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“I’ll worry about the whys when we catch this guy.” Sharp offered her another cigarette. “Seeing as you fell off the wagon.”
Vargas accepted the cigarette and the lighter. When the cigarette’s end glowed, she inhaled as she handed him back his lighter. “Yeah, nobody likes a quitter.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wednesday, October 5, 3:30 p.m.
After the Terrance Dillon exam, Tessa and Dr. Kincaid autopsied a man who’d died in a car accident. By the time they’d closed up the third case, a heart attack, it was after three and Tessa’s feet and back were aching. Dr. Kincaid looked nonplussed as she stripped off her gloves and gown and tossed them into the waste bin.
“You did well today,” Dr. Kincaid said. “It’s not normally this hectic, but you held your own.”
Tessa pulled off her cap. “Keeping up with you will be a challenge.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Jerry poked his head in the door. “Don’t get too comfortable, ladies. Agent Vargas called. She’d like you to visit one of her death scenes.” He glanced at a note. “Woman found in park. Covered in tattoos and no signs of trauma on the body. She’s working with Agent Sharp on the case.”
Two murder investigations on Dakota’s plate. He would be in overdrive now, his attention focused like a laser on work.
“What makes the case unique?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“Vargas said you’d need to see it to believe it.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” Dr. Kincaid checked her wristwatch. “Looks like our day isn’t over yet.”
“I’ll get changed,” Tessa said.
Dr. Kincaid stopped, as if she’d caught herself. “You both were so professional this morning, it was easy to forget you two know each other.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Dr. Kincaid rubbed the side of her neck. “Why accept this job here? You knew you’d bump into him sooner or later.”
“It’s my hometown, too. And it’s not like I hate the guy. He’s one hell of a cop.”
“He’s intense. I like him, but I’d hate to cross him.”
“Not a good idea when he’s on a mission to solve murder cases. He’s possessed.”
“Because of his sister?”
She’d never heard Dakota talk about his sister to anyone. “You know about Kara?”
“He asked me to review her autopsy file a couple of years ago. I went over it with a close eye but didn’t discover anything that made me think the cause of death wasn’t an accidental overdose.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not sure he’ll ever know any peace.”
“Did you know his sister?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Both of us were local girls, and we ended up at the college here together. We had a lot in common. And we got along well until that last night.” Tessa drew in a breath, knowing she was opening a door that had been so hard to close.
“Look, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay. Might as well tell you. Kara and I and a couple of our friends went to a fraternity Halloween party together. It was a warm Friday night, midterms had just ended, and we were ready to have a good time. I left the festivities early. I ended up getting hit by a car blocks from the party. I don’t really remember the accident or the days surrounding it. My aunt told me later friends visited me in the hospital and told me Kara’s mother was looking for her. My aunt said my cousins were there, and they offered to call around, but they all agreed what could be done to find Kara was being done. I was released on a Wednesday, the same day she was found dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Kincaid said.
She balled up her cap and tossed it in the trash. “The whole family fell to pieces. I was on pain meds, so I really don’t remember. My cousins tell me the funeral was one of the saddest moments of their lives. It was a blur to me. Dakota couldn’t get home until a month after the funeral, and by then I was in rehab. Dakota and I didn’t meet up again until about two years ago.”
“Ah.”
Talking about this felt oddly disloyal to Dakota, but she wanted it out in the open. Life was full of enough drama without secrets. “We fell for each other, rushed into a marriage that imploded all in the course of one year.”
Dr. Kincaid didn’t comment, but she was listening.
“As you know, Dakota is totally dedicated to the job. He doesn’t rest when he has an open murder case, especially when it’s a young person. I understand somewhat where he’s coming from, but there came a point when it drove a wedge between us. When I learned about the opening on Project Identify, I took it. Now I’m back.”
Dr. Kincaid shook her head. “He’s not changed.”
“I know. But I have.”
As Garrett Andrews considered taking a very late lunch, weighing the merits of Chinese versus Italian, he caught Clay Bowman’s reflection in his computer screen. Andrews turned toward the doorway, the scars from an IED explosion along his back and arms tightening as he rose.
“Agent Dakota Sharp has sent us files,” Bowman said. “You said you wanted the first cold case Shield tackled.”
“I thought there was going to be a review process. We’ve already received a couple dozen requests for assists.”
“Sharp gets bumped to the front of the line.”
Logical. He’d proved himself to be a good cop, and he’d helped close the Shark case last month. Still, Andrews liked protocol. “What’s the case he wants us to review?”
“His half sister’s. A dozen years ago, she went missing from her college campus and five days later was found dead. The medical examiner ruled it an overdose.”
Sharp’s emotions would understandably be running high on this case. “A tragic case, but how does it relate to us?”
“I’m not sure it does. And if it weren’t Sharp, I’d have said no.”
“What do you have?”
“Sharp received case files from the former police chief who originally investigated the case. I said we’d go through the files.”
“There’s a high probability I’ll confirm his sister made a terrible mistake that killed her.”
“Maybe, but I’d still like you to work your magic.”
“Not magic. Science.”
A smile warmed Bowman’s face. “Have a look at the case.”
Andrews was still not convinced the files deserved a second look. “The original plan for the cold cases was for me to work closely with the submitting law enforcement officer. Not possible this time. Sharp’s objectivity is compromised.”
“Exactly why he wants us to look at the case. Is that a problem?”
“No. Not a problem. But as you might have noticed, I’m not the best at dealing with emotional messes.”
Bowman arched a brow. “Really? I’d always pegged you
as the warm and fuzzy type.”
That almost prompted a smile. “You have a skewed sense of warm and fuzzy.”
“You might be the perfect person to handle this for Sharp. He’ll need someone who’s completely detached and sees the facts for what they are.”
“Assuming there’s any new evidence to be found.”
“Are you telling me you aren’t up to the job?”
A tactical challenge lurked behind the comment. Management 101. Despite recognizing this classic maneuver, he wasn’t immune to the ploy. Challenges and puzzles kept his mind engaged on the present and away from troubling replays of the past. “I’m very capable and willing.”
“Good.”
A half hour later, pasta in his belly and a double espresso in hand, Andrews returned to his office to find four dusty boxes on his desk. Sipping his coffee, Andrews moved to the first box and flipped off the lid. He’d barely thumbed through the first box, filled with handwritten notes of the police chief’s interviews, when Bowman reappeared.
Without turning, Andrews set down his cup and said, “No filing system, only clumps of papers, some of which are rumpled and stained with what looks like pizza sauce. No organization. No patterns established.”
“Making sense out of chaos is what you do best.”
Absently, Andrews scratched fingertips over well-mapped rough scars on his left hand. “I do.”
“If you need any assistance, ask,” Bowman said. “I want this case resolved as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get started on this straightaway.”
“Great.”
Alone, Andrews opened the next box and found stacks of photos. Some had been identified on the back and others left blank. As he shifted through the pictures, he found an image of four young girls dressed in jeans and sweaters in front of what looked like a college dorm. They all grinned, and interlocked arms suggested they were close. On the back there were four scrawled names. Diane, Kara, Tessa, Elena.
He dug deeper into the files and found an image of a much younger Sharp with the girl who closely resembled him. He wasn’t more than early twenties, and she must have been about twelve. He was young and slim, and the smile on his face exhibited an exuberance Andrews suspected had long since been tempered by life.
