by Burton, Mary
She placed the photos back in her folder. “Actually, I would. I’ve spent six weeks molding Marsha Prince’s face, and I’d like to see this girl find justice.”
“We can take my car.”
Wild Blue: My mother and father always fight.
Mr. Fix it: Parents can be so selfish.
Wild Blue: I know, right? They always put themselves first. I hate the shouting.
Mr. Fix it: You shouldn’t have to live like this.
Wild Blue: I don’t want to live like this anymore.
Mr. Fix it: How about we grab dinner?
Wild Blue: I’d like that.
Mr. Fix it: When?
Wild Blue: Always easiest to sneak out on Mondays. Both my parents are always out until late.
Mr. Fix it: Tonight then.
Wild Blue: You keep me sane.
Mr. Fix it: Remember, you are very special.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, August 12, 4:30 p.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
One Day Before
The faint scent of french fries still lingered in Vaughan’s car as he watched Spencer click her seat belt into place. The dark interior radiated the day’s heat, but she managed to always look so cool and collected.
“Excuse the fast-food smells. I just dropped my son off at college. The kid was eating like there was no tomorrow.” He had mentioned his son in passing, but she had not asked him any questions about the boy, and when he’d inquired about her personal life, she had confirmed little beyond the fact that she was single.
“I’m sure he was a little nervous. Freshman year of college is a big deal. It certainly was for me.” She typed the address of the Fosters’ home into her phone.
“I always bought him fries after soccer practice or if I had to work a double shift. I think the fries were more for my benefit than his.”
“Feeding is a form of love. He might not have said it, but the ritual must have comforted him.”
“All I got from the kid today were grunts and silence.”
“His prefrontal cortex isn’t fully developed; add in hormones and the stress of a new life situation, and you’re bound to get a moody kid. Your son is acting as he should.”
“You should know. You’re the profiler.” He had never asked what she’d noticed about him, but he was slightly curious. “And what advice do you have for his old man?”
“Keep doing what you are doing.”
Up until now, he had tabled whatever additional questions he’d had about her personal life. “You have any kids?”
“No.”
“Did I hear something about you moving?”
“To Old Town. An uncle left me his place on Prince Street.”
He whistled. “That’s expensive real estate.”
“Don’t get me started on the electric bills.”
“You going to keep the place?”
“I don’t know. It’s crammed full of furniture and memories. Until I sort through it all, I’ll hang on to the place.”
The GPS directed him down familiar streets and then on Janney Road and finally into an upscale neighborhood. It was five fifteen when he parked in front of the Fosters’ two-story brick colonial. It had a neat front yard that managed to remain green in the brutal August heat, and parked in the gravel driveway was a late-model Ford Explorer. It was upward of three thousand square feet and, in this high-dollar neck of the woods, would have cost over a million dollars.
Out of the car, she waited as he crossed around the front and joined her. “Business must be good,” he said.
“It appears so.”
No missing her skepticism. She knew as well as he that appearances could be damn deceiving. He had seen plenty of drugs and domestic abuse in expensive homes as well as compassion and tenderness in the slums. You never knew what happened behind closed doors.
The generously trimmed bushes lining the brick exterior offered no hiding place for anyone looking to cause trouble, and there was a tall privacy fence rimming the backyard. He guessed no dog, because if there was one on the premises, it would generally be barking by now.
Still, he flexed his fingers and kept his jacket unbuttoned and his holstered gun quickly accessible, a habit he had picked up early in his detective days. Spencer’s actions mirrored his as she tactically positioned herself a few steps behind him. This should be a straightforward death notification, but a smart cop who wanted to go home alive always expected trouble.
He rang the bell, and footsteps thudded on a hard floor inside the house. Two latches scraped across a lock, and a bolt clicked open. Not typical of suburbia. Normally, folks in the nice areas figured bad things did not happen there. Hadley Prince Foster knew otherwise.
The heavy oak door opened to a petite woman with long blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore expensive exercise gear that was designed more for fashion than function and athletic shoes that matched the striping on her capri pants. Diamonds winked from her left ring finger and her ears.
“May I help you?” Her smile was pleasant but not warm and welcoming.
Both Vaughan and Spencer held up their badges. “Hadley Foster?”
She tightened her hand on the doorknob. “I am.”
“Your maiden name was Prince?” Spencer asked.
The smile was gone. “That’s right.”
“May we come inside?” Spencer asked. “There’s something we need to talk to you about.”
“Concerning?” Hadley asked.
“Your sister, Marsha,” Vaughan replied.
Under the expertly applied makeup, Hadley’s face paled, and her lips thinned into a grim line. A car door across the street slammed closed, and she flinched. She looked past them to the house across the street, and when the man dressed in a dark suit waved, she smiled weakly and waved back.
“Come inside,” she said.
As she moved to the side, they angled around her and stepped into a foyer. Directly in front of them was a set of carpeted stairs that rose up to a second floor.
To his right, there was a formal room, and down the center hallway, a kitchen filled with white marble and bright stainless steel appliances. A back door fed off the kitchen into the yard surrounded by the privacy fence they had seen when they’d approached the house.
“This way, please.” Hadley escorted them into the formal room, furnished with overstuffed chairs and a couch. A coffee table sported a large picture book featuring modern art. Pale-gray walls displayed a collection of framed paintings that created a look that was too cold for his taste.
This place was nothing like the man cave he shared with Nate. Best they could do in the way of decorating was a couple of framed Washington Redskins jerseys and a poster of the Rocky Mountains. Furniture in their small den included a couple of big recliners, a threadbare couch, and a wide-screen television.
Vaughan and Spencer each took a side chair. Hadley sat on the couch across from them, careful to sit in the center, the coffee table between them.
Spencer opened her folder and handed the picture of the bust to Hadley and said nothing.
Hadley took the paper, and when her gaze dropped to the image, her hand trembled slightly. A breath shuddered through her body. “That’s my sister.”
“Are you sure?” Spencer asked.
“Yes.” Suspicion sharpened Hadley’s gaze. “It looks like a sculpture. What’s this about?”
“A set of remains was found in a nearby storage unit in the middle of June. I did a re-creation of the deceased’s face, using the skull as a point of reference.”
“Were you working off pictures of my sister?” Hadley asked.
“No. While I was working on the bust, I didn’t know about your sister.”
“Is that the skull they were talking about on the news?” Hadley asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I had no idea.” Hadley placed the image on the coffee table but stared at it as if she were seeing a ghost. “Are you sure it’s Marsha? The news kept
saying there was no DNA.”
“There was no DNA. That’s why we enlisted the help of Agent Spencer,” Vaughan said.
“Enough of the skull remained for me to sculpt the image you see before you. I ran the image of the reconstructed bust through a facial recognition scanning program, which said there was a ninety-eight percent probability it was Marsha Prince.”
“So there’s a two percent chance it’s not her. My sister could still be alive,” Hadley said.
“Actually, the probability it’s not her is 1.8 percent,” Spencer countered.
Hadley closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her closed lids. Stillness washed over her, and when she finally spoke, her voice broke, forcing her to steady it. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years wondering what happened to her. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve dreamed of her walking through the front door with a big grin on her face. I’d wake up so happy.” She folded her arms around her waist as if reliving the sensation. “And then I’d realize she was still gone.”
“Can you tell us about the last day with your sister?” Vaughan asked.
She flattened her hands against her pants and rubbed them back and forth. Like the folded arms, it was a soothing move. “It was a really beautiful day. The sun was shining, and it was hot like today. My dad was also in a good mood.”
“He wasn’t always in a good mood?” Spencer asked.
“No. He worked really hard to keep the paving business going. He was up with the sun and rarely came home until after nine in the evening. Mom always did everything to keep him happy and the family together, but she was pretty sick by then. If Dad made it to dinner, the best we could get was a half smile or a grunt. Dad wasn’t a likable guy.”
“But he was in a good mood that day,” Vaughan said.
“He was in a terrific mood. He decided not to go into work that day, and he said he wanted to take us all to the mall. He said it was high time his family had a fun day together, and no time like now, seeing that Marsha was leaving for school again.”
“Weren’t you also leaving for college?” Spencer asked.
“No. Dad had told me in July that he did not have the money to send us both. I had to stay behind and work in the shop for a year.”
“That must have been difficult,” Spencer said.
“It wasn’t easy. But I understood that the money just wasn’t there.”
“Were you worried by your father’s unexpected behavior?” Spencer asked.
“More surprised. I was a little leery, but it didn’t take much convincing to win me over. Marsha was thrilled by the idea of an outing. But she was always in a good mood. Always positive no matter what. She loved the idea of doing anything fun.”
“You all got into the family van?” Spencer asked as she reached in a folder and removed a picture.
“And we drove to the Springfield Mall. Dad took us into Macy’s and told us to pick out whatever new outfit we wanted. That was a lot of fun. I had wanted a skirt I’d seen on television and thought maybe I could find it.”
“Did you?”
“No, but I found one just like it. It wasn’t on sale, but Dad said to get it anyway. We all came out of the store looking so great. Even Mom was enjoying herself. Then we went to the portrait studio, and Dad had a family picture taken. He also had one done of Marsha and me.”
Spencer removed the picture from her purse and handed the picture to Hadley. “Is this the family portrait?”
“Yes.” Hadley dropped her gaze to the image, and the fleeting glimmer of happiness in her gaze dimmed. She traced the faces of her mother and older sister. They were all smiling and looked like the picture-perfect family.
“When did you notice Marsha was missing?” Vaughan asked.
Hadley did not respond right away, but Vaughan and Spencer let the silence stretch. Cops understood that silence made most people uncomfortable, and they naturally wanted to fill it with words. His patience paid off when Hadley shifted her gaze to the picture.
“She was home for another week and then back to school. To earn extra money, she did some house-sitting. She had an overnight gig lined up, but at the last minute, she called and asked if I could take the job. I didn’t want to go, but I wanted the money, so I said yes.”
“Why did she cancel?” Spencer asked.
“She was going out to a club with friends,” Hadley said.
“Which friends?” Vaughan asked.
“I never asked. The cops asked me over and over where she went, but I couldn’t say. I wished I’d asked, but she was in a rush.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Eighteen years ago, the police could never confirm where Marsha had gone that night. Her regular friends had not seen her, and she had never made it to any of the area’s clubs.
“Did your parents know she’d gone to a club?” Vaughan asked.
“No. Dad had already gone back to work, and Mom was exhausted and lying down. We both left and went our separate ways. When I got home the next morning, as soon as I pushed open the front door, Mom was freaking out. She said Marsha had not come home. She always came home. I used to kid her because she was such a Goody Two-Shoes.”
“Did Marsha have a boyfriend, maybe one she didn’t want your parents to know about?” Spencer asked.
“She dated a lot. Nothing that was ever serious. She was focused on school, and boys were kind of an afterthought.”
“Did Marsha ever mention any of the boys she dated?” Spencer asked.
“No. Mom called around, but no one had seen her. Finally, she called Dad at work, and he called the police. From there it just spiraled out of control. The cops came, then the FBI, and finally the reporters. It was next to impossible to go to work after that. I started spending more time with Mark and hiding out from the world. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. I’d just turned eighteen. Mark asked me to marry him, and it made sense for us to leave Virginia.”
“Your parents died within a year,” Vaughan said.
“Yeah. It was too much for Mom. Her health was bad then anyways, and Dad had a heart attack. After I left Virginia, we spoke on the phone a few times, but I never saw them again.”
Spencer’s brow knotted in thought. “Was there anyone who made threats against you or your family?”
“The cops must have asked me that question a million times,” Hadley said. “I didn’t know of any, and I don’t remember any unusual characters coming by the house. There were no red flags.” She touched the edge of the picture and pushed it away so that her sister’s brown eyes were not staring at her. “I still can’t believe she’s really dead.” She shook her head. “I always held out hope.”
“Would she have had a reason to run away?” Spencer asked.
“No. At least not that I knew of. She was going back to school. Mom and Dad were so proud of her, and they gave her the best education they could afford.” She sat back, plucking an invisible hair from her pant leg. “Do you really think, after all this time, you can figure out what happened to Marsha? It’s been eighteen years.”
“I don’t know,” Vaughan said. “Time can sometimes work to our advantage. People who didn’t talk before are willing now. Forensic technology has improved.”
“Why would someone talk to the cops now, if they didn’t back then?” Hadley asked.
“A killer confesses to a loved one or friend. The killer has a falling-out with this person, and they tell the police what they know. Or the killer dies, and whoever was holding their secret is now willing to talk,” he said.
“Don’t they forget details?” Hadley asked.
“Sure,” Spencer said. “But sometimes fewer details are better than none.”
Vaughan shifted tactics. “Your father’s business was in financial trouble. He was highly leveraged.”
“That’s why I couldn’t go to college. If you want the exact numbers, you should talk to Mr. Slater. Henry Slater. He worked for Dad, and he bought the business after Dad died.
The paving business goes by a different name now, but it’s still at the same location.”
The front door opened, and footsteps sounded in the foyer. “Mom! Dad and I are home!”
“My daughter and husband,” she said. “Mark knows, of course, but we’ve never told Skylar about any of this. She doesn’t know what happened to my family.”
“We understand,” Vaughan said. “We’ll take our lead from you.”
Hadley stood. “In here.”
Mark and Skylar Foster appeared in the door, both pausing when they saw Vaughan and Spencer. Skylar was petite and blond like her mother. She wore capri pants, a loose top, and sandals. She clutched a jeweled pink phone case and had a red backpack slung over her shoulder.
Mark Foster was tall and lean and wore crisp black suit pants but had loosened his red tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
“What’s the deal?” Skylar asked. “Everything all right?”
“Of course,” Hadley said. She rose and crossed to Mark, kissing him softly on the cheek. He stood straight and did not lean into the kiss.
“This is FBI special agent Zoe Spencer and Detective William Vaughan,” Hadley said. “They had questions about an old cold case that, turns out, has nothing to do with me. They were just leaving.”
Vaughan and Spencer both rose. The appearance of her family clearly made Hadley very uncomfortable. Like it or not, she was not going to say another word.
Mark extended his hand to Vaughan and Spencer. “What cold case?” he asked.
“A girl went missing eighteen years ago,” Spencer said. “We thought she might have known your wife.”
Mark glanced toward Hadley, as if trying to gauge her state of mind. He laid his hand on his daughter’s shoulder but said nothing.
Skylar’s frown was a mirror image of her mother’s. “What girl?”
“It would have been before you were born,” Mark said.
“Who was she?” the girl pressed.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Hadley said. “I don’t want to hold up the detective and the agent.”
The girl did not appear satisfied but seemed to sense she would get nowhere with her mother with them present.