I See You

by Burton, Mary

  “The coffee shop in Arlington.”

  Vaughan jotted a note, and she suspected he would be checking the date against Hadley’s credit card receipts as well as any area security cameras. All that they had learned about Hadley so far was that she had kept a tight rein on her life until about three weeks ago, when her life had gone off the rails.

  Mrs. Bradford led them into the basement room, where they found the young couple curled up on the plaid sofa in the den, watching a horror movie dating back to the eighties. The movie was a cheesy horror film, and it struck her as odd that a girl who had seen her mother knifed to death forty-eight hours ago was now watching a slasher movie.

  Skylar absently ate popcorn from a bowl as she snuggled close to Neil, who had wrapped a protective arm around the girl. If this had been any other teenage couple, she would have thought the scene normal. This scenario troubled her.

  “Skylar,” Vaughan said.

  The girl’s gaze lingered on the wide-screen television a quick beat, and she muted it before she pulled away from Neil. “Detective Vaughan.”

  “Skylar, we need to talk.”

  A frown furrowed her brow. “We did talk. Did something change?”

  “Nothing has changed,” he said. “But when we talked, we only skimmed the surface. I need to talk to you face to face now. And Neil and Mrs. Bradford, I would like you to excuse us.”

  “I think we should stay,” Neil said, straightening his scrawny frame like he was a puffer fish intimidating its challenger.

  “It’s okay, Neil,” Skylar said. “I can handle this. After the last couple of days, a few questions won’t be a big deal.”

  In the background, the killer slashed at the girls, and they ran for their lives. Vaughan turned off the television. He said nothing and waited for Neil and his mother to leave.

  Neil rose up off the couch, kissed Skylar on her lips, and nodded for his mother to follow. “We’ll be right upstairs if you need us.”

  The door upstairs squeaked closed but did not quite click into place. Vaughan and Zoe sat across from Skylar, who remained curled on the couch and reached for a soft blue blanket to pull it over her legs.

  “Skylar. Tell me what happened two days ago,” Vaughan said.

  She pulled the blanket up closer to her chin. “My father told you what happened. A masked man broke into our house.”

  “Walk us through the morning,” Zoe said.

  The girl closed her eyes, a small sigh slipping over her lips. “I was in my room, getting ready for school. Dad brought me coffee.”

  “How was he dressed?” Vaughan asked.

  “He was wearing his suit. He gave me my coffee, and then he remembered the recycling. He left. I took a couple of sips, and then I heard the screaming. I ran out of my room, and Mom was on the floor. A man was standing over her.”

  Zoe knew Vaughan wanted the girl to repeat the story. She had been given enough time to settle in a little; now was the time to amend it. She had not.

  “Skylar, that version of events doesn’t fit with what we’ve found,” Vaughan said.

  “What do you mean, it doesn’t fit?” she asked.

  The girl had the face of an angel, and when she looked up at them, it was with pure innocence mingled with pain and confusion.

  “We pulled surveillance footage from your neighbor’s house. We saw you follow your mother into the house. Why didn’t you tell us that you’d been outside?”

  Skylar closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she was nodding. “I forgot about that. I’m in shock, I guess. And I’m still scared. I didn’t want anyone to know where I’d been.”

  “Where had you been?” Zoe asked.

  “With Neil.” She dropped her voice a fraction. “We were in his family van. I know Monday nights are the easiest to get away without being noticed.”

  “Why Mondays?” Vaughan asked.

  “Mom was seeing a guy. Dad works late. He always has a big report to turn in on Tuesdays.”

  “Where were you and Neil parked?” Vaughan asked.

  “There’s a park close by. We didn’t want our parents to know.” She rubbed her fingertips against her temples. “I should have told you, but I didn’t think that it mattered. I went right upstairs and went to sleep. That’s why I was slow getting out of bed when Dad woke me up at 6:00 a.m.”

  “How did you end up at the motel room?” Vaughan asked.

  “I’m not really sure. I think I was drugged.”

  “Who gave you the drugs?”

  “I guess Dad did,” she said softly. “Next thing I know, it was twenty-four hours later.”

  “Who is Mr. Fix It?” Zoe asked.

  Skylar was silent as she seemed to gauge her words. “Jason.”

  “Jason Dalton,” Vaughan clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he contact your mother ever?” Vaughan asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would seeing him upset your mother?” Zoe knew the answer to the question but wanted to hear it from her.

  “I don’t know,” Skylar said. “It didn’t take much to upset my mom.”

  “Maybe seeing a former boyfriend would do it?” he said.

  The girl’s gaze sharpened for just an instant, and if Zoe had not been watching, she would have missed it, because on its heels came a flood of tears. Sobs now racked the girl’s body.

  “Did you share details of your parents’ marriage with him?” Vaughan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Skylar said. “Where’s my dad? I want to see my dad again.”

  “Did you tell Jason about your mother and father?” he asked again.

  “I want my dad!” More tears rushed down her face. “I want my dad. I want to see him.”

  “You can’t. Not right now. You both are witnesses in the case. You two are the only ones who know what happened to your mother.”

  “We’ve both told you what happened!” She sounded more agitated.

  “Yes, you both did. And the stories conflict.”

  “I just said I was confused.”

  “About?”

  “Everything.”

  But father and daughter were both spinning stories that did not match all the facts. Each got portions right. Now he had to figure out why they had left pieces out.

  “I’m very tired,” Skylar said. “I don’t want to talk anymore. When are they going to bury my mom?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Vaughan said.

  “I miss Mom. I miss her so much.” She continued to weep.

  The girl’s words were perfectly reasonable given what she had been through, but the moment felt almost identical to the one that had played out in the hospital. As if it had been rehearsed.

  Mrs. Bradford, who had clearly been listening, came into the room, scowling. For a mild-mannered woman, she looked particularly fierce, as if she were a mama bear ready to defend her cub. “It’s time you both go. I know you have a job to do, but right now, this girl needs rest. She’s had a terrible shock and needs time to heal.”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow,” Zoe said. “There is so much more we need to discuss.”

  “Call me in the morning, and we’ll see. Now leave, or I’m calling social services and my friend the judge.”

  Zoe and Vaughan exchanged glances and, with little choice, knew they had to go.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Zoe said to Skylar.

  The girl was already reaching for the channel selector and aiming it at the television. A click, and the slasher movie reappeared.

  Zoe and Vaughan left the house, and once they were sitting in his car, both found themselves staring back at the house.

  “She’s totally distanced herself emotionally from what has happened,” Zoe said.

  “That girl is smarter than she lets on. She also remembers more than she’s saying.”

  “Agreed. I want to talk to Jason Dalton again. He’s had quite a bit of contact with Skylar this year.”

  �
�He acted like he didn’t care about her.”

  “I don’t believe him.” Her phone rang. “Nikki McDonald is calling.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Thursday, August 15, 11:00 a.m.

  Fifty-Two Hours after the 911 Call

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Zoe and Vaughan walked through the front door of the police station to find Nikki McDonald pacing. The reporter appeared impatient to the point of agitation, but Zoe found she had very little patience of her own.

  “Ms. McDonald,” Vaughan said.

  “Finally,” she said.

  “I didn’t realize it was an emergency,” he said.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked. “I have news about Marsha Prince.”

  Vaughan’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “Come upstairs.”

  “Agent Spencer,” Nikki said. “I know you’ll want to hear this.”

  The trio made their way up the elevator to a second-story conference room. As they sat at a small conference table, Vaughan closed the door and asked as they sat, “What do you have?”

  “I’ve been chasing old leads on the Marsha Prince case since Agent Spencer identified her,” she said. “I spoke to Larry Prince’s former secretary, Hadley, and Marsha’s cousin. I even visited their old house.”

  “Why?” Vaughan asked.

  “The cousin remembered that Marsha used to keep a diary. She also remembered she kept it hidden in the closet in her room. Long story short, I found the diary.” She reached in her bag and pulled out a plastic bag containing a stack of banded papers.

  Zoe and Vaughan both pulled latex gloves from their pockets and tugged them on. “Did you wear gloves when you handled this?”

  “I sure did. And in full disclosure, I’ve photographed the contents.”

  “I assume you’ve read it?” Vaughan asked.

  “That’s exactly why I’m here.” She sat back, folding her arms over her chest and looking very pleased. “Basically, Hadley wasn’t just mildly resentful of Marsha, as several have suggested. Hadley hated her sister.”

  “Says who?”

  “Marsha, in her diary.”

  “And you’re sure Marsha wrote it?” Zoe asked.

  “I am, but I’m sure you’ll need a handwriting expert to confirm it.”

  “Continue,” Vaughan said.

  “Marsha details several occasions when Hadley either followed her around, spread lies, or out-and-out punched her. Even their cousin mentioned that no one wanted to get on Hadley’s bad side. I’m not sure she’d have told me about the diary if Hadley were still alive.”

  “Did Hadley hate her sister enough to kill her?” Zoe asked.

  “I don’t know if she had the nerve to pull it off herself,” Nikki said. “Marsha’s entries suggest Hadley wasn’t the type to do her own dirty work.”

  “Like Mark?” Zoe asked.

  “I don’t think Mark was her boy. He truly respected Marsha. Plus, he was a bit of a Boy Scout. He was always calming Hadley down and keeping her from doing something stupid.” Nikki drew in a breath. “I have no proof,” Nikki said. “But if I were you, I’d take a hard look or two at Jason Dalton.”

  “Dalton.” Like Nikki said, there was no solid proof yet of his involvement, but more and more indicators were pointing toward him.

  Nikki raised a brow as she dropped her gaze to her phone. “Marsha’s last entry was dated August second, 2001. It read: I’m a little nervous. He asked me out. Not my kind of guy at all. But that smile makes it so tempting. Hadley heard me talking to him and was actually nice to me. She said he’s cool and that I should go.” She looked up. “Who do we know with the killer smile?”

  “Jason,” Zoe said.

  “He strikes me as the bad boy who acts before he thinks. Aggressive, and not just with men,” Nikki said.

  “But we know from the garage video footage that he couldn’t have attacked Hadley in her home,” Vaughan said.

  Nikki shook her head. “The only murder I’m chasing is Marsha Prince’s. And I think Jason is your boy for that one.”

  When Zoe and Vaughan pulled up to the garage, Jason was parking a late-model sports car on the side lot. He got out, walked to the front desk, and left the key with his boss.

  As Zoe and Vaughan approached, he reached for a rag in his back pocket and wiped his hands. “I heard Mark confessed.”

  “Did you hear that he also recanted and is out?” Vaughan replied. “He’s still maintaining there was a masked intruder.”

  “I hope you don’t believe his bullshit,” Jason said.

  “I don’t believe anyone at this point unless it’s substantiated,” Vaughan countered.

  Jason eyed them warily. “How’s Skylar?”

  “She’s staying with friends,” Zoe said. “She’s holding up as well as can be expected.”

  “Probably at her boyfriend’s house. She’s got a lot of her mother in her. She likes having a man in tow.”

  “Tell me more about Hadley and her sister, Marsha,” Vaughan said.

  “What does Marsha have to do with any of this?”

  “You knew her pretty well, didn’t you?” Zoe asked.

  Jason walked over to the soda machine, fed in four quarters, and made a selection. The can rattled through its insides and dropped down the chute with a clunk. He grabbed the can, popped the top, and took a long drink. “Sure, I knew her. She wasn’t around as much as Hadley.”

  “But you were sleeping with her.” Zoe couldn’t confirm this yet, but she let the statement sit.

  “Who says?” Jason demanded.

  “Marsha. It turns out she kept a journal about you.”

  “I hope she said nice things.” Jason shrugged and then grinned. “Sure, we slept together once. We had fun, but I was smart enough to know that we were going in separate directions.”

  “You were sleeping with both sisters,” Zoe said.

  “Why not?” Jason said. “We were young and having fun. I gave as good as I got.”

  “Which sister did you sleep with first?” Zoe asked.

  “Does it matter?” Jason asked.

  “I think it does,” Zoe said. “I think you slept with Hadley, and she saw something in you that spooked her. She keeps it secret because she didn’t want to lose Mark. She gets wind that Marsha is falling for your charms, and Hadley, knowing what’s in store for Marsha, puts in a good word for you. Maybe she just wanted to rattle her sister. I don’t think she planned on her sister dying.”

  “You keep forgetting that I was gone by the time Marsha went missing,” Jason said.

  “You had quit your job at Prince Paving,” she said. “But there’s no proof you weren’t in Northern Virginia.”

  “I was in Florida,” he said, his grin widening.

  “Did you know Hadley was pregnant with your child when she married Mark?” she asked.

  His grin faltered. “Look, young love ain’t the kind of love that really stands the test of time,” Jason said. “I moved on. And she sure did.”

  “With your kid,” Zoe pressed. “That must have really stung when you realized she’d taken your kid. I bet when you realized you’d been cheated out of your kid’s life, you were pissed.”

  He dropped his gaze to his calloused palm. “Sure, I was mad. But remember, I was here at the shop under a 2000 Ford pickup truck when she was murdered. You must have looked at the footage; otherwise, I’d be wearing cuffs by now.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded them. “I see what’s going on now. You can’t pin Hadley’s murder on me, so you’re going to blame me for Marsha’s death.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  His gaze locked on hers, and his body stilled as if he was struggling for control. “Doesn’t matter what I say. You’re going to manufacture evidence and pin it on me.”

  Sometimes people communicated more without even realizing it. And Jason had done just that.

  Nikki was sitting on the floor of her living room, staring at the images she had made of Marsha Princ
e’s diary. It had been one thing to see images of the girl and another to hear what others said. But to read her own words brought the girl to life. It stirred a sadness in Nikki she had not expected.

  Her phone dinged with a text. She glanced toward it, and when she saw Mark Foster’s name, she sat taller, imagining herself at her desk.

  If you want the real story, meet me at my house.

  As her mind spun with possible scenarios, she typed quickly. The real story?

  About Marsha. Hadley. All of it.

  She unfolded her legs, her knees groaning slightly as she straightened. When?

  Now. I won’t be here much longer.

  Give me fifteen minutes.

  She dashed toward her front door, sliding her feet into sandals and shoving her cameras and keys into her purse. Her apartment front door slammed behind her, and she rushed to the elevator, hitting the down button a half dozen times. The elevator car creaked up the shaft and finally arrived. With the door open, she dashed inside and pounded the first floor button while the doors slowly closed.

  The next few minutes were a race to her car and out of the lot. When she pulled up in front of the Fosters’ house, her heart was pounding. It had taken her twenty minutes to get there.

  “Shit.” She hurried up the front walk and stopped at the yellow tape blocking the entrance. She knocked several times and rang the bell. When she heard no sounds of life inside, she had the vague notion that she had been played.

  She then moved around the side of the house, through the privacy fence gate, and up the back stairs to the door. She twisted the handle, and it turned.

  Getting caught at an active murder scene would not get her any favors, but given that she had very little to lose right now, she stepped into the kitchen. The large room had been designed to be airy and bright, but the air-conditioning had been turned off, creating a stuffy heat that made the large room feel oppressive. Anything that could have fingerprints was covered with the graphite dust used by the crime scene technicians. The coffeepot was still half-full. Yellow tents marked the trail of blood through the kitchen and toward the garage.

  “Mr. Foster. Mr. Foster? It’s Nikki McDonald.”

  Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. Careful to step over the trail of blood, she moved through the downstairs, looking in each room. Outside, she heard a dog bark and a car door slam.