by Burton, Mary
Mark Foster shook his head, his wild eyes darting around as if he were a caged animal. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I talk to Rodney. Not until I find my daughter.”
Mrs. Pollard’s head bobbled in agreement. “Rodney always knows what to do.”
“He’s my lawyer now,” Foster added.
“Your daughter is still missing,” Vaughan said. “There’s still hope to find her.”
Foster closed his eyes. “Her mother is dead. Murdered. That poor girl is never going to be the same.”
Zoe was struck by the comment. “You need to tell us everything you know so we can find Skylar.”
Foster stared at the gauze wrapped around his arm. “None of this is her fault. That kid didn’t deserve this disaster.”
Zoe sensed a small crack in whatever armor Foster had fashioned around himself. She needed to drive a wedge into that microscopic crevice and work it back and forth until it widened. She could sense the truth lurking under the surface. “Of course she doesn’t deserve this. No kid deserves to see her mother stabbed and likely die in front of her. She must be in a state of shock.”
“I love that little girl,” he said. “I would do anything for her.”
She heard the genuine affection in his voice. “We know you do. That’s why we have to find her. We have to help her.”
“Let us help Skylar,” Vaughan said.
Foster was silent for a long moment, and then finally he shook his head, as if shoring up that tiny breach in his defenses. “Skylar is tough. She’s going to be fine. She’ll get through this.”
“You say that as if it’s a certainty,” Zoe said.
“It is.” He swallowed hard. “It has to be.”
“Come to the station with us.” Vaughan made the order sound like a request. Technically, Foster was lawyered up, and they would have to tread carefully. This case was already a tangled mess, and the knots were more likely to tighten than loosen.
Foster shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I need to speak to Rodney.”
Mrs. Pollard stood a little taller. “I’m calling Rodney. And in the meantime, I need you both to leave my house.”
Zoe and Vaughan made no move to leave. This was not the first time either had been thrown out of a suspect’s house or had pushed the boundaries to get a witness to talk.
“Teenage girls like to talk,” Zoe said. “Not necessarily to their parents but to their friends and boyfriends. They unburden even the deepest, darkest family secrets.”
Foster leaned back in his chair, puffing his chest as if to make himself look stronger. “There are no secrets to share,” he said.
“There are always secrets,” she continued. “How long had you been having an affair with Veronica?”
His lips flattened into a grim line. “Six months. I’m not proud of it at all, and for the record, I broke up with her a few days ago.”
That would have been a neat trick, considering she was dead. “You spoke to her?”
“I sent a text. What does this have to do with my daughter?”
“When is the last time you spoke directly to Veronica?” Zoe asked.
“It’s been weeks.” Foster shoved out a breath. “Why are we talking about Veronica?”
Either he didn’t know about Veronica, or he was a very good actor; regardless, she wouldn’t press the point until she found Skylar. “When girls feel ignored or unimportant, they can reach out to other people.”
“Hadley and I had our problems, but we loved our daughter.”
“Did she know you two had decided to separate?” Zoe asked.
“No. We were always careful to keep our adult conversations private.”
“Have you heard the saying ‘Little pitchers have big ears’?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she heard a lot more than you realized,” Zoe said.
“I don’t believe you. Hadley and I made mistakes in our marriage, but we always kept Skylar out of it.”
“You didn’t keep anything from her,” Zoe pressed as Mrs. Pollard rose and grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen. “I’m guessing she heard a real whopper of a secret recently. Maybe it’s why she tried to kill her boyfriend back in Oregon.”
Foster’s face paled. “That was an accident.”
“And the stalking?” Zoe asked. “Was she stalking her ex-boyfriend?”
“No. The boy was making up lies to hurt her.” His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. “You’re trying to provoke me.”
Zoe pushed back. “Something bubbled over in your home yesterday. What was it?”
“I’m calling Rodney,” Mrs. Pollard said. “This is harassment.” She began dialing and then raised the phone to her ear.
Zoe leaned closer, knowing she now had seconds before she and Vaughan would have no legal reason to remain. “What happened yesterday? What cracked in that house? There was a lot of pain and secrets. Something blew the lid off this pressure cooker.”
Foster’s eyes darkened as invisible weights seemed to grow on his shoulders. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His lips twitched, as if the words clamored at the tip of his tongue and begged to be spoken.
“Mark,” Mrs. Pollard said. “Rodney is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”
And just like that, Foster seemed to catch himself and draw back. He looked shaken, as if he realized he had nearly stepped over the edge of the cliff. Mrs. Pollard pressed her cell into his hand, and he raised it to his ear.
She could not hear Pollard, but it was enough to buttress the man’s failing reserves.
“Okay. I won’t say a word,” he said. “I understand. Not a word.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Mrs. Pollard. “I’m going upstairs now. I’m tired.”
He rose on trembling legs, turned, and vanished around the corner in the kitchen.
Time was up.
For now.
Mrs. Pollard escorted them to the front door, and as they stepped over the threshold, she said, “Don’t come back to my house unless my husband is here.”
The door slammed, and they walked slowly toward Vaughan’s car.
Nikki lowered down in the seat of her car and stayed out of sight as Detective Vaughan and Agent Spencer exited the Pollard house. She had been reviewing her questions for Foster when the two had arrived, and judging by their grim faces going into and leaving the Pollard house, she suspected something had broken in the case.
She reached for her cell and dialed Manny’s number. He answered on the fourth ring. “I know you’re busy,” she rushed to say.
“Up to my ass in alligators.”
She crossed her fingers. “I heard about the break in the Foster case.”
“How the hell did you hear?” he said, dropping his voice.
A chorus of ringing phones and fast-paced conversations buzzed in the background. It sounded like all hell was breaking loose on his end. She could only assume that Hadley, Skylar, or both had been found dead.
“I’m good at what I do.” And then, taking a risk, she asked, “Did they transport the body yet?”
He sighed into the phone. “Yes.”
“Was it the mother or daughter?”
He cursed and lowered his voice. “You’ve got to stop calling me. I can’t keep feeding you information.”
She drew in a slow breath. “Manny, how long have we known each other? Almost twenty years. You know I don’t burn my sources.” She could hear him on the other end and knew he couldn’t fault her statement. “This will never come back on you.”
“It was Hadley.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, sure.” He hung up, cutting her off from the chaos on his end and leaving her to sit in the silence of the car.
She texted the number of her tipster. Did you kill Hadley?
She sat for several minutes, hoping for a response. The air conditioner hummed as she lifted her gaze toward the Pollard house for a sign of Foster.
“
What the hell were you expecting, McDonald?” she muttered.
She slid the phone in her purse and shut off the engine. Grabbing her notebook, she hurried across the street and up the front steps of the house and rang the bell.
Footsteps sounded; curtains fluttered and then dropped. Whoever was on the other side of the door did not open it.
“I’m Nikki McDonald, a reporter, not a cop,” she said. “I’m Mr. Foster’s chance to talk directly to the world. I can help him.”
Floorboards shifted, and then the footsteps moved away from the door.
“Don’t go. Let me help.”
The footsteps grew faint and then silent. She dug one of her cards out of her purse and shoved it in the doorjamb.
As she turned from the doorway and descended the stairs, her phone chimed with a text. She fished out the phone and read it. Hadley deserved it.
Did Marsha deserve it?
Seconds passed, and then, No. But it was still fun killing her.
Let me interview you.
You don’t want to get too close to me.
I’m not afraid. That wasn’t true, but this story was getting too big to let fear get in the way.
You should be.
He calls himself Mr. Fix It. And that’s true. He’s a marvel in an odd sort of way. Daddy would flip if he knew he’d asked me out. And that I said yes.
Marsha, August 2001
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wednesday, August 14, 11:00 a.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Twenty-Eight Hours after the 911 Call
“What else do we know about Hadley’s past?” Zoe asked. She and Vaughan had returned to the police station and were huddled by Hughes’s desk. “In the surveillance tape taken outside the hardware store, Hadley had the look of a woman who had seen a ghost.”
Hughes reached for a folder in one of the stacks and opened it on a pile of other folders. She rummaged through a few pages. “She and her parents moved to Alexandria when she was five. She and her sister grew up in this area and attended the local public school. She was a solid A/B student and was squeaky clean until she got a speeding ticket when she was seventeen. It should have been a straightforward ticket, but her boyfriend, who was with her at the time, got an attitude with the cop. The officer ended up arresting them both. Her father got her off, but he left the boyfriend in jail.”
“Are we talking about Mark?” Vaughan asked.
“No. According to police records, the boyfriend’s name was Jason Dalton.”
“Jason Dalton?” Zoe asked. “A Jason Dalton worked for Prince Paving. He knew Marsha and Hadley.”
Vaughan rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s the one who vanished before Marsha did.”
“Yes. Do you have a better picture of Jason Dalton?” Zoe asked.
Hughes pulled up his mug shot on her computer. Jason Dalton stared at the camera. Thick blond hair brushed his collar and fell over the tops of blue eyes that lit up with a grin that looked more mischievous than daunting. He had the look of a young Matthew McConaughey or Bradley Cooper. He was also the man who had confronted Hadley at the hardware store.
Zoe studied the contours of the man’s face and the tilt of his head. His look would have been very charming to a girl or woman. Hadn’t there also been a guy in the shop who’d dated both sisters? “Hadley and Mark married a month after Marsha Prince went missing. When was Skylar born?”
Hughes sifted through her papers. “Seven months after her parents married.”
“Skylar would have been conceived about the time of the arrest?” Zoe said.
Hughes nodded. “That’s correct.”
“Jason figures out he and Hadley had a daughter and reaches out to Skylar,” Vaughan suggested.
“That’s assuming the two had a romantic relationship,” Hughes said.
Zoe pulled up a picture of Skylar on her phone and held it up next to Jason’s. There were striking similarities in the eyes and around the mouth. “The messages to Skylar that Bud read off to us were from a Mr. Fix It. Could Jason be our Mr. Fix It?” Zoe asked.
“Hughes, tell me you know where Jason Dalton is living now,” Vaughan said.
Hughes grinned. “You’re going to owe me dinner.”
“I’ll even toss in drinks,” Vaughan said.
“Jason Dalton was brought up on assault charges down in Florida in 2007 and ended up doing ten years in prison. He moved back to the area last year and currently lives in Arlington and works at Danville Auto Repair.”
“So he would have been in the area when Hadley and Skylar won the fitness competition in the spring. He could easily have seen the mention in the local paper,” Vaughan said. “And Jason Dalton sees her.”
Hughes scribbled down the address on a sticky note and handed it to Vaughan. “Home and work addresses. Be careful. The guy had a reputation in prison for being tied to several killings, but nothing stuck.”
“Maybe he got tired of just texting with Skylar,” Vaughan said. “Maybe he got tired of watching another man raise his kid.”
“Now you need to ask me about Skylar’s credit card receipts,” Hughes said.
“Fire away,” Vaughan said.
“Around April of this year, she started taking Uber over to Arlington and buying a late dinner in a little Italian place one block from where Jason Dalton works.”
“Skylar has been having a late dinner with him?” Zoe asked.
“Two entrées were on the receipts,” Hughes said.
“Jason snaps, puts on a mask, and enters the Foster house. Knifes Mark and takes mother and daughter,” Vaughan said.
“If he stabbed Hadley, why take her with him?” Hughes asked.
“Maybe Skylar was upset, and he took Hadley along to keep her calm,” Zoe said.
“Hadley dies, he dumps the body, and he vanishes with his kid.” Vaughan flicked his finger over the edge of the Post-it Note. “We need to get over to that mechanic’s shop and see if Mr. Dalton is there.”
Zoe stepped out of the cubicle. “Let’s go.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Vaughan parked across the street from Danville Auto Repair, where Jason Dalton worked. The double-bay mechanic’s shop looked like it dated back to the sixties. There were at least a dozen cars parked in the lot, and both lifts in the bays sported late-model luxury cars.
The whir of a pneumatic drill buzzed as they pushed through the glass front door and approached the counter with several work orders and keys set on it. Behind it hung a collection of papers and receipts, all overlapping what looked like a swimsuit calendar from 1990.
Vaughan knocked on the counter and, when no one appeared, moved around the counter toward a door. He knocked again and was rewarded with a gruff, “Be right out!”
Vaughan stepped back, his hands at his sides, but his fingers tensed as if he was mentally assessing the potential dangers. She was doing the same. Every cop who came into a new environment needed to be on their game and aware that just their presence alone could trigger serious trouble. And given Jason Dalton’s prison record and his confrontation with Hadley in July, there was no telling what could happen.
Vaughan always scored well on his department’s firearm qualifications. He had heard Spencer could hold her own with the best of them. But today, he did not want to find out who could put the bad guy down first. Skylar had to be found, and dead suspects did not talk.
The door opened, and a tall birdlike man in his midfifties with muscled arms built by a life of turning a wrench came around the corner. His slicked-back hair was unusually dark, almost gun-barrel blue. His name tag read Bob.
The man’s eyes narrowed the instant he looked them both over. He knew they were cops right away. The pair reached for their badges and held them up, showing no expressions but watching his every move.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I’m Detective Vaughan, and this is Agent Spencer. You are?”
“Steve Jenkins.” When the mechanic noticed their puzz
lement, he added, “Bob used to work for me. This was the only clean shirt I had.”
“Steve,” Vaughan said. “Jason Dalton’s parole officer said he works for you.”
“That’s right. For about a year. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“No,” Vaughan replied. “We’re searching for a missing girl and believe he might be able to help us.”
“Is that the kid they been plastering on the news for the last twenty-four hours?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What does Dalton have to do with a girl like that?” Steve asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Vaughan said.
Nodding, Steve ducked his head in the bay and called out Jason’s name before facing them again. “He’ll be right here. I can tell you he’s been working long hours at the garage. If you’re looking for someone to vouch for him, I’m your guy.”
“We appreciate that,” Vaughan said.
Jason Dalton stepped through the garage bay door, wiping his greasy hands on a clean towel. He was a tall man with large biceps that strained the edges of his short-sleeve blue shirt. The full-sleeve tattoos running down each arm were likely prison ink. His hair was as long as it had been when he had been arrested for speeding with Hadley, and the lines at the creases of his eyes were a little deeper, but he was still a good-looking guy.
Wariness sharpened the blue eyes for an instant. Vaughan could almost hear the man’s defenses slamming into place before Jason’s mouth curled into a grin. “What can I do for you?”
Vaughan introduced himself and Spencer. “We’d like to talk to you about Skylar Foster.”
His smile faded. “We’ve had the news playing in the garage. Have you found her?”
“Not yet. That’s why we’re here,” he said.
Jason shoved the rag in his back pocket. “Boss, you mind if I step outside for a moment with these good folks?”
Steve glanced at the clock. “Don’t take too long.”
Jason grinned and winked. “No, sir.”
The trio stepped outside and around the side of the building. Jason removed a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled slowly.
“You dated Hadley Foster in high school?” Vaughan asked.