The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(8)

Riley was only thirty but had slipped into the role of mother to an adopted daughter, who was almost eighteen. “I’m a fast learner.”

When Kara was in high school, he’d been overseas, so their infrequent conversations were limited to the telephone. He’d enjoyed listening to her prattle on about her life, even if he didn’t catch all the endless details about fashion and friends.

“Dakota!” Kara shouted. “This is important! Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, what’s the color of the dress I’m wearing to prom?”

“Red.”

“Oh, that’s close. It’s blue, Mr. Distracted!”

Sharp reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of latex gloves pressed against a rumpled package of cigarettes. He tucked the cigarettes back in his pocket and, unsealing the gloves from a wrapper, tugged them on.

“They’re going to kill you,” Riley said.

“We all gotta die sometime.” On a good day he pretty much avoided the cigarettes, but lately, there’d not been a lot of good days.

She shot him a look he was used to getting from her now—sisterly exasperation. She was dating Clay Bowman, the new chief operating officer at Shield Security, a firm based sixty miles north near Quantico. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, but when Bowman’s name came up, her demeanor softened.

“Do we have any county deputies on scene?” Sharp asked.

“They were called away to a fire in town. I told them I’d cover the scene and you’d update the sheriff later.”

“I understand the victim has been identified,” he said.

Riley shifted her stance and flipped open a small notebook. “Terrance Dillon. Age eighteen.”

“Did you interview the man who found him?”

“I did a preliminary question and answer. His name is Mike Andreessen. He was scouting the land before hunting season opens. Inspecting deer stands.”

“Where is he?”

“The local deputy talked to him and let him go. We’ve all the contact information, so it’ll be easy enough to find him.”

“Did he see anyone in the area about the time he found the body?”

“Didn’t see a soul nor did he hear anything that was out of the ordinary. But he was pretty upset.”

Extreme stress could narrow vision and shut down the other senses. “Is this his land?”

“No. Belongs to a friend, but he showed me a note he has from the owner. He has the right to hunt the land, a fact I’ve also verified with a phone call.”

“Did he touch the body or move anything?”

“No, he did not.”

Good. The less outsider interference there was contaminating his crime scene, the better. “Right.”

State police didn’t have automatic jurisdiction in this homicide, but Terrance Dillon had been found in a rural locality with limited forensic resources. There was also evidence the body had been moved from a primary scene, indicating multiple jurisdictions could be involved.

“Didn’t you grow up in this area?” Riley asked.

“Yeah. About five miles east of here.”

“Somewhere near the college, right?”

“Stepfather was chairman of the art department. His house was on the lake.”

“Art department? I can’t picture you around a bunch of artists.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” he said. “Let’s have a look at the body. Lead the way.”

The sun peeked over the horizon, guiding them across the frosted field that crunched under their boots. Riley, an experienced search-and-rescue tracker, cut through the brush easily, forcing him to match her quick pace. Closer to the creek’s embankment roped off by crime scene tape, a halogen light running on a generator glowed unnaturally bright on the water’s rippling edge.

He lifted the yellow tape for her.

“Stop, you’re spoiling me,” she said.

“Only the best for you.” He waited for her to pass, then ducked under himself.

The victim lay on his back, arms crossed over his chest. The boy’s body was long and lean and had yet to gain the muscle mass many boys developed at this age. He wore jeans, boots, and a muddied letterman jacket.

Hands on hips, Sharp tapped his index finger on his belt. Needles pricked at the base of his skull, just as they had when he’d been a sniper and had his eye poised millimeters from the scope, finger on the trigger. “When was he last seen?”

“According to the missing persons report, when Terrance didn’t come home on Sunday night, his grandmother got worried and went looking for him. She visited his regular haunts, including the Quick Mart on Route 1. The manager told her he saw Terrance about nine p.m. getting into a fancy white Lexus.”

His gaze remained on the kid as he absorbed details: faint thin whiskers on a smooth chin, a small diamond stud in his left ear, a shiny high school class ring on his right ring finger. “Did he get in willingly?”

“Manager told the grandmother the kid was grinning when he opened the car’s front passenger door.”

“Has anyone been to the store to get surveillance footage?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Sharp squatted by the boy’s body. The creek’s waters lapped against the victim’s shoes.