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Her headlights went dark and the engine died. Seconds later, she slid out of her car, grabbing two plastic bags of groceries as well as a gym bag. She locked the car with her key fob and started up the sidewalk. He watched from the passenger-side mirror of the white van. Seconds before she neared his door, he opened it. It swung wide, blocking her path, as it should. He got out, dropping a pack of cigarettes, fumbling for it and then a lighter that he also dropped close to her feet.
She stopped, tried to sidestep as he rose, and held out a hand. “I’m so sorry.” He grinned, knowing when he smiled he could catch a woman’s eye. “I didn’t see you coming.”
Her smile was tight and nervous. Her natural inborn fear receptors were telling her to run. Danger! You don’t know this stranger! But like most women, she overruled any natural fight-or-flight alarms because she didn’t want to appear rude. He’d seen it so many times. Like most women, she was too polite to give in to the natural impulse. “That’s okay.”
“I scared you, didn’t I?” He leaned a little closer, studying her wide brown eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m clumsy, and I’ve startled you.”
“No, no, it’s okay.”
He smiled, careful not to hold eye contact too long. “You are too nice. Here, let me get my stuff and be out of your way.” He fumbled for the lighter. “So sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
He started to step aside. Her smile brightened. “Have a good night,” she said.
“You, too.” As she moved, he pressed the remote entry to the van’s side door, and it opened. The noise startled her rattled nerves, and she looked toward him a second time, likely to get his reassurance.
Instead, he pulled a stun gun from his pocket and jabbed it in her side. Her head jerked back, and her knees buckled. He caught her a split second before she hit the ground and easily laid her in the bed of the van. He scooped up her bags and set them beside her as he got inside. A click of the button and the door closed. They were alone in the dark.
“Please,” she muttered. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Straddling her and pinning her hands flat with his knees, he stroked her hair back with one hand as he pulled a loaded syringe from his pocket. “I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.”
Her body still trembled from the electric shock force. “Please. Let me go. I won’t tell. I won’t say a word. Just let me go.”
Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at him through the streak of moonlight beaming through the windshield into the back. With tenderness, he brushed the tear from her cheek. “Shh, I don’t want you to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to transform you into the most perfect woman. A living doll.”
She shook her head. The fear in her eyes was heartbreaking, and he didn’t like seeing it. Dolls weren’t supposed to be afraid. They were a source of comfort.
She drew in a deep breath, but he drove his knee into her belly and forced the air from her lungs before she could scream. God, but he hated hurting her.
“Be quiet. Be a good girl, and I won’t hurt you again. I don’t like hurting you.”
She shook her head from side to side. “No, no, no.”
He held up the syringe and flicked the sides and squeezed the plunger a fraction, sending serum and bubbles out the tip. He drove the needle into her thigh. She struggled, but it was easy enough to hold her in place as he pushed the drug into her system.
Slowly her muffled cries quieted, and her body stilled. When she was asleep, he straightened, his heart racing. He smoothed his hand again over her face, then captured a lock of hair between his fingers, savoring the silky feel. Pity he’d be cutting off all her hair. But as lovely as it was, it didn’t fit his vision of who she was about to become.
The transformation would take weeks. And though it was painstaking work, the sacrifice of his time would be worth it. Harmony deserved it. He’d made a critical mistake with Destiny. He’d been in too much of a rush for the total stillness of death, which in the end had robbed him of more time with her.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. There were other ways to mimic the stillness, and though it wasn’t as perfect as death, it meant he could keep her much, much longer. He wanted to play with his doll for a while. Savor her. Taste her. Perhaps even find her a friend who would keep her company.
Drawn now by her calming stillness, he traced his hand over her soft hair and her full bright lips. So pretty. A doll. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, unable to resist a kiss. His hand slid to the swell of her breast, and he gently squeezed. He grew hard imagining what it would feel like to be in his new doll, Harmony.
Outside, a car’s headlights drove past the van, its lights sweeping inside the empty front cab. He pressed his body against her, holding his breath as the car’s brake lights turned the shadows bloodred. Finally, the car sped up and left.
Her eyes grew glassy and her stare fixed as the drugs took hold.
“It’s going to be okay, Harmony. I’m going to get you safely out of here and transform you. You’ll be my perfect doll by the time you and I are finished.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday, October 7, 8:00 a.m.
Sharp had been at his desk nearly two hours when he received Terrance Dillon’s financial statement. He was surprised to see the kid had two new credit cards.
According to the records, the kid had filed an application for the cards four weeks ago and received the new cards last week. He surveyed the purchases, and immediately red flags popped out at him. The kid had been buying items during the school day. Beer, wine, steaks. A tattoo parlor.
The principal said the kid didn’t miss school, so there’d have been no way he could have made these purchases thirty minutes from his school without someone noticing. He’d also have needed a fake ID to buy the booze.
He’d bet money Jimmy, freshly out of prison with no job, had stolen his son’s identity to get the credit cards. “Piece of work.”
His phone rang; it was Dr. Kincaid. “Doc, tell me you have news.”
“I don’t know if the news is good, but I have information. Blood work came back positive for high levels of barbiturates in your tattooed Jane Doe. There are also traces of propofol. She overdosed.”
His chair squeaked as he leaned back and processed the information. “Overdose.” The word always reminded him of Kara. And then he asked the question plaguing Roger, his mother, and him since his sister was found dead. “Propofol is administered by IV, so she couldn’t have given it to herself, correct?”
“That is right. There were no pills in her stomach, so the drugs had to have been delivered via an IV bag, thus the mark on her arm. I’m calling it a homicide, because even if it were some kind of game, whoever administered the drugs to her was the one responsible for her death.” Homicide literally meant the death of a human by another human’s hand. The ruling didn’t speak to premeditation or intent. The woman had died at another’s hands, but the homicide still could have been accidental.
“You said there might be a serial number on her breast implant.”
“There was, and I just got off the phone with the plastic surgeon’s office. Your Jane Doe has a name. Diane Richardson. According to her doctor, she had breast augmentation two years ago. He listed her address in the city’s Fan District on Monument Avenue.” She rattled off the house number.
Sharp pulled his notebook from his breast pocket and wrote down the address. “Doc, that’s great. Now that I have a name, I have a prayer of figuring this out. What about Julia Vargas? Have you notified her?”
“I have. She’ll be calling you to set up a meet today at the victim’s home.”
A critical piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. “Doc, you’re the best.”
“So I keep telling my staff, but no one seems to believe me.”
When he ended the call, he quickly rang Vargas, and the two agreed to meet at the Monument Avenue address as soon as he arranged for a s
earch warrant. By ten he had a judge willing to review his case.
Knowing the review process could take a couple of hours, he decided to visit the tattoo shop where someone had bought a tattoo in Terrance’s name last week.
Less than a half hour later, Sharp entered the tattoo salon Ink Plus, located on Broad Street, a thoroughfare in the center of the urban campus of Virginia Commonwealth University. The school took up most of this section of Richmond and added to the hip vibe of the area.
The windows of the salon were covered with a collection of pictures showcasing the artists standing beside their customers sporting new ink.
Sharp had gotten four tattoos while in the marines. None of them were fancy or ornate like these. One was a simple saying, I WIN WHERE I FIGHT. The second read DUTY. HONOR. COURAGE. And the third, MY TIME IS AT HAND. And the last was a list of the five good men he’d lost in battle.
He moved through the front door. Bells overhead jingled. Jazz music played softly.
“Can I help you?”
The question came from a young woman behind the front counter. Thick dark hair skimmed her shoulders. She wore a gray tank top that left exposed sinewy arms and an ornate tattooed cuff ringing her right bicep.
“I hope so,” he said.
She eyed him, already had him figured for a cop. But her smile was genuine. “What can I do for you?”
He pulled out his badge and introduced himself. “And your name?”
If he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d have missed the micro hesitation and the wave of tension rippling through her. “Shay Profit. I’m the girl Friday here. If I’m not tattooing, I’m answering phones or working the front desk.”
“How long have you worked here?” he asked.
“About two months.”
He wasn’t interested in whatever she might be hiding. “I’m trying to track a guy who might have been through here about a month ago.”
Relief chased away the unease. “That’s a long time.”
