duty. The scene still gives me nightmares.”

“Was Kara Benson wearing makeup when you found her?”

The old man did a double take. “What?”

“Makeup.”

“Why would you ask a question like that? Her crime scene pictures are in the files. What did you see?”

“The images are inconclusive. The photos are either out of focus or her face is turned. There is no clear view of her face.”

“I never claimed to be a great photographer.”

“So you took the pictures.”

“Yeah, sure. Of all things, why care about the makeup?”

“Pictures were taken of her at the medical examiner’s office. There are traces of heavy makeup on her hairline and on her lips and eyes.”

“So?”

“According to the files, you were the first officer on scene. Is that true?”

“Yeah.”

He watched the old man carefully. “Did you wipe the makeup from her face, Chief Knox?”

“Why would I do that?”

“You tell me. Why would you destroy evidence?”

He rubbed his chin covered in gray stubble. “Maybe I didn’t want it getting around what she looked like. I knew more police were coming, and I’d hated the idea that it would get back to Roger and Adeline that their little girl died looking like a freak doll.”

“Her face was made up to look like a doll?”

“Yeah, I guess that was what her face was supposed to look like. Nothing a parent needed to see.”

Andrews sat back in the chair. “Do you remember talking to Diane Emery? She was a close friend of Kara’s.”

“If she was a friend, then I talked to her.”

“She was found murdered days ago and dressed to look like a doll.”

The old man’s frown deepened, and his gaze dropped to his bent hands. For a long moment, he said nothing. “What are you saying?”

“That maybe you know a lot more about what happened to Kara Benson, but for whatever reason, you’re hiding the truth.”

Watery gray eyes met his. “Why would I do that? I spent years trying to find her killer.”

“Or you spent years making sure no one else did.” Andrews dangled the words as he would bait on a line. Never knew what you could catch with a statement or comment.

“That’s a shitty thing to say. I worked for years on that case.” He drained what remained in the cup by his chair. His brow knotted as he stared into the cup.