I See You

by Burton, Mary

  “I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. Now I do.”

  “You’re inebriated. You need to go home and sober up, and then we can talk again.”

  “Why? I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I just confessed to two murders! Case is closed. You win. Isn’t that what you want from me?”

  “It’s not a win until I have the truth,” Vaughan said.

  Foster slumped back in his chair. “It is the truth. It’s all my fault.”

  “If you killed your daughter, where is Skylar’s body?” Vaughan pressed.

  “I don’t remember!” Foster shouted.

  Foster was not in his right mind. Vaughan was sure of it. And he was not convinced that Foster had killed his child. So why was he putting them through this dog and pony show? Was he trying to protect Skylar in some way?

  Vaughan shifted in his seat, slowly tapping his index finger on the table. “Veronica Manchester is not on vacation, Mr. Foster. She’s dead.”

  Foster stared at him with a blank expression. “What?”

  “She was stabbed to death roughly ten days ago, and her body was dropped in a dumpster. Did you kill her as well?”

  Foster’s face turned ashen, like a guy who had just taken a right cross. “No. I didn’t kill her.”

  “Who would?” he asked.

  Foster’s gaze took on a wild expression, as if he was witnessing a litany of dark scenarios. “I have no idea.”

  “When did you find out that Skylar was not your biological child?” Vaughan asked, matter of fact.

  “What the hell?” Foster whispered. “Skylar is my daughter.”

  “I have no doubt you love her. You raised her. But you’re not her biological father.”

  Foster folded his arms. “She’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “We know Skylar was in communication with a man through a password-encoded app on her phone. We also know she was having weekly meals near a garage where Jason Dalton now works.”

  “I love Skylar. That will never change.”

  Several times, he had used a present tense verb when referring to his daughter. “Was Hadley sleeping with Jason Dalton back in high school?”

  Foster dug his thumbnail into a scratch on the table. “When she told me she was pregnant, I saw it as a sign of hope. I thought the baby would help her get over her sister’s death.” He swallowed. “I guess that’s been bubbling under the surface all these years, and that’s why I killed them both.”

  “Did you tell your attorney you were coming here today?” Vaughan asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’d have tried to stop me.” Foster chewed on the end of his thumbnail.

  “You aren’t in your right mind, and your story is not matching up with what I’ve seen at your house. As time goes on, I will get more forensic data, and I’ll get a clearer picture of what really happened in that house.”

  As Foster studied him closely, the color drained from his face. “I should call Pollard.”

  “That would be a good idea. I’ll arrange it.”

  “Shouldn’t you read me my rights?” Foster asked.

  “You’re not under arrest.” He leaned forward. “When my son was born, I felt on top of the world. I wasn’t more than a kid myself, but I loved that boy from the start. Was it that way with Skylar?”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I was a goner the first time she smiled at me.”

  “I’d do anything to protect my boy.”

  “What are you getting at?” Foster asked.

  “Where is Skylar?”

  Foster was silent for a moment, and then he sat back and drank more coffee. “I don’t remember.”

  Vaughan rose and closed the interview room door behind him. Spencer came out of the room across the hallway. They walked down the hall and away from the door.

  Before she could speak, he said, “He’s lying.”

  She shook her head. “He spoke about his wife’s death with vivid detail. But when he spoke about his daughter’s death, the tone and description deviated significantly. I think Skylar is still alive.”

  “But where?”

  “He’s stashed her somewhere. I don’t know if she’s locked up or just in hiding. But he doesn’t want us to talk to her.”

  “Because she knows exactly what happened?”

  “You know as well as I do that something more happened in that house yesterday.”

  He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “Absolutely.”

  “We’ll talk to him again in a few hours. I want him to sober up here and think about what he’s told us. His first set of lies didn’t work, and I want him to realize this set won’t either. Right now, we need to talk to forensics and see what they have.”

  “All right.”

  Twenty minutes later, they stepped through the doors of the forensic department. Bud Clary was leaning over a microscope when Vaughan knocked on the door.

  “Bud,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

  “Detective.” Bud leaned back and slid his glasses to the top of his head. “We’ve just finished collecting evidence at the Foster house. It’s going to take time to process all of it.”

  “That’s the problem,” Vaughan said. “I don’t have time. Mr. Foster just confessed to killing his wife and daughter.”

  Bud’s mouth bunched in a frown. “Where’s the girl?”

  “That’s the thing. He doesn’t remember. He claims he suffocated her and dumped the body. I was hoping there might be some forensic insight you could offer.”

  “Right now, all my evidence could be used to support his story.”

  Spencer’s phone dinged, and seconds after she glanced at it, she held up her hand. “Hold on, folks. I think I might have found Skylar.”

  “How?”

  “Jessica Harris just texted me. Neil came by to see her. He wanted to borrow some of her clothes. She thinks he’s taking the clothes to Skylar.”

  “Quite the detective,” Vaughan said.

  “Give me Neil’s cell number,” Bud said. “And I’ll ping his location.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Wednesday, August 14, 5:00 p.m.

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Thirty-Four Hours after the 911 Call

  When Vaughan and Spencer pulled up in front of the motel, two marked police cars were positioned across the street, per Vaughan’s instructions. He had not wanted to arrive at the location hot, because given the amount of blood found at the Foster home, he was assuming that Skylar was being held hostage, and her abductor might kill her. Four marked cars and as many uniformed officers were primed and ready as soon as he gave the signal.

  Spencer got out of the vehicle and walked carefully into the manager’s office. Her body language appeared relaxed to anyone glancing into the room, and when she leaned forward, blocking the view of her hands, he knew she was showing him her badge. The manager’s stiff nod came seconds before he placed a key card on the counter.

  Spencer came out, nodding to Vaughan as he got out of his car. He approached room number 210 from the west side, and Spencer moved in from the east. They each stood by the door. A television blared inside, and the faint scent of pizza drifted out.

  Each removed their weapons from their side holsters, and Spencer carefully slid the key card into the lock. She removed the card with a small click as he slowly pressed down on the handle. They exchanged glances and then slammed open the door, guns drawn.

  They found Neil Bradford on the bed with a piece of pizza in his mouth. He was sitting cross-legged, watching an old episode of The Walking Dead. The shower was running in the bathroom.

  “What the hell,” the kid said as he moved to scramble off the bed.

  “Don’t move,” Vaughan warned. “Tell whomever is in the bathroom to come out.”

  At this point, who the second person was did not matter as much as controlling the scene and figuring out who he was dealing with.

  The zomb
ies on the screen screeched and howled as the human defenders fought them with spears and axes. Neil blinked and dropped his slice of pizza to the box in the center of the bed.

  Vaughan moved closer to the bed with his weapon pointed. “Do it!”

  “Hey, come out here.” Neil’s voice broke, and he had to clear it before he could speak again. “Come out here, now!”

  The shower shut off, and seconds later, the door opened to a cloud of steam and the scent of herbal shampoo. Both Vaughan and Spencer tensed and waited.

  Skylar Foster had wrapped her body in a big white towel and had another around her hair. She stared at them both with a mixture of shock and even a little annoyance.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Lights flashing from the marked cars now bounced off the motel room walls. “You remember me, Skylar? I’m Detective Vaughan. Alexandria Homicide.”

  Whatever annoyance he thought he saw vanished, and she said quickly, “I remember you. How’s my mom?”

  Spencer stepped forward and moved past the girl to check the bathroom. When she indicated it was clear, he said, “Do you have clothes you can put on, Skylar?”

  “Yeah, Neil brought me some from Jessica.”

  Spencer holstered her weapon and then picked up the small red duffel, opened it, and then handed it to the girl. “Go change.”

  Skylar’s gaze shifted to Neil, who scrambled toward the end of the bed. “Neil?”

  “Go on, Sky,” the boy said. “We knew we’d have to talk to the police sooner or later.”

  The girl clutched the bag close to her chest and vanished into the bathroom.

  Vaughan holstered his weapon. “Neil, you were supposed to call me if you had any leads.”

  “We planned to call you, but she was so upset. I just wanted to give her a little time.”

  “We’ve had all the surrounding police forces looking for her,” Spencer said. “Withholding information is a crime.”

  “She only called me about two hours ago,” he said quickly. “We were going to call any minute. I swear.”

  “After the pizza? After her shower? When exactly?” Vaughan asked.

  “Soon.” The boy’s voice raised an octave as his fear took root.

  “How long have you been here?” Vaughan asked.

  “I just arrived twenty minutes ago.”

  “And she’s only just getting in the shower?” Spencer asked.

  “She said she’s been sleeping since she checked in.”

  “When was that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did she get here?” Vaughan asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You weren’t curious?” he pressed.

  “Well, yeah, but I thought she would want to shower and eat first before we talked.”

  “What did she look like when you arrived?” Vaughan asked.

  “Exhausted. I had to pound on the door to wake her up. She could barely keep her eyes open.”

  “Where are the clothes she was wearing?” Spencer asked.

  “In the dumpster behind the motel. She wanted me to get rid of them right away,” Neil said.

  Vaughan radioed to a uniform and asked him to check the dumpster. “Did they have blood on them?”

  “Yes. But it’s not like I was hiding anything. I put them in a plastic bag, so they’ll be easy to find. She just wanted them out of the room.”

  He picked up a cell phone from the nightstand. It was password protected. “Did you bring her this phone?”

  “No. She had it already.”

  “Where did she get it?” Vaughan asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Of course he didn’t. “Open it.”

  “No.” Neil puffed out his chest in a show of defiance, and Vaughan could not decide if the kid was a patsy or a master manipulator. So far, none of this case made sense.

  An old air-conditioning unit hummed as Vaughan let his size crowd the boy. “I don’t want to toss you in a jail cell, but I will.”

  The boy blinked and shifted his stance. “You can’t just arrest me.”

  Vaughan reached for his cuffs. “You are a material witness, and I can hold you in the city jail for up to twenty-four hours.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea of what kind of guys comes through that jail on any given night?” He grinned as the boy’s eyes widened with worry. His comment had intended to summon frightening images, and it had.

  “I’m coming right out!” Sky shouted. “Just wait!”

  That last comment told him she did not want the boyfriend alone with the cops too long.

  “Agent Spencer, why don’t you talk to Sky when she gets out of the room? Neil and I are going to the dumpster to catch up and get that bag of clothes.” He clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling the kid’s muscles flinch.

  “I want to stay with Sky,” Neil said in a show of fresh bravado.

  “How old are you, son?” Vaughan asked.

  “Eighteen.”

  “And Sky is seventeen.” Vaughan shook his head.

  “She’s only six months younger than me,” the boy protested.

  “But in the eyes of the law, you’re an adult and she’s a minor. Right now, those six months mean you would be tried as an adult in court.”

  “For what?”

  “Hiding a material witness, for starters. Aiding and abetting. Perhaps statutory rape. Give me a little time, and I’ll come up with other charges.”

  “I want to call my mom,” Neil said.

  “Once we find that bag, I’ll let you call your mother. For now, it’s just you and me, chatting as we walk to the dumpster.”

  The bathroom door opened, and Sky appeared. She’d dressed in faded jeans and a high school sweatshirt, and she’d attempted to run a comb through her hair but appeared too rushed to have finished the job.

  As Sky moved toward Neil, Agent Spencer blocked her path. “I need a word with you.”

  “I want to go home,” Skylar said. “I want to see my parents.”

  Spencer exchanged a glance with Vaughan and then said simply, “First, we talk.”

  The girl folded her arms and managed a pout likely perfected when she was a toddler. “Why do I have to stay here? Why can’t I leave? I’ve done nothing wrong,” she insisted.

  “A lot of people have been looking for you,” Spencer said.

  “Why?”

  “You and I are going to talk about that.”

  Vaughan pushed the boy outside a little more forcefully than he intended. He turned back to the motel door in time to see Spencer close it.

  Zoe again blocked the girl’s exit as she tried to follow Vaughan and Neil outside. “We need to talk.”

  “You can’t hold me here,” Skylar said. “I want to see my mom and dad, too.”

  “I’ve called an ambulance for you. And now we’re going to wait.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” Skylar said. “I want to see my mom and dad.”

  Zoe took the girl’s hand, noting the shallow slice across her palm. It wasn’t a bad cut. The edges of the skin were already knitting together, and she doubted it would leave a scar. “How did you get that?”

  The girl snatched her hand back. “I don’t know.”

  “How could you not know?”

  The girl pressed her fingertips to her temple and closed her eyes. “I’ve been asleep for so long. I just woke up, and I’m really confused.”

  “Have you been here since yesterday morning?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s all really confusing. I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes open. Where are my mom and dad?”

  Hadley’s stabbing would have been horrific to witness and certainly could have affected the girl’s ability to recall. The likelihood that this state of confusion would last was slim. There was also the possibility that the girl knew exactly what had happened and was lying. At this stage, she couldn’t d
etermine which scenario was more likely.

  “I know you’re rattled, Skylar, but I need you to tell me about yesterday.”

  She closed her eyes, her brow scrunching, like a little girl playing hide-and-seek. “Dad brought me coffee.”

  “Did he always bring you coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was your mother?” Zoe asked.

  “Out for a run. She runs a lot.”

  “And then what happened?”

  She closed her eyes. “I had a bad dream.”

  “About?”

  “My mother was screaming.” She opened her eyes, studying her palm, and traced the red line that slashed across her pink skin still wrinkled from the shower. After a pause, she looked up at Zoe. “Was it a dream?”

  “No.” Her tone was soft, but she was keenly aware of the girl’s reaction.

  An anguished cry escaped her lips as she sat down on the edge of the unmade bed. She ran a trembling finger through her damp hair. “Where is she?”

  The air stilled. “Do you remember yesterday morning? Do you know how you got the blood on your clothes?”

  She traced the red line slashing across her palm. “I thought the blood was mine. It’s from the cut on my hand.”

  “Why was your mother screaming?”

  “She was in pain.” Skylar pressed her fingers to her temples and shook her head. “I remember hearing Dad shouting. He told me to run. To save myself.”

  “From what?”

  “There was a man.” She drew in a stuttering breath. “The man attacked Mom.”

  “Who was the man?”

  “I don’t know. I’d never seen him before.”

  Zoe shifted to more detail-specific questions. “How tall was he?”

  “Taller than Mom.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Black, I think. He was a white guy.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Like sandy. And he had a weird tattoo on his hand. But I never got a look at his face.” She closed her eyes, her head jerking slightly as if a vivid memory had assailed her. “He kept asking for money. Dad said he could have whatever he wanted as long as he left us alone.”

  “How did you cut your hand?”

  Again, she studied the gash. “I couldn’t just leave Mom. I ran past Dad toward the man and Mom. I guess that’s when I got cut.”