“It was from our kitchen. Mom uses it to cut meat all the time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The girl looked up at Zoe, her eyes clearing and getting sharper. “Where is my mom? Is she in the hospital?”
There was no more avoiding the answer. “Skylar, your mother is dead. I’m sorry, but she didn’t survive her injuries.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Mom cannot be dead. She can’t.”
“I’m sorry.” The girl leaned toward Zoe, needing a hug. Zoe wrapped her arms around her. Sobs racked the girl’s body.
When Skylar finally drew back, her eyes were puffy and red.
“I want to see my dad,” Skylar said.
“Do you have any other friends and family you can stay with?” Zoe asked.
“No. Why can’t I stay with my dad?”
“Because your father confessed to killing your mother.”
The girl shook her head with a force that rang true. “My father didn’t kill my mother. He loved her. There was another man in the room who killed Mom.”
“Why would he confess?”
“I don’t know.”
The complicated relationship of the Fosters was not a subject she wanted to press with this young girl, but now was the optimal time, when defenses were not erected and the truth had a way of slipping out. “When is the last time you saw Roger Dawson?”
Skylar blinked. “I don’t know. Mom trains with him at the gym. Why would he be at our house?”
“What about Jason Dalton?”
The girl’s eyes widened for an instant and then narrowed. She was calculating, measuring her words now. “Jason.”
“Jason. You have dinner with him at least once a week. He works at a garage in Arlington.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen your messages you sent through an app on your phone.”
“It’s password protected.”
“Jessica remembered your old password.”
Her brows wrinkled. “I forgot I told her.”
“Why were you meeting with Jason?” she asked.
“My dad is Mark Foster, and he loves me and would do anything for me. Jason is my biological father,” she said.
“How did you find out about Jason?”
“I found a picture of him and Mom.”
“What picture?”
“I’d never seen it before. Someone mailed it to Mom, I think.” The girl’s eyes sharpened. “Jason didn’t kill Mom, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“How can you be sure? You said you didn’t see the attacker’s face.”
“I know Jason wouldn’t do that.” The girl stepped toward Zoe, her fists clenched. “I want out of here now. I want to see my dad.” The last words shrieked across the room, and seconds later, the door snapped open.
Zoe had pressed this interview as far as she could. “Okay.”
Vaughan stood at the threshold. “The ambulance is here.”
“I want to see my dad,” Skylar said. “I don’t need to see a doctor. Dad didn’t kill Mom. I need to see him.”
“First, the paramedics have to check you out,” Zoe said. “Then we’ll arrange for you to see your father.”
“Where is Neil?” the girl demanded. “I want to see Neil.”
Vaughan jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the marked cars and the flashing lights. “Sitting in the back of one of the squad cars, waiting for his mother.”
“Why? He didn’t do anything,” Skylar protested. “None of this is his fault. Why are you punishing him?”
Zoe didn’t let the girl maneuver past her. “He should have told us you were here.”
Skylar pushed around Zoe but halted when she came face to face with Vaughan standing in the doorway. “He wanted to call you right away, but I begged him to come to me first! I was scared and hungry and just needed a little time.”
“Neil is going to be fine. For now, let the paramedics check your hand,” he said, undaunted.
She curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist. “And then can I see my dad?”
“We’ll see,” Vaughan said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Wednesday, August 14, 7:00 p.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Thirty-Six Hours after the 911 Call
The ambulance carrying Skylar Foster whisked away, leaving Vaughan and Spencer standing on the sidewalk outside the motel room. Vaughan had given the forensic team the bag containing Skylar’s clothes and shoes he had retrieved from the dumpster. The forensic team was now also in possession of the burner phone Skylar had used to text Neil. She had not said how she’d obtained it, but the expectation was that once they had analyzed it, they would know more.
Vaughan had spoken to the motel office clerk and had learned a man had appeared yesterday in his office with a ball cap on his head, wearing a thick overcoat. When asked if he had been suspicious about the man, the clerk had shrugged. He got all types of nutcases here.
Neil’s mother had arrived on the scene. She had been upset and had had no idea why her son would keep such secrets from her. Vaughan had advised her that the boy was not facing charges yet. That could all change in the next few minutes.
“Neil doesn’t strike me as the aggressive kind,” Spencer said as she watched Mrs. Bradford’s Volvo drive off. “If anything, he takes his marching orders from Skylar. Did you notice how he kept looking to her, as if for guidance?”
“I did. He just about lost it when I opened the back of the squad car. He kept asking about Skylar, as if he couldn’t function without her.”
“What about Mark Foster?” Spencer asked. “Why would he lie about killing his wife and daughter if he knew the girl was alive? It was a matter of time before we realized he was lying.”
“Maybe that’s all he wanted—time.”
“For what?” Spencer asked.
“I’m not sure yet. First, I want to know if his prints are in that motel room.”
“You think he stashed his daughter there?”
“I do,” Vaughan said.
“Neil said she was groggy. Do you think Foster drugged her?”
“Blood test will tell us that,” he said. “But it would make sense. It would have kept her quiet. Again, he was buying time. We need to get to the hospital. I know the press will be there in force soon, if they aren’t already there.”
“They can’t get to the kid while she’s being looked at, correct?” Spencer asked.
“I’ve posted two uniforms outside her room. That should hold off even Nikki McDonald. We’ve got about twenty minutes. Let’s grab a bite to eat. We’re going to need it.” His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he had handed his card out so much during his investigations he knew he should answer. “Detective Vaughan.”
Silence crackled over the line, but he could hear breathing.
“This is Detective Vaughan. Who is this?”
Spencer shifted her attention to him, her head cocked as she waited.
“This is Jewel.”
The voice was soft and sounded as if it belonged to a young woman. “What can I do for you, Jewel?”