by Burton, Mary
“Mr. Foster is in the hospital recovering from surgery,” Vaughan said.
“Surgery? Has there been an accident?”
“Mr. Foster was attacked in his home at about seven o’clock this morning,” Vaughan said.
“Jesus. Is he all right?”
“He appears to have suffered superficial wounds,” Spencer said.
“Where are Hadley and Skylar?” Dawson asked.
“They’re missing,” Vaughan said. “We’re hoping you might be able to tell us where they might be?”
“Missing.” He shook his head. “How could they be missing? I just talked to Hadley last night.”
“I noticed you called her several times this morning,” Spencer said. “Are you two close?”
“She’s a friend,” he said quickly. “She’s also my personal trainer. She was supposed to meet me at the gym this morning but missed our appointment. She never misses, and I became worried. If she’s missing, how did you get her phone?”
Spencer ignored the question. “I’ve worked with a personal trainer for years,” she said. “She missed one of our sessions last year, and I called her once. Not multiple times.”
“I guess mine was better than yours. And I can be obsessive when I don’t have an answer.”
“Is she more than a personal trainer?” Vaughan asked.
“What do you mean? She and Mark are both my friends.” Dawson reached for the cuff of his tailored shirt and tugged it.
“How did you two meet?” Vaughan asked.
“I met her through Mark. He and I have crossed paths professionally for years at various conferences. My ex-wife and Hadley are good friends.”
“How long have you been divorced?” Spencer asked.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Dawson challenged.
“Until we can locate Hadley and Skylar, I’m going to be asking a lot of nosy questions,” Vaughan said. “You do want to help, don’t you?”
“Of course, of course,” he rushed to say. “I’ve been divorced a year. Have you asked Mark where his wife and daughter are?”
“He claims he doesn’t know,” Vaughan said.
Head shaking, Dawson dropped his gaze to the tips of his polished shoes. “Ask him again.”
“What does that mean?” Vaughan asked.
“He and Hadley have not been getting on for at least a year,” he said.
“She told you this?” Spencer asked.
“Sure. When you work out with someone three times a week for almost a year, you start to talk. I dished to her about my divorce, and in the last couple of months, she opened up about Mark.”
“What specifically did she say?” Vaughan asked.
“She told me this in confidence,” Dawson countered.
“You aren’t doing her any favors by not talking to us,” Vaughan said.
Dawson rubbed his thumb against a callus below his naked ring finger.
“The statistics for missing women are grim,” Spencer said. “The longer it takes to find them, the worse their odds become.”
“Mark was having an affair with a woman in his office. Her name is Veronica Manchester. She’s a new accountant at his firm. Hadley found out about it, and she was angry. She was ready to take Skylar this past spring and leave him, but Mark swore he would break it off and turn it around.”
“Did he?” Vaughan asked.
“That’s what he told Hadley, and he did cut out the late-night work sessions,” Dawson said. “But a month ago, he started working the long hours and stopped answering his phone when she called.”
“Did she tell you this?” Spencer asked.
“She did.”
“I’m not judging you, but I need to know if you two were having an affair,” Vaughan said. “The faster I figure out who the players are, the faster I can find Hadley and Skylar.”
Dawson pulled off his glasses, plucked a tissue from a box on his desk, and cleaned the lenses. Carefully, he settled his glasses back on his face. “I love Hadley. I wanted her to leave Mark. I wanted us to make a life together.”
“How did she feel about you?” Spencer said.
“She felt the same way. She had been promising for weeks to tell him. But she was scared and having trouble working up the nerve. She was worried about breaking up Skylar’s home life. Mark has been sleeping on the couch for the last few weeks.”
“Do you know anyone who might have a grudge against Mark?” Spencer asked.
“No. He was very professional and well respected.”
“Exactly what kind of accountant is he?” Vaughan asked.
“Forensic. He went into corporations and searched for missing money. He was quite good at it.”
“Any clients who could have gotten angry with him?” Vaughan asked.
“How would I know?” Dawson asked.
“Hadley might have mentioned it during one of those personal training sessions,” Spencer said.
Dawson’s brow wrinkled, and he shifted his stance. “You’re making what I have with Hadley sound cheap. We love each other. Rather than being here with me, you should be asking Mark what happened to his wife and daughter. He knows.”
A fine line separated love and hate. He’d worked plenty of murders rooted in passion. “Did you and Mark ever have any arguments?”
“No. We actually get along well,” he said.
“Did he know you were sleeping with his wife?”
Dawson straightened. “No. Hadley and I were discreet.”
“Are you certain he didn’t know?”
Dawson frowned. “I’m almost certain.”
“Do the Fosters have a vacation home?” Vaughan asked.
“Hadley never wanted the responsibility of a second house.”
“Is there some place she would go if she needed a place to hide or Mark needed a place to hide her?” Vaughan asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“When is the last time you saw Hadley?” Spencer asked.
“That’s none of your business,” Dawson said.
“I’m trying to find this woman and her child,” she clarified.
Dawson hesitated. “Last night. Mark works late on Monday nights.”
Spencer showed no reaction. “Where were you two last night?”
He shoved out a breath. “There is a hotel in Crystal City where we stay. She left right before midnight, but I stayed the entire night.”
Vaughan got the name and made a note to pull security footage. “Okay.”
Spencer shifted directions, asking, “What do you know about Skylar Foster?”
“She’s as smart as a whip. Hadley thinks she’s going to get a full ride to a few top schools. When they first moved back, I used to see her quite a bit at the gym, but not too much in the last months.”
“Did something change in the girl’s life?” Vaughan asked.
“Hadley said Skylar has a boyfriend,” Dawson said. “I don’t know his name.”
“Do you know where he lives or goes to school?” Spencer asked.
“Her high school, I think,” Dawson said.
“Does Hadley have any close friends?” Spencer asked.
“I don’t know. She likes to work out, and she looks after Skylar. She’s always kept to herself.”
“There was a news report about Marsha Prince,” Spencer said. “Did you see it?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t really paying attention. Girl died a long time ago, or something.”
Vaughan shifted his stance. “Did Hadley ever talk about her family?”
“No. What does this girl have to do with Hadley and Skylar?” He looked genuinely frustrated.
“Marsha Prince was her sister. The girl was abducted and killed, and her remains were found back in June.”
Dawson stilled, held up his hands, and took a step back. “What?”
“She never told you her sister was killed?” Spencer asked.
“Hell no! Jesus. She never told me she even had a sister. She said her parents d
ied in a car accident.”
“She wasn’t truthful,” Spencer said. “Her parents died of natural causes seventeen years ago. We met with her yesterday to inform her that her sister’s remains had been identified.”
Dawson shook his head. “She never said a word to me.”
“Did Hadley make a habit of lying?” Spencer asked.
“Not to me.”
“But to others?” Spencer asked.
“She worried too much about what people thought, so she tended to exaggerate.”
Vaughan had crossed paths with many skilled liars, and if Dawson was one of them, he was in the top of his class. He handed Dawson a card. “Call me if you hear from Hadley or Skylar or if you think of anything.”
Dawson glanced at the card, his face paling as he flicked the edge of the card. “Mark knows more than he’s saying. Bet on it.”
“Do you think Hadley summoned up the courage to talk to her husband about a divorce?” Spencer asked.
Tension rippled over Dawson’s body as he pressed his fist to his lips. “I was pushing her to talk to him. She swore she’d ask Mark for a divorce this morning.”
“Maybe she did just that,” Vaughan said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday, August 13, 2:00 p.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Seven Hours after the 911 Call
Vaughan returned to the Foster house and discovered the news vans were still parked across the street, and the cop cars lining the curb had multiplied. As he parked, Spencer pulled in behind him.
Vaughan waited for Spencer to join him before they approached the house. Each donned latex gloves and entered the foyer. Bud Clary, still dressed in protective gear, was dusting for prints on the front window.
“Detective Vaughan,” Bud said. “Agent Spencer.”
“What have you found out so far?” Vaughan asked.
“The initial assault occurred in the bedroom, as I first thought. The victim was carried down the stairs and out the garage door to where the Lexus was parked. There’s also a sizeable bloodstain by the entryway. Because Foster was found bleeding by the front entrance, we can assume that blood is his, but I can’t confirm until I run DNA.”
“You’ve sent off samples?” Vaughan asked.
“A couple of hours ago. We are collecting DNA from hair fibers in both the mother’s and daughter’s bathrooms as well as the blood drawn from Foster at the hospital. I’m also expediting the testing of the blood samples taken from the Lexus. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
In the world of DNA matches, that was quick, but in the life of a missing kid, hours mattered.
“Bud, what about Skylar’s phone?” Vaughan asked. “You said you found it?”
“That’s correct,” Bud said.
“Were you able to access it?” Spencer asked.
“No. But a Neil Bradford called shortly after we recovered it. I answered it. Bradford sounds like a young kid, and he says that he’s her boyfriend.”
Vaughan scribbled down the name and number for Bradford. “Where’s the kid now?”
“He said he was calling from the local high school, and he was worried about Skylar because she was supposed to meet him.”
“Thanks, Bud,” Vaughan said.
Vaughan and Spencer walked into the house, and she moved directly toward the kitchen. She stood beside the Washington Redskins mug. “The cup’s full, but he said he drank half the cup. It’s a small detail, but they eventually add up.”
Vaughan looked out the window toward the trash cans and the recycling bin. “Foster also said he put the recycling bin out.”
Her gaze trailed past his toward the backyard and the blue-and-white plastic container filled with bottles. “There could have been another bin.”
“There were no others on the street. Small detail number two.”
“That blows his reasoning for leaving the front door unlocked.”
“The sun’s up at 6:19 a.m.,” Vaughan said. “Folks in this neighborhood are getting up and going to work. It’s busy around here, and someone should have seen a masked intruder. Foster called 911 at 7:00 a.m., which means the attack occurred at this peak time.”
“Maybe Foster got the time wrong. Maybe he passed out after he was stabbed. Maybe whatever happened occurred much earlier,” she said.
“Maybe. Fewer potential witnesses and less traffic between here and the cemetery. Want to start knocking on doors and talking to the neighbors?” he asked.
“I want to talk to Skylar’s boyfriend first,” she said. “If there’s something wrong at home, a teenage girl is likely to confide in her boyfriend.”
“He’s in school now, but it won’t be hard to pull him out of class to question him.”
“Let’s go.”
Zoe relaxed back in her seat as Vaughan drove the fifteen minutes to the Alexandria public high school. Out of the car, Zoe and Vaughan crossed the lot to the main doors. Neither appeared to be interested in the small talk most cops attempted in a bid to get to know a new partner. And to be honest, it felt a little weird.
Better to keep their focus on finding Hadley and Skylar. Once they were found, she could chitchat all he wanted, or better, they simply could go their separate ways.
Through the front doors, they walked directly to the main office, where both showed their police credentials. The secretary ducked in the back and found the vice principal, who in turn consulted the principal.
Principal Fred Myers was in his midforties with a thick shock of gray hair. He wore a charcoal-gray suit and a red tie embossed with eagles, the school’s mascot. Vaughan and Zoe both shook hands with him. “I understand you’re looking for Neil Bradford?”
“Correct,” Vaughan said.
“Can I ask what this is in reference to?” Myers asked.
“His girlfriend, Skylar Foster, and her mother are missing,” Zoe said. “We’re hoping he knows something.”
He glanced in a folder. “Skylar’s name is on the absent list this morning, and my attendance secretary has noted that no one at the house answered the phone.”
“Is Skylar absent a lot?” Zoe asked.
“She has been tardy four times already, and we’re only two weeks into the new school year.”
“Was tardiness a problem last year?”
“No. She was the model student. But we see this kind of thing with seniors. They start to coast, though most have the sense to wait until they’ve made it to the winter holiday so their college applications don’t suffer.”
Vaughan offered a half smile. “What kind of student is Skylar Foster?”
“She’s always been quiet. Last spring, she got into a fight with another girl at lunchtime. Both girls denied taking the first swing. Nothing was conclusive, so they both ended up with a three-day in-school suspension.”
“Who was the girl?” Zoe asked.
“Jessica Harris. They used to be close friends but don’t even acknowledge each other anymore.”
“Is Jessica here today?” Zoe asked.
“She’s home sick.”
“Let’s start with Neil Bradford. Can you get Neil for us?” Vaughan asked.
“Sure.” He unclipped a small two-way radio from his hip and called to one of the classrooms, asking the boy to come to the office. “Neil is a really good kid. He’s vice president of the student body and well on his way to being valedictorian.”
Vaughan nodded but knew damn well from his cop experience that kids like these weren’t always angels. “I have no doubt.”
Principal Myers leaned in a fraction. “Detective Vaughan, have we met before? You look very familiar to me.”
“We met at back-to-school night last fall. My son, Nate Vaughan, was a student here.”
His eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, yes, received a partial scholarship to James Madison University.”
“That’s right.”
“Of course. I see the resemblance now. How’s he doing?”
“I drop
ped him off at college yesterday. He looked ready to tackle the world.”
“I heard his mother, your ex-wife, passed.”
“Last year. She had cancer.”
His words did not hitch or stutter, suggesting that their split had not been easy. It had been a year before Zoe could speak about Jeff’s passing without tearing up or having to excuse herself. But Vaughan was cool, almost unmoved.
The door opened, and a tall, lanky boy stood at the threshold. He had dark hair, a smooth baby face, and a splash of freckles over the bridge of his nose.
When Zoe and Vaughan stood, the boy looked visibly nervous as he glanced toward his principal. “Did you call me, sir?”
“I did, Neil. Close the door,” Principal Myers said in a soft tone.
The boy’s shoulders hunched slightly, and his thick hair kept falling over his eyes, forcing him to shove it back with long fingers. “Is there a problem?”
“Neil, I’m Detective Vaughan, and this is Agent Spencer. There was a break-in at the Foster house.”
“Is Skylar all right?” he asked quickly.
“She’s missing.” Zoe maintained a soft, even tone designed to calm. She needed the kid to remain focused.
The boy drew back, shaking his head. “I knew something was wrong. She always answers my texts and calls. Always.”
“We are doing our best to find her,” Zoe said. “We’re hoping you might know where she could be. Where does she go when she needs to get away from her home?”
Pale brows knotted. “She always came to my house when she wasn’t here or at home. We hung out almost all the time.”
“I know you must care about her very much,” she said.
“I love her,” he insisted.
“If she didn’t go to your house, where would she go?” Zoe asked.
“Nowhere. She’s always with me.”
“What about Jessica Harris?” Zoe asked.
“Skylar and Jess don’t speak anymore. They hate each other.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Skylar never would say. I think Jessica was jealous because Skylar was spending her time with me.”
“How often did Skylar come by your house?” Zoe asked.
“A few nights a week.”
