“What date was that?”
“Two days before she ‘went on vacation.’”
Hughes zeroed in on the car near the SUV. “Does this car look familiar?”
Spencer nodded. “It’s Hadley Foster’s.”
“And the driver is Skylar. She was following her father. She must have seen him kiss Veronica,” Vaughan said.
“Might be coincidental for the girl to just show up at the mall. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it,” Hughes said.
“Good work,” Vaughan said.
“Oh, I’m not finished yet. Let me replay Foster’s 911 call.”
7:00 a.m.
911: 911, what’s your emergency?
Caller: My wife has been stabbed. Kidnapped, along with our daughter.
911: Sir, what is your name and location?
Caller: I’m Mark Foster, and I’m at my home. Hurry.
911: Mr. Foster, are you injured?
Caller: I’ve been stabbed. My wife and daughter have been kidnapped.
“Now that we are reminded of the timeline, you’re going to find this interesting,” Hughes said as she clicked on another clip. “We were also able to pull the security footage from the neighbor’s home located on a diagonal to the back of the Fosters’ house.” She pulled up the image.
The black-and-white footage featured the Fosters’ backyard. It was dark, but there was a full moon.
The back door to the Foster home opened, and Hadley Foster appeared. She stretched, rolled her head from side to side, and jogged toward the back gate.
“What time was this?” Spencer asked.
“It was at 3:15 a.m.,” Hughes said.
“That’s almost four hours before the 911 call,” Vaughan said.
“A lot earlier than we first thought,” Spencer said.
“Hadley reappeared in her backyard at 4:20 a.m. through the same entrance,” Hughes continued. As Hadley walked up the back sidewalk, she pressed a hand to her side, as if she had a stitch. She vanished into the house. “Now watch the shadows by the toolshed.”
Both Vaughan and Spencer observed the inky darkness shrouding the back corners of the yard. It was totally still, and then seconds after Hadley went into the house, something moved. It was impossible to make out who was there, but it was clear there was something.
“An animal?” Vaughan asked.
“That’s what I thought at first. Keep watching.” Seconds later, a figure appeared wearing jeans and a hoodie. They both waited and watched, willing the figure to step into the light.
And then a security light tripped, and the face of Skylar Foster came into view.
“Skylar was up,” Spencer said.
“What the hell was Skylar doing outside?” Vaughan asked.
“Teenagers aren’t always asleep in their own beds,” Spencer said. “She could have been sneaking home.”
“From where?” Vaughan asked.
“Neil Bradford is the logical choice,” Spencer said. “But who knows.”
“Mark said she was in her room when the attack happened,” Vaughan said.
“We know she was following her father to the mall. Stands to reason she could be following her mother when she went out early,” Hughes said.
The timeline of events came more into focus for Vaughan. “Hadley arrives home. Skylar is on her heels. Mark is sleeping on the couch and wakes up. He sees them both. Maybe he thought the daughter had gone to sleep. He and the wife get into it. It goes sideways, and he stabs her?”
Hughes leaned back in her chair. “Still doesn’t rule out that masked intruder. If I were Mark, I’d claim their attacker held them hostage for a couple of hours.”
“I don’t think whatever happened in Hadley and Mark’s bedroom was planned,” Spencer said.
“Why do you say that?” Vaughan asked.
“Foster’s fabricating his story as he goes along. He wasn’t expecting the stabbing, the tossing of the body and knife, nor stashing his kid in the motel room. Foster was in a full-blown panic that morning. He comes by the station to confess until you impress upon him that you’re still going to follow the forensic evidence. Then he seems to shift gears.”
“What the hell is he hiding?” Vaughan asked.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thursday, August 15, 9:00 a.m.
Fifty Hours after the 911 Call
Alexandria, Virginia
Zoe and Vaughan rang the bell of the Bradford house. She listened as determined footsteps echoed inside, seconds before curtains covering the windows to their right fluttered. Mrs. Bradford opened the door.
Mrs. Bradford’s face was as pale as it was grim, and Zoe guessed she had not slept much last night. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you since I received your voicemail. Sorry I didn’t call back. It’s been a mess here today.”
“What’s happening?” Zoe asked.
“My phone is ringing off the hook. The reporters are calling nonstop. I finally had to turn my phone off. Neil had to do the same. Nikki McDonald is the most persistent.”
“I hope you’ve not spoken to any of them,” Vaughan said.
“No. I have no desire to be the center of a media circus,” Mrs. Bradford said. “I just want all this to die down.”
“How’s Skylar?” Zoe asked.
“She’s doing pretty well, I think. She was up during the night, pacing. I asked if I could get her anything, but she said no. She’s trying to appear brave.”
“Where is she?” Zoe asked.
“In the basement den with Neil. They’ve been hunkered down in there because there are no windows, and they’re watching a movie. Can I get either of you coffee or water?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” Vaughan said.
They made their way through a modest home filled with pictures of Neil that documented most of the major moments in his life.
“Is Neil your only child?” Zoe asked.
“Yes. I wanted more, but my husband liked the idea of focusing on the one.”
“Where is your husband now?” Zoe asked.
“He’s traveling for work. He’s in sales.”
“I don’t see any pictures of him,” Zoe said.
“Andy hates having his picture taken. Says he has a mug that will break any good camera. I don’t agree. Neil is the spitting image of him.”
She descended the stairs, past wood-paneled walls, toward a low ceiling. “Make sure you duck. The ceiling is lower than we’d like, but digging down six more inches was too expensive, so we duck.”
“How long have you lived in the area?” Vaughan asked.
“We’ve been here about a year. We were in Kansas, but my husband’s company transferred him. The high school is new for both Neil and Skylar. I think that’s what drew each to the other.”
“Did you spend any time with the Fosters?” Zoe asked.
“No. We didn’t know her parents very well, but Hadley was always nice to me.”
“When was the last time you saw Hadley alive?” he asked.
“Alive.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “God, I can’t believe I’m talking about her in those terms.”
“I know it can be difficult.”