The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(74)

“The crime scene work was substandard.”

“The day we found her, we were spread real thin. There’d been an arson fire in town, and one of my officers was burned trying to put it out. He ended up in the hospital with bad wounds. I wasn’t really equipped to collect forensic evidence, but I was all we had. If any evidence was lost, misfiled, or compromised, you can lay it at my feet.”

Andrews switched tactics. “Forgetting the evidence for a moment, what do you think happened to Kara Benson?”

Knox stared back into the empty mug. “Doesn’t really matter what I think. It’s what I could prove, and I couldn’t pin the case on anyone.”

“What are your theories?” He leaned in a fraction. “Every cop has theories. Whatever you say will remain confidential.”

Knox pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m all out of theories.”

“You must have suspected someone, otherwise why would you give the files to Sharp?”

“He was the last in the family. Seemed fitting.” The old man rose, stepped, stumbled, and then straightened himself. “Best you leave now, son. I’m not feeling so good.”

“What are you hiding, Mr. Knox?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“If Diane Emery was murdered by the same person that killed Kara, you are an accessory if you knew anything that would have solved Kara’s case. You will not only have killed Diane, but you will be responsible for the death of another woman who is now missing. You remember Elena Hayes, don’t you?”

“Elena is missing?”

“She is.”

The pain in Knox’s eyes was raw and brimming with regret. For a moment, it took Andrews aback because he saw the same eyes looking back at him in the mirror each morning when he shaved.

“What are you hiding, Chief Knox?”

“I gave you all my files.”

Andrews understood how past mistakes often turned into festering wounds for anyone with a soul. “I’m an expert at hiding secrets, which makes me an expert at spotting yours.”

Knox’s lips flattened. He trembled as he raised his unshaven chin. “I don’t have more information to share.”

“Talk to me, Chief Knox.”

“I’m not the chief anymore.”

“Once a cop, always a cop.”

“No. I stopped being a cop a long time ago.” He pointed a finger at Andrews. “And the only one who needs to hear my sins is the Almighty himself.” He opened the front door, letting in a cool gust of wind.

Andrews stared at the old man. Then taking a pen from his pocket and a slip of paper from a small notebook, he wrote down his number. “Call me if you change your mind.”

He didn’t accept the slip of paper. “I won’t be calling.”

Andrews laid the paper on a table stacked with bills and advertising flyers near the entryway before he walked to his car. The front door slammed hard. He turned and looked back at the house, certain Knox knew so much more than he was telling.




The fading scent of Tessa’s jasmine soap still clung to Sharp’s skin when his phone rang, cutting into the silence. Turning from his computer, he checked the phone’s display: Vargas.

“Sharp,” he said.

“You sound like anything but.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, in no mood for humor. “What do you have?”

“I finally received a call from Veronica Hayes, Elena’s sister. I’d left her three voice mails since we started looking for Elena, but nothing. Veronica just returned from Mexico. Seems her beach house didn’t have cell service. Anyway, Veronica insists it’s not uncommon for Elena to turn her cell off when she’s on vacation.”

“That’s not what Elena’s office said.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to Veronica in person.”

“When?”

“An hour from now.”

He checked his watch. “Text me the address, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Will do.” She hung up and seconds later her text message arrived.

An hour later he pulled up in front of Veronica Hayes’s Church Hill townhome. It was on a cobblestone street at the top of historic Libby Hill, one of the highest points in Richmond. Bright sun shone on the grassy now-vacant park near Hayes’s house. Below, the James River meandered around a bend past the business center on the north bank, and on the south side, the industrial section. He looked upriver toward the Manchester Bridge, knowing Tessa’s place was nearby.

The rev of an engine had him turning to find Vargas shoehorning a car into a parallel spot with only inches to spare on either end. She took one last gulp from a to-go cup and got out of the car, locking it behind her.

“Some view,” she said, barely glancing toward the river.

“It is.” He turned away.

“I’ve been thinking about Veronica’s Mexican vacation. Can you imagine six days on a beach without your cell? Too much bliss to imagine.”

“The sun is bad for you.”

She laughed. “Since when do we worry about what’s bad for us?”

“Maybe we should start.”

She paused. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”