The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(87)

“Well, now I’m not lecturing. Now I’m walking a mile in your shoes and am here to lend my powers of observation. I’m all eyes and ears, Agent Sharp.”

“You don’t need to be here.”

Her smile was bright. “Well, let’s go inside.”

He muttered a curse.

“Who should I be looking for?” she asked, already scanning the crowd.

He guided her toward the door. “You don’t look for anyone. That’s my job.”

“Today, it’s also my job.”

She’d never been one to argue, but when she dug in her heels, no amount of persuasion made her change course. She was back in his life. And like it or not, seemed determined to stay. “Focus on the funeral.”

Tessa drew in a breath. “What was it you said? Killers return out of genuine grief, and some also want to savor the pain they’ve caused.”

“Something like that.” He pulled off his sunglasses. “I found Madison.”

“Where?”

“He went back to his own place.”

“Is he under arrest?”

“His attorney arrived about an hour after he did at the station. He’s out now. But not before he accepted a cup of coffee and drank from it.”

“You have his DNA?”

“I do.”

“You should have results in days.”

Sharp shook his head. “Looking forward to it.”

They passed a thick hedge of shrubs and entered a vestibule carpeted in rich, soothing green. Organ music drifted from the main parlor already filled with several hundred people. At the front of the room was a polished cherry casket outfitted with shiny brass filigree and handles.

Sharp had made a donation to the online crowdfunding account for the funeral. Judging by the flowers and the other frills, many others had done the same. Beside the casket was an enlarged version of Terrance Dillon’s senior high school picture, likely shot over the summer in anticipation that he would graduate next spring. Under a blue cap and gown, he grinned.

Tessa grew still as she stared at the photo. “He looks even younger in the picture than he did in my office.”

“Yeah.”

The organist began to play “Amazing Grace,” and the audience stood to sing. Sharp and Tessa couldn’t find a seat and ended up standing against the parlor’s back wall. There were few hymnals left, but a woman sitting in front of Tessa handed over hers. Tessa nudged the book toward Sharp, and he accepted his half. She sang as he watched the group.

Tessa’s voice was clear and bright; he had to focus hard on his job and not stare at her. He’d forgotten how angelic her voice sounded. She’d been shy about singing and often only sang when she thought she was alone.

The memorial ran longer than most. There were several people to eulogize the boy. His coach. An uncle. His pastor, kids from the high school, teachers, and friends. All spoke of a highly motivated and fun-loving kid who dreamed of college and his future. The one noticeable absence was Jimmy Dillon, who’d been denied permission to leave jail under guard to attend.

The last song ended and Tessa took the book, closing it softly and tucking it in a pew.

“Let’s go outside. I want to watch them leave,” he said.

Without thinking, he took her hand and guided her through the growing crowd of people. Her fingers wrapped around his, and he struggled to breathe. The more he touched her, the more he missed her. He found an alcove off to the left, just inside the main doors. They stood there and watched.

“Everyone looks so upset,” Tessa said. “I know death is emotional. But I’ve grown used to dealing with the clinical side of it.”

“This side is definitely messier.”

A young girl hurried past them, her hands crushing tissues and trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. The girl vanished into the ladies’ room.

“I think I need to duck into the ladies’ room. She looks upset.”

“Good idea.”

Tessa followed through the restroom door. As Sharp stood by the wall, he flexed his fingers. Almost pleading for something to happen. More mourners streamed out. Several young men about Terrance’s age huddled in a group by the door. He recognized Ronnie and Garcia.

Sharp walked over to them. “Hey, fellas,” he said. “Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police.”

“What are you doing here?” Ronnie said. “Doesn’t make sense cops would be here.”

“I want to find out who killed Terrance,” he said simply. “Talk to the people who knew him.”

“Ain’t no one going to find out,” Garcia said. “He was knifed in an alley. Shit happens.”

Ronnie curled his fingers into fists. Light-colored eyes flamed with anger. “Fuck the shit happens, Garcia. Terrance was the real deal. He was a solid guy.”

“I’ve only heard good things about the kid,” Sharp said.

The young men looked from side to side as if they were embarrassed to be seen with Sharp.

“When’s the last time you saw Terrance?” He often asked the same question twice. The truth was easy enough to recall, whereas lies weren’t as easy to track.

“Friday night at the last game. He was all excited about seeing his girl,” Ronnie said.

“You said before he didn’t have a girlfriend,” Sharp said.