The Dollmaker (19 page)

Now the woman was dead, and something told Claire that the murder was somehow connected to the doll. The register and safe hadn’t been tampered with, and Mignon had still been wearing a valuable ring when Claire found her. If she’d been the victim of a random robbery, surely the assailant would have taken the jewelry. The only thing that appeared to be missing from the shop was the doll.

Claire told herself it was too early to jump to any conclusions. She needed to wait and hear what the police found inside the shop. But as much as she wanted to stay calm and rational, her mind raced and she couldn’t stop shaking. She knew it would be a very long time before she would forget Mignon Bujold’s sightless eyes staring up at her.

“Are you Claire?”

She turned with a start. A dark-haired woman in a trim black suit had approached the table, and Claire gave a brief nod.

The woman was slim and petite, but the high heels she wore gave her the illusion of height, and her demeanor, along with the designer bag she carried, spoke of a young sophisticated professional on her way up. She reminded Claire of Charlotte.

Her gaze was cool and detached as she stared down at Claire. “One of the detectives told me I could find you here. My name is Lily Devereaux. I’m Mignon Bujold’s daughter.”

Claire started to rise, but the woman said quickly, “No, please. I don’t mean to disturb you, but could we talk for a moment?”

“Of course.”

She sat down across from Claire, and when the waitress appeared, ordered hot tea in spite of the sweltering heat outside. As they waited for her drink, Claire realized that her initial assessment of the woman had been wrong. What she’d mistaken for cool detachment was, in fact, a valiant effort on Lily Devereaux’s part to hang on to her shattered composure. Her face was nearly colorless, and when she had the tea in front of her, she wrapped her hands around the cup, clinging to the warmth as if it were the only thing that would get her through this.

Her eyes desperately sought Claire’s across the table as a lone tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away with her napkin.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “This must be such a terrible shock for you.”

She nodded, sniffed and seemed to collect herself then. “They told me you were the one who found her.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I don’t mean for this to sound accusatory, but…who are you? I don’t remember Mother ever mentioning you. Were you a friend of hers?”

“No. I was a potential customer. I saw a doll in her shop window one day last week and I came back to ask about it.”

The gray eyes stared unblinking at Claire. “How did you get in?”

“The back door was unlocked.”

“So you just walked in?”

Regardless of what she said, her tone was most definitely suspicious, Claire decided. “I know that sounds bad, but I found the rear entrance unlocked when I was there on Friday. Someone next door was supposed to get in touch with your mother and make sure that the premises were secured. I was curious to see if anyone had been there since I left. When I saw that the door was still unlocked, I became concerned.”

“Do the police know that you were there before?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve told them everything I know, which really isn’t much. As I said, I only came back to ask your mother about the doll I saw.”

Claire hadn’t meant to sound defensive, but Lily said quickly, “I’m not implying that you were somehow responsible for Mother’s death. Please don’t think that. I’m just trying to make sense of what happened.”

“I understand.”

Lily drew in a ragged breath. “I have two little girls. They both adored Mother. I don’t know how I’m going to tell them….” She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. “When I drove up and saw all the police cars out front, I knew something had happened. But I never dreamed…I just still can’t believe it. Even after I identified the body.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Claire said.

The woman didn’t seem to hear her. “They told me I would have to wait outside until the crime scene had been cleared. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I couldn’t seem to think…I guess that’s why one of the detectives told me that I should come over here and wait with you.”

Claire watched, mesmerized, as Lily lifted the cup to her lips. Her hands shook so badly, Claire had to resist the urge to offer assistance, but somehow she managed alone. She took a sip, then returned the cup to the saucer with a clatter.

“I should have checked on her sooner. The girls and I were busy all weekend and I thought Mother was out of town. She wasn’t due home until last night, and when I didn’t hear from her, I assumed she’d gotten in late. I didn’t want to bother her….” She trailed off, her eyes filling again.

“I called her house this morning, and when she didn’t answer, I told myself she was probably in the shower or outside. She liked to putter around in her garden before she left for work. I tried her cell phone, but she wasn’t in the habit of turning it on. She only bought one to appease me. I thought it was a good idea because she traveled a lot.”

Lily’s gaze dropped to her cup, and she stared for a long time into the tea, as if trying to divine a message in the dregs.

“I didn’t mean to unload all that on you,” she finally said. “I guess I can’t stop talking about it because it’s just so hard for me to comprehend. Who would do such a terrible thing to someone as kind and gentle as my mother? And why? I don’t understand how something like this could happen….” She bowed her head then and her slim shoulders shook as she began to weep quietly into her napkin.

Claire reached over and touched her hand. “Is there someone you want me to call? You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lily wiped her nose and eyes and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve already called a friend. He should be here soon. I probably shouldn’t ask this of you. I’ve already imposed on you long enough. But…would you mind sitting with me until he gets here?”

“Of course not.”

She turned back to the window, staring out at the commotion across the street. “I’m not usually like this. I never lose control.”

“It’s understandable under the circumstances.” Claire wished she knew what to say to the woman, what words she could offer that might bring some comfort. But grief was an intensely personal emotion. Others could sympathize, but no one else, no matter their own experience, could ever fully comprehend.

The woman bit her bottom lip to stop the tremor. “I should have called the police when I couldn’t reach her.”

“You had no way of knowing she was in trouble.”

“I know, but I should have done
something.
”

“It’s easy to think in hindsight of everything we might or should have done, but it doesn’t help, and you can let yourself slide into a very dark place if you aren’t careful.”

“I know you’re right. Still…”

She continued to look out the window, and Claire knew that wasn’t a good thing because they would be bringing out the body soon. “Maybe it would help if we talked about something else,” she said.

The woman’s gaze finally moved away from the window. She took another sip of her tea as she mustered her shaky poise. “Why don’t you tell me about the doll you came to ask about? Are you a collector?”

“My mother is. My sister and I were shopping for a birthday present for her when I saw the doll in the window. I was involved in an accident that day or I would have gone in and asked about her then. When I came back on Friday, the shop was closed and the doll was gone from the window.”

A note of desperation in Claire’s voice seemed to filter through Lily Devereaux’s grief, and she looked up with a frown. “Which doll was it?”

“She had curly blond hair and beautiful turquoise eyes. She seemed so lifelike I had to look twice to make sure she wasn’t real.” Claire paused, fighting back her own rush of emotions. “This may sound strange, but she looks exactly like…my daughter.”

For the first time, Lily smiled. “It doesn’t sound strange to me at all. I had a twin doll when I was little. Mother still has her in her collection. You must have seen the Savannah Sweete doll. Mother only got her a few days ago and was over the moon about the purchase. If you know anything about doll collecting, you’ll understand why.”

Claire’s heart had started to beat an erratic tattoo inside her chest, but she tried to keep the excitement from her voice. She didn’t want to say or do anything that might alarm Lily Devereaux, because the poor woman had already been through enough. “The little I do know, I’ve picked up from my mother. I’ve heard her mention Savannah Sweete. I think she even took some classes from her at one time.”

“It’s quite possible. Savannah used to teach doll making classes here in New Orleans and in Houma, which is close to where she lives. But she had a terrible accident a few years ago that confined her to a wheelchair, and I understand she’s been almost a recluse since then. I don’t know much else about her except that she’s regarded as one of the finest doll artists in the country. That’s why Mother was so elated when a man brought one into the shop. As I said, portrait dolls rarely come on the market and you almost never see a Savannah Sweete.”

“Did your mother happen to mention the man’s name?”

“I don’t think she knew him. He wasn’t a collector or dealer, just someone who had a doll for sale. She said he mentioned that a child had died and the reminder was just too painful. That’s why he needed to get rid of the doll.”

Claire turned to the window, her own eyes filling with tears.
A child had died and the reminder was just too painful.

Outside, the wind picked up, and she watched a paper cup roll across the street and into the gutter. In her mind she saw a bright yellow kite skim low over the surf as Ruby ran laughing behind it.

“Are you okay?”

The woman’s concerned voice drew Claire’s attention back to the table, and she had to swallow past a sudden knot in her throat. “I don’t want to bother you at a time like this, but…it’s very important to me that I find this doll. Do you have any idea what happened to her? Did your mother say anything about selling her?”

Curiosity sparked in Lily Devereaux’s eyes, but she shook her head. “The last time I talked to her was on Thursday morning. She said the doll had generated a lot of interest and she was anticipating a fairly heated bidding war. The piece was that spectacular.”

“Did you see the doll yourself?”

“No, but I feel as if I did after the way Mother went on and on about her. She said the attention to detail was extraordinary. The eyes, the mouth, the nose…everything exquisitely sculpted and painted. She even had a tiny strawberry birthmark on her left arm….”

Lily’s voice faded and everything inside Claire stilled as her mind slipped back in time. She could see Ruby so clearly. The two of them were sitting on the porch swing, waiting for Dave to come home.

“Why do I have this red bump on my arm, Mama?”

“It’s a birthmark, Ruby. You were born with it.”

“Maw-Maw says it’s where an angel kissed me. But Daddy has one just like it. Does that mean an angel kissed him, too?”

“Somehow I kind of doubt that, honey.”

Claire’s chest tightened, and for the longest time, she could hardly breathe.

T
he crime scene was crawling with cops. Uniformed officers were stationed at the front and rear entrances of the shop in order to limit access, and another half-dozen or so milled around in the showroom and on the street outside the front door.

John Gilby, the heavyset coroner’s investigator, squatted near the body, while Patrice Petty, the crime scene investigator, collected and bagged forensic samples. She wore faded jeans and paper covers over her sneakers, and her red hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek ponytail that glistened like copper. She and Alex Girard had worked together on dozens of crime scenes, and when she caught his eye, she gave him a smile and a slight nod. They’d had a flirtation going for years, and had even gone out a few times after he and Claire first split up. But nothing had come of it. Alex had told Patrice that he wasn’t ready for anything serious, and that was the truth. He also didn’t see any reason to complicate a working relationship that could be advantageous for both of them.

Two homicide detectives had been sent over by the division commander, and they stood directly across from Alex, both staring down at the body. Tony Maddox had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jangling his keys as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He was a few years younger than Alex, maybe thirty-one or thirty-two, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was a good detective, but there had always been something about him that rubbed Alex the wrong way. Sometimes his intensity and his dogged approach to an investigation reminded Alex a little too much of Dave Creasy.

Tony’s partner, Remi Broussard, was the exact opposite, a good-natured Cajun with thick, black hair he kept clipped close to his scalp, and a brush mustache that hid the scar over his lip where a suspect had sliced him open one night during an arrest.

Like Alex, both men were dressed in lightweight summer suits that were already rumpled from the heat. Maddox had gum in his mouth, and his jaw worked fiercely as he watched the coroner’s investigator finish his examination.

Alex’s gaze moved to the open refrigerator. The wire shelves that had been removed to accommodate the body had been slid behind the refrigerator, against the wall. Unnoticeable, unless you were looking for them. If the woman’s dress hadn’t been caught in the door, compromising the seal and allowing the smell to seep out, it might have been days before anyone found her.

Good idea, but sloppy execution, Alex thought. Especially from a killer who’d gone out of his way to keep the crime scene immaculate. Something or someone must have spooked him in the act, and Alex’s mind went back to Friday morning, when Claire had insisted that she’d seen someone inside the shop.

He’d dismissed the claim as her imagination, and when he’d had a look around the shop and alley to appease her, he hadn’t been as thorough or concerned as he should have. But he also knew that if the fabric had been visible then, he would have seen it. Which suggested to him that Mignon Bujold had either been killed at a later time or in a different location, her body then brought back to the collectibles shop and stuffed inside the appliance.

Or a third possibility. The killer had gone back to the body for some reason after Alex and Claire had left the shop.

Logical explanations aside, Alex could too easily imagine how all that would play out in the press, a body going undiscovered by a seasoned detective. The last thing he needed was to come off looking incompetent—or worse, a laughingstock—when his career was finally gathering some steam.

John Gilby rose with a grunt, hitched up his pants and mopped his face with a white cotton handkerchief. It was as cold as a meat locker inside the shop, but his shirt was stained underneath his arms and the bald spot at the back of his head glistened with sweat. As always, he looked a mess. His ill-fitting brown trousers were threadbare at the knees and seat, and his shirttail hung out in the back. He had on a tie, but it was loosely knotted around his neck and fell several inches short of his burgeoning waistline.

“What’s the word, Gilby?” Maddox asked impatiently, his jaw still working the gum. “Can you give us time of death?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Gilby peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them aside. “We won’t know anything until she’s opened up and we get a look at the stomach and bowels. Maybe not even then.”

“What about cause?” Remi asked.

“’Fraid I can’t help you boys out much there, either. I can tell you this, though. She’s got no visible wounds on the body that I could see, and she doesn’t appear to have been sexually assaulted. The only thing I did find was a small mark at the side of her neck.”

Alex glanced up. “Stun gun?”

“Looks like a needle track. We’ll have to order a full toxicology screen with the postmortem.” He mopped his face again, then returned the crumpled handkerchief to his pocket. “I’m done with her. Y’ all can have ’em take her out whenever you’re ready.”

Alex nodded absently as he snapped on a pair of gloves and knelt beside the body. Turning the victim’s head slightly, he moved in closer to get a look at the tiny puncture wound at the side of her neck. It was barely visible. Anyone else might have overlooked it, but Gilby was a lot more astute than his slovenly appearance suggested.

So who killed you?
Alex wondered as he stared down at the body.
And why?

Maddox squatted on the other side of the corpse and rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip. “Looks like the son of a bitch must have shot her up with something to incapacitate her, then stuffed her in the icebox so she wouldn’t be found for a while. He knew she wouldn’t last long in this heat.”

“Motive?”

Maddox shrugged. “An old woman alone in a shop isn’t exactly an unusual target in New Orleans. Some crunkhead strolls by, spots her through the front window and decides right then and there to knock over the place.”

He and Alex both straightened as Remi Broussard said in his deep, quiet voice, “I’m not so sure I buy that explanation. Don’t make sense a junkie taking the time to hide the body when he won’t care who finds her or when, so long as he gets his fix. And he’s not going to leave a nice ring like that on her finger, either, or cash in the register. Not when he’s got a mess of spiders crawling around inside his head.”

He was right, Alex thought. Someone else had wanted Mignon Bujold dead, and as much as he didn’t want to go there, he couldn’t stop thinking about that missing doll.

He left Remi and Maddox with the body and walked into the other room to glance out the window. He couldn’t see Claire in the restaurant across the street, but knew she was still there, waiting for him to come and tell her what he’d found.

Alex wished to hell she’d never spotted that damn doll, because he had a bad feeling now that Pandora’s box was about to be opened.

“Hey, Lieutenant, you got a minute?”

He turned as the crime scene investigator approached him. “What’s up, Patty? You find something?”

“Oh, I found plenty. We got prints and fibers all over the damn place, but the question is, do any of them belong to the killer?”

“You tell me.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. You running this thing or am I going to have deal with that asshole, Maddox?”

Alex grinned at her bluntness. “I guess we’ll have to let the captain sort that out.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“What else did you find?”

“Come take a look.” She motioned for him to follow her over to the counter. The surface was sooty where she’d dusted for prints. “See that mark on the floor? The counter’s been scooted out of place about half an inch. I figured this might be where he took her down, so I went over the area a few times. I found this shoved up underneath the counter.” She held up an evidence bag that had already been numbered and labeled.

“What is it?”

“It’s a photograph of a kid. Looks to be six or seven. Maybe somebody dropped it and it got slid under there by mistake. Could have been there for years. Then again…” She shrugged. “You never know.”

Alex took the bag from her hand and glanced down at the photograph. Recognition shot through him like an icy needle and his chest tightened painfully. For a moment, he thought he might be having a heart attack, but a split second later, he realized what he felt was panic.

Because the child in the photograph was Claire’s daughter, Ruby.

A few minutes later, Alex stood outside on the sidewalk in front of the shop, wondering what the hell he was going to do about that picture. He’d told Patrice Petty that he would show the photograph to Mignon Bujold’s daughter to see if she recognized it, and then he’d slipped the bag into his pocket and walked off.

It was almost noon and the sun shone down on the street like a brilliant spotlight. Alex fished in his pocket for his sunglasses and put them on. After being inside the air-conditioned shop for the better part of an hour, he found the heat outside stifling. But the sweat that broke out across his forehead was cold and clammy. A nerve twitched at his temple, and he put his hand over the spot, trying to massage away the tic.

Yet no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about the photograph. It was like an iron weight in his pocket. He wanted to believe that he’d been mistaken. The kid in the picture only resembled Ruby Creasy. All that talk about a look-alike doll had planted ideas in his head. That’s all it was.

But as much as Alex wanted to believe this was just some bizarre coincidence, he couldn’t completely discount the possibility that Claire had been right all along. Somehow the doll she’d seen in the shop window was linked to her missing daughter. And now a woman who had come into possession of that doll was dead.

He ran his thumb and forefinger along the corners of his mouth as he stared out at the crowd that had gathered on the street. A couple of reporters were there, too, and the minute they spotted him, they pressed forward, shouting questions in his direction even as he deliberately turned away. The last thing he needed was for the media to get wind of that photograph.

One of the uniforms came over and said something to him. Alex nodded even though he barely heard the man’s comments. His attention was on the restaurant across the street. Claire had just come outside, and when she spotted Alex through the crowd, she hurried toward him.

She was stopped briefly by the officer guarding the perimeter, but as soon as he recognized her, he held up the tape and let her pass.

“Alex, I have to talk to you,” she said urgently as she came up beside him.

“I need to talk to you, too, but it’ll have to wait. Right now I need to get back inside.”

She caught his arm. “This can’t wait. It’s about Mignon Bujold’s killer.”

The officer standing next to Alex heard her and glanced curiously in their direction. The two reporters were standing farther away, but Alex wasn’t about to take a chance on being overheard. He’d been burned by the press before.

He took Claire’s arm and guided her around to the side of the building and underneath the crime scene tape that barricaded the alley from the sidewalk. When they were far enough away from the street, he turned with a frown. “What’s so important that you couldn’t wait five minutes for me to finish up?”

“I just had a long talk with Lily Devereaux about the doll I saw in the window the other day. Alex, she said a man Mignon didn’t know brought that doll into the shop. He told her that a child had died, and he wanted to get rid of the doll because it was too painful a reminder.”

Alex felt the ache in his chest sharpen. “You think he was talking about Ruby?”

“I don’t know. But I’m convinced the doll is connected to her kidnapping and now to Mignon Bujold’s murder. Lily told me that the doll had been sculpted by an artist named Savannah Sweete. She specializes in portrait dolls and her work is very detailed. Lily said the doll I saw in the window that day had a tiny strawberry birthmark painted on her left arm, just like the one Ruby had. That can’t be a coincidence, Alex. Even you have to see that now.”

“It still doesn’t prove that the doll is connected to Mignon Bujold’s murder. You’re jumping to an awful lot of conclusions. And I don’t deal in coincidences when I investigate a crime, I deal in facts.”

“Okay, fact one—that doll looks exactly like Ruby, right down to the birthmark on her arm and the dress she was wearing when she disappeared. Fact two—nobody could have sculpted and painted her so perfectly from a picture. The birthmark was too tiny to show up in a photograph. Whoever made that doll had to have seen Ruby in person at some time or another. And three—a few days after Mignon Bujold bought that doll from a stranger, she turns up dead. There’s a pattern here, Alex. An undeniable connection. You have to reopen Ruby’s case.”

“For your information, Ruby’s case has never been closed. As far as NOPD is concerned, it’s still an ongoing investigation.”

“Then put some manpower on it,” Claire said desperately. “I know you have the clout to do it.”

Alex massaged his pounding forehead. “Go home, Claire. Go home and let me do my job.”

“But that’s just it. Will you do your job?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never wanted to believe that the doll looked like Ruby. You never wanted to believe there was a connection to her kidnapping. Even now, after everything I just told you, you still don’t want to believe me. You refuse to keep an open mind, and I have to wonder if you’re the best person to investigate this case.”

“That’s not for you to decide. And thanks for your faith in me, by the way.”

“I’m not trying to insult you. I know you’re a good cop. I don’t think you would deliberately do anything to sabotage an investigation, but I also know you don’t want to see me hurt. I’m afraid of what you might do to protect me. But you don’t need to worry about me. I can handle the truth. What I can’t deal with is you keeping something from me.”

His gaze broke from hers and he looked off down the alley toward the street. A hush fell over the crowd gathered in front of the shop as the coroner’s assistants wheeled the portable gurney through the front door and loaded the body into the back of a van.