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The office was piled high with boxed inventory. In the corner was a small desk covered with papers huddled around a computer screen. The manager sat and typed a few keys. Black-and-white images appeared on the screen. The time stamp was 9:00 p.m. He tapped the screen as Terrance entered from the right of the computer screen. “That’s Terrance. And I’m working the register.”
The two watched as the boy, who was wearing the same jeans, white T-shirt, and school jacket as when Sharp saw his body, made his way into the store, chose two items near the counter, and paid for them with coins and rumpled bills.
After sharing a laugh with the clerk, Terrance left and crossed the lot as a white sedan drove up. Terrance leaned toward the passenger-side window and spoke to the driver. At first his face was blank, almost stoic, but soon he was laughing. The driver got out and hugged Terrance, who nervously glanced around. Sharp thought about the boy’s father, Jimmy, fresh out of prison and lurking around town.
As the car pulled away, the camera caught a partial shot of the license plate. “Can you freeze that and enlarge it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Sharp removed a small notebook and recorded the four visible plate numbers. “Thanks. Can I get a copy?”
“I can e-mail the video.”
Sharp gave him his card. “Thanks. That would be a help.”
After the manager copied and sent the footage, he turned back toward Sharp. “Still can’t believe the kid is dead.”
Death of a youth always struck the core. “Know anyone who didn’t like Terrance?”
“No. He was in here a lot, like most of the locals. Nice kid. Never made a fuss.”
“Seen the boy’s father around?”
The manager looked surprised. “I didn’t know he had a father. Lived with his grandmother. Mother’s dead. He’s got a lot of cousins in town. It’s a big family.”
“Right. Thanks. If you think of anything, call.”
The manager blinked nervously. “Sure. Will do.”
On his way out, Sharp bought a packet of cigarettes and got in his car. As he opened the packet, he dug out his phone, found the number of his DMV contact, and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.
“Samantha Davis,” she said.
“Samantha, this is Agent Sharp, VSP. How’s my favorite lady?” He leaned back in his seat.
Soft laughter trailed through the phone. “I’m doing just fine. Been a long time since you called. I miss you.”
“Sorry about that.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d gone out a couple of times before he’d met Tessa. “It’s been crazy.”
“Who are you kidding? It’s always crazy for you. You live to work, Agent Sharp. One day they’ll find you hunched over your desk, a withered old man with a case file in your cold dead hands.”
The lighthearted comment hit a nerve. “Let’s hope the case is solved. I’d hate to leave this world hanging.”
He could imagine her curling her dark hair around her index finger like he’d seen her do before. “Anybody tell you that you’re a workaholic?” she said.
He traced a scratch in his steering wheel with his index finger. “Once or twice.”
“So why’re you calling? It’s been two years, so this can’t be a date.”
He leaned back. “I need a partial plate run.”
“You didn’t call to see how your favorite lady was doing?” Her tone echoed a mock pout.
“I could have called someone else, but I called you.”
“Because no one works the magic like I do.” She sighed as paper rustled in the background. “Let me have it.”
He read off the partial plate as well as the car’s make and model.
“What am I looking for?”
“I need the name of the car’s owner. He’s wanted for questioning in a homicide investigation.”
The tap of computer keys clicked in the background. “I have a car that matches your description and the partial plate. That car was stolen,” she said. “Six months ago.”
That wasn’t a surprise. He scribbled down the owner’s name and the entire license plate. “Thanks. I owe you.”
She laughed. “Yes, you do.”
After he hung up, he put out a BOLO on the stolen car and the boy’s father.
He checked his watch, knowing he had until three to catch Terrance’s friends in school before sports practice began. He put a call into the parole board and got hold of Jimmy Dillon’s parole officer.
“This is Jeff Taggart,” a gruff voice barked over the line.
“Agent Sharp, Virginia State Police. What can you tell me about Jimmy Dillon?”
“What’s he done?”
“He’s broken no laws that I know of yet. But his son was murdered sometime over the weekend.”
A heavy sigh huffed over the line. “Jimmy Dillon is a career criminal, and it’s a matter of time before he finds trouble.”
“Has he kept his meetings with you?”
Keys tapped in the background. “Yes. He’s made the first three. The fourth was supposed to be yesterday, but he missed it.”
“Does he have a job?”
“He said he interviewed for a janitorial job, but he hasn’t told me if it worked out.”
“Do you know where he was trying to get this job?”
“Dobbins Maintenance.”
The same place where Terrance worked.
The parole officer rattled off the information as Sharp noted the name and address of the local maintenance company.
“Have you tried to track Jimmy down?” Sharp asked.
“I’ve made a few calls. I’ll issue a warrant for his arrest now.”
“Did he give you a phone number or address?”
“Gave his mother’s home address and phone.”
“She’s not seen him since his release.”
“Great.” A pause. “If I get any fresh tips or he’s picked up, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks.”
Sharp put the car in gear and pulled up to Route 1, waited for the road to clear, and turned left toward the sign reading “Richmond.” He called the maintenance company’s service number where Jimmy Dillon was supposed to be interviewing for a job. He landed in voice mail and left his name and number.
The thrill of the hunt burned through him. He wouldn’t rest until he had tagged Jimmy Dillon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, October 4, 2:00 p.m.
After her interview with Dr. Kincaid, Tessa drove back to her cousin’s apartment, where she crashed for a few hours. She’d been back in the States nearly a week, but jet lag still dogged her. However, sleeping wasn’t as easy as she’d expected. Thoughts of Dakota troubled her until finally she gave up on sleeping and got up. To burn restless energy, she went for a run. Afterward, she showered and changed into jeans, a blouse, and boots before heading to the coffee shop. Once again, she was early.
She ordered an espresso, not because
she needed another hit of caffeine, but because she needed an activity to keep her hands busy while she waited for Dakota.
As the young man behind the counter made her espresso, her phone buzzed. It was Dr. Kincaid. She drew in a breath and answered, “Dr. Kincaid.”
“Good, I caught you.” No chitchat. “The job is yours if you want it.”
She blinked, ducking her head as she moved away from the counter. She lowered her voice. “Really?” The job locked her into Richmond for a year. No avoiding or running away for twelve months. “That’s wonderful. I accept.”
“You don’t want to think about it?”
“No. I want this job.”
“All right, then. Can you start tomorrow? The sooner the better.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning at seven. I’ll e-mail you details.”
“Great. See you then.”
She ended the call. When she paid the clerk and reached for her cup, her hand trembled just a little. Damn. She was taking the next step in her life. This was good news, right?
She dumped her extra change in the tip jar and chose a seat that put her back against the wall just as Sharp had shown her when they were dating. “Know your exits,” he’d said during one of his many safety lectures. At first she’d found the lectures endearing, but in the end she began to think he just didn’t trust her to stay safe. “I’m not a child, Dakota.”
She traced the rim of her cup, and then, fishing out her phone, replayed Dakota’s voice-mail message, hoping to glean any hints from his tone. As his terse voice rumbled in her ear, the bells on the front door jingled.
She looked up. Dakota stood in the door, the bright afternoon sun at his back. He wore his trademark dark glasses that hid what little emotion he projected, a black suit that skimmed broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt, and a conservative red tie she’d given to him for Christmas two years ago, though she doubted he remembered where he’d gotten it. He was leaner, and if possible, more rigid.
She shut off her phone and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She moistened her lips and prayed her heart would stop beating against her ribs.
He pulled off the glasses, letting his eyes adjust to the room as they swept left to right. She thought for a moment he didn’t see her, but the gray eyes swung around like the barrel of a gun and landed on her. A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he moved toward her with a determined, if not grim, stride.
