The Doll Maker And The Hammer
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It was happening again, just like before: in the middle of a downpour, just like the previous victims. As Detective Maria Sanchez drove toward the latest crime scene, she felt an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach; a feeling she wasn’t used to feeling, a feeling she would never admit to anyone. It was there, no matter how jaded all the years of law-enforcement had made her. FEAR—The teeth clinching, make-you-more-than-a-little-nauseous kind of fear—gnawing at her insides, making her anxious and uneasy. She didn’t like it, but it was there, and had been there, since the discovery of the first, pulverized victim. Sanchez and her partner had gone up against some of east Tennessee’s most prolific killers and she’d never so much as flinched. But this was different. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she was just being foolish, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen. And not just to her, but the ones she loves.
