I See You

by Burton, Mary

  Inside the ER, the hum of conversations, patients, and staff in the half dozen registration bays mingled with the sound of monitors and a lobby television broadcasting a health-themed talk show. Vaughan made his way to an open registration desk.

  The registrar, a woman in her early twenties, had ink-black hair and pale skin. “Can I help you?”

  Vaughan removed his badge, holding it steady, and then introduced himself. “I need an update on Mark Foster.”

  She checked her computer, frowning as she juggled the restrictions of the HIPAA regulations and a cop’s request. “Let me check with a nurse.”

  Vaughan tucked his badge back in his pocket. “Thanks.”

  He turned to find Spencer staring at the television with great interest. Curious, he walked toward her and realized she was watching a segment on brain aneurysms.

  When she realized he had crossed the room to her, she shrugged and turned from the television. “My husband died from one.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was still grieving for her dead husband. He shouldn’t care that he was competing with a ghost, but he did.

  She rolled her head from side to side, releasing the tension in her shoulders. “Thanks.”

  Double doors pushed open, and a young nurse wearing green scrubs appeared. After spotting Vaughan and Spencer, she strode toward them. “You’re here for Mr. Foster?”

  “That’s right. Is he conscious yet?” Vaughan asked.

  “We never had to put him under. We were able to stitch him up using only a local,” the nurse said.

  “I thought he was badly injured,” Vaughan said.

  “He was covered in a great deal of blood, but once we got him up to surgery, we discovered that the three wounds weren’t life threatening.”

  “Where was he injured?” Vaughan asked.

  “He was stabbed in the upper left arm and on the left side of his abdomen. They were nasty gashes. There was also a gash on his right arm.”

  “We’d like to see him now,” Spencer said.

  “Follow me.” The nurse swiped her badge, and the three made their way down the wide hallway of the emergency room, past nurses and doctors who were darting in and out of curtained exam rooms. Beeping monitors blended with the sound of rattling wheels on a cart.

  “How alert is he?” Spencer asked.

  “Very,” the nurse said. “He refused any kind of sedative other than the local. He’s insisting on staying awake until he knows what happened to his wife and child.”

  “It’s important that the media not talk to him right now,” Vaughan said.

  “This is a lockdown unit,” the nurse said.

  “Good,” Vaughan said. “We want to control all the information disseminated to the public until Hadley and Skylar Foster are located.”

  “I understand. I will remind hospital security of the extra protocol.”

  The nurse walked to the end of the hallway, toward a uniformed police officer who stood outside a cubicle. The officer nodded to Vaughan and Spencer as the nurse pushed back the curtain.

  Mark Foster lay in his bed, his eyes closed and his hands at his sides. He was hooked up to an IV and a monitor that beeped steadily. The shades over the window were drawn, and a nurse stood by his bed, checking his vitals.

  “If you don’t mind giving us the room,” Vaughan said. “We’d like to talk to Mr. Foster.”

  Foster immediately opened his eyes, and he looked around, slightly wild eyed, first at his nurse and then at Vaughan and Spencer. “Have you found them? Please tell me you’ve found them?”

  Vaughan approached him and waited for the nurse to leave the room before he sat by the bed. “We have not found your wife and daughter yet.”

  Foster closed his eyes, wiping away tears as he shook his head. “You’ve got to find them. They’re my family. My life.”

  “I understand you’re upset,” Vaughan said. “And we are doing everything we can.”

  “How can you understand what I’m going through?” he said. “I’ve been gutted.”

  The man’s furrowed brow, watery eyes, and trembling bottom lip told the story of a man who had suffered a crushing trauma. “Mr. Foster, can you tell me what happened?”

  “I’ve told the uniformed officers my story at least twice.” His jaw clenched and released. “We’re wasting time. What are you doing to find my wife and child?”

  “We have BOLOs out on both of them, we’ve issued an Amber Alert on your wife and daughter, and we’ve reached out to the surrounding jurisdictions. That means every cop in the DC metro area has Hadley’s and Skylar’s pictures, and they’re looking for them.”

  Spencer shifted her body a little closer to Foster. “Sir, bear with me and tell me what you remember.”

  Foster pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. “Jesus, how can a day that started off so good turn to shit so fast?”

  “You said the day began well,” Spencer prompted. “What time do you get up?”

  Foster shoved out a breath. “I get up early every day. Today I slept in an extra hour because I worked late last night at the office. We have a big project due, and everyone is working overtime.”

  “What time did you get up?”

  “Six. I normally run first, but not today. I got into the shower and stayed in longer than I normally do. Hadley finally hustled me out of the bathroom and told me she needed to get into the shower.” He shook his head. “I invited her in and made a joke about saving water.” He swallowed. “She got into the shower, which made us run even later.”

  Vaughan removed a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it to a clean page. Already the man’s explanation didn’t match the evidence, but it was still early, and there were no real red flags yet. “You both get dressed.”

  “Yeah. I finally stepped out of the shower and got dressed for work. Hadley lingered in the shower because she had to wash her hair. It’s really thick, and she says it’s always a production to wash and dry it.”

  “She keeps everything neat in the house,” Spencer noted.

  “She cleans up as she goes. She showers, she cleans the shower. Uses a towel, she washes it. Drives me crazy, but it keeps her calm.”

  “Was she going anywhere special today?” Spencer asked.

  “To the gym. She’s always at the gym. She teaches three or four classes a day.”

  “She washed her hair before her workout?” Spencer asked.

  “Yeah. Like I said, she’s a neat freak.” Foster picked a loose thread in the sheet.

  That might explain the pristine condition of the bathroom. She could have grabbed the towels and cleaned out the shower and the countertops. The towels could have been in the laundry room. He made a note to check.

  “You got dressed.” Spencer’s voice was calm, unhurried. “Where was your daughter?”

  “I heard Skylar moving around in her room as I went downstairs. She came and got a cup of coffee and then headed back upstairs. She was calling out to her mother for something. I was more interested in coffee and didn’t stop to listen to my wife’s response.” He shook his head. “I should have listened.”

  “You did nothing wrong, Mr. Foster.” She gave him a second to draw in a calming breath before saying, “Keep going.”

  “I was packing my briefcase when I remembered it’s recycling day. I hustled out the back door and dragged the can around the side of the house to the curb. When I came back inside, I heard the screaming.” He closed his eyes. “It was chilling. The sounds were god awful.”

  Spencer prodded him. “What happened?”

  “I ran up the stairs two at a time.” Foster’s right foot moved back and forth, as if he was remembering the dash up the stairs. “That’s when I saw them.”

  “What did you see?” Vaughan asked.

  “There was a man. Dressed in black. He had a knife to my w-w-wife’s throat.” He stammered and closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  “What did the man look like?” Vaughan asked.
r />   “I’m not sure,” Foster said.

  Spencer jumped in, asking, “Was he taller or shorter than your wife?”

  “Taller. At least six inches taller.”

  “Was the assailant fat or thin?” she asked.

  “Medium build.”

  “Was he wearing a mask?”

  “Yes.”

  “What color was the mask?”

  “Black. It was a ski mask.”

  “Did you see the color of his skin around his eyes or on his neck?”

  “It was tanned.”

  “African American? Hispanic?” she prompted.

  “A white guy. His skin reminded me of someone who works in the sun a lot.”

  “Did he ever face you?” she asked. “Did you see his eyes?”

  A sigh shuddered over Foster’s lips, and he closed his eyes for a moment. “He glanced at me once very quickly before he used my wife’s body like a shield.”

  “What did he want?” she asked.

  “He wanted money and drugs.”

  “Do you keep either in the house?” she asked.

  “Hadley keeps sedatives. She’s always had trouble sleeping. And I don’t keep cash in the house.”

  “What did the man’s voice sound like?” Spencer asked. “Was his voice deep, high pitched?”

  “Deep.”

  “Did he have an accent?”

  “None that I heard.”

  “What about rings, scars, or tattoos?”

  Foster opened his eyes. “I don’t remember. I should, but I don’t.”

  “You’re doing better than you realize,” she said.

  “How did he get into the house, Mr. Foster?” Vaughan asked.

  “It must have been the front door. I’d been on my way out to work, and I had unlocked it when I remembered the recycling. I left it open and didn’t think twice about it. It was only open for a few minutes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “I should have locked it.”

  Vaughan didn’t react with pity or condemnation as he gathered truths and potential lies. “Where was your daughter?”

  “In her room. She must have been trying to get dressed.”

  “What happened next?” he asked.

  “It all happened so fast. This animal dragged my wife forward. It was like in slow motion. I couldn’t believe it. And then he slashed my arm.”

  “Did he speak at this time?” Spencer asked.

  “He said he’d kill my wife if I moved. I wanted to tear his head off, but Hadley was crying and begging me to stand down.”

  “Your daughter should have been out of the shower and dressed by then,” Vaughan said.

  “She was.”

  “Why didn’t Skylar call 911?” Vaughan asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess she didn’t have her phone with her,” he said.

  “A teenager without a phone?” Spencer asked. “That’s not very common these days.”

  “I guess it was in her room,” Foster said.

  Spencer said nothing, but the slow intake of breath told him she was not convinced. It was possible Skylar had not had her phone, but the phone records Hughes had already requested would give them a better idea of when and if she had been using the device that morning.

  “What happened next?” Vaughan asked.

  “He shoved my wife into the hallway, and she nearly stumbled onto my daughter as Skylar burst out of her room. He ordered them both to walk down the stairs and out the garage door.”

  The assailant had entered through the front door yet was leaving through a different exit. It would be risky to take two captives over new ground unless he’d been watching the house before the attack.

  “Both my wife and daughter were screaming,” Foster said. “I followed them down the stairs and, in a moment of desperation, lunged for the man. That’s when he stabbed me.”

  “You were found collapsed at the front door,” Vaughan said.

  “I saw my car pull out of the driveway through the front window. My daughter was driving the car, and that monster was in the back seat with the knife to my wife’s neck.” Again, he closed his eyes. “The look on Skylar’s face was pure terror.”

  “You were able to see all that?” Vaughan asked.

  “Yes. Those moments will be burned in my brain forever.” He shook his head. “I should have saved them. I shouldn’t have let him order me around.”

  “You made a difficult split-second decision in a very stressful situation.”

  “I should have been stronger. But I got so dizzy and dropped to my knees.”

  “You called 911,” Spencer said.

  “I pressed the emergency button on my phone before I passed out,” Foster said.

  Vaughan scribbled key phrases on his notepad. “There was a huge bloodstain in your bedroom. Whose blood was that?”

  Foster’s gaze froze for a moment. “My wife’s, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Vaughan asked. “It was a lot of blood.”

  “The man must have stabbed her right before I entered the room.”

  “And you didn’t notice your wife bleeding out?” Spencer asked.

  “Sure. I saw blood. But it all happened so damn fast,” Foster insisted. “I’m having trouble remembering the details.”

  Vaughan was silent for a moment. “Has anyone made threats against you or your family before today?”

  “No.”

  “Have you seen anyone hanging around the house?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Does your wife have any enemies?” Spencer asked.

  “No! There were no red flags! I don’t know who this guy was or why he came after us.” Foster’s face had paled, and the heart rate monitor spiked.

  “How did your wife react to our visit yesterday?” Vaughan asked.

  “She was a wreck,” he said.

  “Did she talk about her sister?” Spencer asked.

  “No. She never talks about Marsha. I learned a long time ago not to bring up the subject of her sister.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “She and Marsha didn’t always get along, and I think Hadley always felt guilty about that.”

  “Why did you move to Oregon after Marsha vanished?”

  “I was accepted to Oregon State, and we needed to get out of this area. My parents offered to help us out, so we took it. Once Skylar was born out there, it started to feel like home.”

  “And then you came back here,” Vaughan said.

  Foster swallowed. “It was a chance for a better job. We thought enough time had passed, and the past had been forgotten.”

  “Was it?”

  “I thought it was. But Hadley started having trouble sleeping again.” He shook his head. “I don’t see what this has to do with today.”

  The curtains slid back quickly, and a nurse appeared. Frowning, she crossed to Foster’s bedside and checked his vitals and IV. “Officers, it’s time to wrap this up.”

  “We have a few more questions,” Vaughan said.

  “They’re going to have to wait,” the nurse replied.

  “I don’t mind answering their questions,” Foster said.

  “This is not about what you want, sir. It’s about what you need. This interview is ending for now. The detectives can come back in a few hours.”

  Hours. Not much time in the grand scheme, but for a kidnapping investigation, it often was the difference between a rescue and a recovery. “We’ll be back soon.”

  Foster grabbed Vaughan’s arm. “Find my family.”

  “Get some rest.”

  As Foster’s arm dropped to the crisp white sheets, Spencer shot Vaughan a look but said nothing until the two were alone in the elevator. “We should have pressed harder.”

  He punched the lobby button. “He provided a generic description at best.”

  “High-adrenaline moments can blur details. Given a little more time, I can drill below the confusion. I can create a workable sketch.”

  “You can
try. But I bet you end up with a sketch of an everyman.”

  “You don’t believe him?” Spencer asked.

  “It’s the intangibles. The lame description. The minor injuries. The way he gripped my arm.”

  Her eyes lifted to his. “I’ve seen killers do that. They reach out to a detective either directly or through the media, because whatever they know is bubbling up inside of them, but they can’t yet bring themselves to do it.”

  “Often our bodies react more truthfully than our words.”

  Spencer pursed her lips. “True.”

  “It sickens me, but I think he killed his family.”

  As much as Vaughan had disliked his crazy ex-wife, it had never occurred to him to kill her. And when she had been sick with cancer, he had taken vacation time and seen to it that Nate had visited her.

  But motives for murder could be as complicated as they were very simple. He had seen people murdered for as little as fifteen dollars or a small traffic slight.

  The elevator doors opened, silencing his response. They crossed the crowded lobby toward the exit and then to his car. “Let me check in with Hughes. The Fosters’ financials and phone records are going to tell us more than Mark Foster.”

  “Okay.” They both got into his vehicle.

  He dialed the station, and Hughes picked up on the second ring. “You’re on speakerphone,” he said. “I’m here with Agent Spencer.”

  “Understood,” Hughes said.

  “Any word on the Fosters’ 2017 Lexus and the phones?” Vaughan asked.

  “You must be psychic. Just heard from the OnStar people. Hadley’s car was located at a cemetery about five miles from the Foster house. No sign of either victim, but a uniform has secured the scene, and the forensic team is en route.”

  “What about the mother’s and daughter’s phones?” Spencer asked.

  “The daughter’s phone was found under her bed. It was on silent mode. The mother’s device pinged to the exact location of the car,” Hughes said.

  “I want to see that car,” Vaughan said. “We can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “The forensic team should be there by then,” Hughes said.

  “Thanks, Hughes,” he said. “You know the drill. Call me if you have anything.”

  “Will do,” Hughes said.

  Vaughan hung up. “Ride with me.”

  “Sure.”