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Dakota received another text. “Shit. DNA is also a match to Knox. This guy we’re looking for is Knox’s son.”
Sharp entered the interview room where Dana Coggin and her attorney sat at a simple desk. He took the chair opposite them and pulled it around to the side of the desk. Right now he wasn’t looking to antagonize Ms. Coggin. He needed her help finding this killer, and if he could make her believe they were on the same side, then so be it.
“Thank you for coming,” Sharp said as he reached out his hand to the attorney.
Ms. Coggin didn’t speak but shifted in her seat and glanced at her attorney, a lean gray-haired woman whose dark suit made her pale complexion look sallow. A thin strong hand shook his. “I’m Martha Wells.”
“Good to meet you.” He smiled at Ms. Coggin. “And I do appreciate both your help.”
Dana sat straighter, tugging the edges of her coat nervously. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
Sharp opened his notepad case and clicked his pen. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me. Today, I may not be too concerned about you selling drugs if you’re willing to deal. Tell me about the man you were selling to.”
Ms. Coggin opened her mouth to speak, but her attorney held up her hand. “I’m not sure how my client can help you.”
He produced a smile that he hoped was friendly. He pulled out two photos and laid them both facedown on the table. “Dana,” he said, ignoring the attorney. “Let me show you what we’re up against.” We. A united front.
She folded her arms and sat back, silent.
He flipped over the first image. It was Diane Richardson’s Department of Motor Vehicles picture. “I’ll grant you this wasn’t the best picture taken of her. I’ve seen other pictures of her, and she was a stunning woman.” He tapped his finger on the picture, waiting for her to look at the image. When she did, he reached for the other image but didn’t turn it over right away. Both attorney and client were silent as they waited. Sharp flipped over the picture. It was Diane Richardson’s autopsy photo.
The stark contrast caught both women by surprise.
He pulled out two more pictures. Elena Hayes before. And the grisly after shot.
Again, Sharp waited as the weight of the images took hold. “This killer was able to do this because he could keep her drugged for long stretches of time.” He grimaced. “This face gives me nightmares.”
Ms. Wells now seemed to fully understand the implications for her client. “And if my client could possibly help you, you’d consider a reduced charge?”
“Yes.” As much as he hated to let this woman get away with her crimes, he had a bigger fish to catch, and he had no doubt if he were patient, he’d nail Ms. Coggin again. “Who is the buyer?” He made it sound nonthreatening. He didn’t dare voice his contempt for the woman.
“I’m not a petty drug dealer,” Ms. Coggin said.
Her attorney held up her hand, again silencing her. “She’ll plead guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge. Can we agree on that?”
Sharp stared at Ms. Coggin for a moment before he shifted his attention to the attorney. “She has to tell me everything.”
Ms. Wells nodded to her client. “Agreed?”
“Yes,” Ms. Coggin said.
“Tell him what you told me.”
The woman hesitated. “I used to date Jimmy Dillon when we were in high school. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and a month ago I saw him back in his favorite bar holding court.” She shook her head, regret clear on her face.
“Go on.”
She cleared her throat. “I knew why he’d gone to jail, and I was looking for someone who needed quick cash. It didn’t take much convincing to get Jimmy to say yes.”
Sharp didn’t want to hear her backstory. If he didn’t need her right now, he’d be talking to the commonwealth’s attorney about maximum jail time. “Who was the buyer?”
“I never met the buyer in person. I got a call one night from a man, and he said he knew I might be someone who could help.”
“How did he know that?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“A little.”
“Who did you sell to?”
Ms. Coggin glanced at her attorney, who nodded. “The doctor treated a patient last year who also had cancer. The gentleman was having trouble sleeping. Dr. Bailey refused to prescribe any additional meds, believing the patient was exaggerating his situation. The patient then asked me if I could help. I knew what he needed, but I played dumb. He came back again for a follow-up visit, and this time he begged me for help. He said he’d pay top dollar. I told him it could be arranged, and then I visited his house with several vials of propofol. I showed his wife how to set up the IV. The man died of cancer six months later.”
“Who was the man?”
“Eugene Radcliff. He lived in the area.” She met his gaze.
“Did he use them to kill himself?” Sharp asked.
“No. He didn’t want to die. He was trying to live long enough for his daughter’s wedding.” She shifted in her seat again. “I went by the house to get the extras, but his wife couldn’t find the vials.”
“And you believed her?”
“Yes. Mrs. Radcliff was really worried. She thought her husband might have resold some of the drugs to a third party. Mr. Radcliff was worried about paying for his daughter’s wedding and leaving money for his wife. The woman was terrified she was going to jail if anyone found out.”
“She say who the buyer was?”
“Her husband never told her.”
“And then?”
“I got a call from this guy, who said he wanted more of what I’d sold to Radcliff.”
“And you did what?”
“Nothing. I thought he was a cop. But he called again. And this time he offered a lot more money. I wasn’t going to make the delivery and risk arrest, so I asked Jimmy.”
“And Jimmy got his son.”
“I suppose.” Her slim white fingers twisted around the strap of her purse. “I never saw the buyer or met him directly. But I did see a white van parked outside my house recently. It gave me the creeps.”
“What can you tell me about the van?”
“It was outside my house three nights in a row. I knew it was the buyer. I just knew it.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“I couldn’t see his face. He sat back, staying in the shadows.”
“What about a license plate?” he challenged.
“I wrote down the license plate of the van. At least part of it. I couldn’t see it all.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and put it on the table.
Sharp looked at the scrawled numbers and letters that were three short of a full license. Not a name. But a lead. Playing into her fear of this man, Sharp offered, “You’re likely in danger until we catch this man. If you think of anything else, call me immediately.”
He gave her his business card, moved out into the hallway, and called Andrews, giving him the partial license number. Andrews promised an answer within minutes.
Tessa kicked off her shoes as she entered her cousin’s apartment. After twelve hours on her feet, she was exhausted. As she padded into the kitchen, the front doorbell rang. Checking her watch, she moved toward the door, carefully remembering Dakota’s words of warning.
She glanced out the peephole and saw Veronica holding a bag. She opened the door.
“Veronica.”
A brittle smile tugged at red lips. “I asked around and found out where you lived. I wanted to see you and talk to you about Elena.”
“Dr. Kincaid gave you a full briefing, didn’t she?”
“Yes, yes, she did. But it’s not the same. I wanted to talk to someone who knew Elena. Please, can I come in?”
“I’m happy to meet with you in my office tomorrow. Now is really not a good time.”
“I know this is out of the ordinary. But we knew each other a litt
le as kids. Please, I need closure.”
Tessa, against her better judgment, stepped aside. “Sure, come on in.”
Veronica glanced around the apartment. “I found this bag on your front porch.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting it.
“Aren’t you living with your cousin? How is she doing?”
“She’s great.” Tessa rolled her head, trying to release the tension.
Veronica looked around. “Is she here?”
“No, we have the place to ourselves.”
“Good. It’s hard enough to talk about this.”
