The boy’s worried expression took on a panicked edge. “Surgery? What happened?”
Zoe sidestepped the question. “Neil, were there problems in the Foster house?”
A ragged sigh shuddered through him. “Skylar said her parents fought a lot. That’s why she came to my house. She wanted to get away from the yelling.”
“What were they fighting about?” Vaughan asked.
“Mr. Foster wasn’t doing so well at work, and Mrs. Foster is obsessed with being perfect. It drives her crazy when the house, Sky, or her husband aren’t as meticulous as she is. The Fosters tried to hide their problems from Sky, but she knew them all.”
“Was there anyone who might have been threatening the family?” Vaughan asked.
“I don’t know about that.” Neil hesitated and then added, “Skylar said her mother has been really weird for the last couple of months. She’s been a nervous wreck and worried.”
“Did Skylar say what upset her mother?” Vaughan asked.
“She didn’t know. She said she asked her a bunch of times, but her mother said it was no big deal. Skylar said her mother always gets a little weird this time of year anyway.”
“Why?” Zoe asked.
“Skylar says she always gets sad and quiet near the end of summer.”
Marsha Prince had vanished in August. “You said she came to your house a few nights a week. What did Skylar do on the other nights?”
“She said homework and school functions.”
“Do you know the passcode to her phone?” Zoe asked.
“Yeah, it’s 1812. She’s a history buff.”
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt her?”
“I don’t know who. Sky keeps to herself,” Neil said. “We’re pretty tight.”
The kid saw the girl several nights a week but not all of them. “You have any trouble with her parents?” Zoe asked.
“No. I mean, I almost never talk to them. Mr. Foster is working, and Mrs. Foster is at the gym.”
“When’s the last time you saw them?” Vaughan asked.
“A few weeks ago. They seemed to be getting on fine. Mr. Foster gave me fifty bucks and asked me to take Skylar to a movie and dinner.”
“Thank you, Neil.” Vaughan wrote down his cell phone number on his business card and handed the boy his card. “If you hear of anything, call me. Doesn’t matter when. If you have to get up and leave class, do it.”
“Okay. What do I do now?” the boy asked. “Should I go and look for her?”
“No. You wait. And we’re going to keep looking,” Vaughan said.
“Do you think Sky is all right?” the boy asked. “She could be hurt or something.”
“We don’t know.” Zoe thought about the blood in the Foster house. “That’s why we’re moving as fast as we can to find her.”
“The more time that passes, the greater the chances that it won’t end well,” Vaughan said.
If his intent was to scare the boy, the kid’s pale, drawn face said he had done just that. “Call us if you hear anything,” Zoe said.
“Especially if she finds a way to reach you,” Vaughan said. “You won’t be protecting her by not telling us.”
“I’ll help. I promise.”
Vaughan obtained Jessica Harris’s address from the principal and instructed him to keep this conversation confidential and his eyes open.
Outside the school, the pair crossed to his vehicle and climbed inside.
“What did you think of Bradford?” Vaughan asked.
“He reads genuine,” she said.
“Yeah.”
As he backed out of the space, he called the forensic department and read off Skylar’s passcode to her phone. “I need any texts or emails that might seem a bit off or troublesome.”
Phone still pressed to his ear, Vaughan said to her, “He’s pulling the phone right now.”
“I’d bet money her life’s secrets are on that phone,” Zoe said.
They drove less than a block, and then Vaughan said, “Let me put you on speakerphone. I have Agent Spencer with me.”
“Hello, Agent Spencer. This is Bud Clary.”
“I’m surprised we found you in the lab,” she said.
“Just barely,” he said. “We just had the Fosters’ Lexus towed to the forensic lab, and I was checking messages. That code you gave me for Skylar’s phone worked.”
“I’m interested in both text and email messages but also any apps that have encrypted messaging options.” Several apps required an additional passcode to view communications. Keeping notes between friends seemed innocent enough until a predator twisted the app’s intent and started a dialogue with an unsuspecting teen. There had been several instances of older men communicating with young teens and grooming them for sex or prostitution.
“The texts seem fairly ordinary,” Bud said. “We have texts between Skylar and Neil Bradford. They tell each other how much they love the other or what they want to eat for dinner. Texts from Mom telling Skylar to be home for dinner.”
“What about the apps?” Zoe asked.
He read them off. “I can open all of them but one. It has a messaging feature but requires a passcode.”
“Try 1812.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work.”
Frustration elbowed at Zoe. “She was born in 2002. Try that.”
“No. Doesn’t work.”
“All right. We’ll see if we can track down her passcode. Thanks,” Zoe said.
He ended the call. “I have never been a fan of those apps.”
“Me either.”
He drove several more miles, turned on a couple of tree-lined side streets, and parked in front of Jessica Harris’s house. Like the Foster house, it was older, made of brick, and in an affluent neighborhood.
They climbed the brick steps and rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened to a woman in her midfifties with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. “May I help you?”
Vaughan and Zoe held up their badges and introduced themselves. “Yes. We are investigating the disappearance of Hadley and Skylar Foster. You are?”
The woman appeared taken aback by the news, and it took a moment before she cleared her throat and said, “Margaret Harris.”
“We understand your daughter, Jessica, is a friend of Skylar’s?” Zoe asked.
Mrs. Harris’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “I saw it on the news. Jessica has not really seen Skylar since April.”
“What about at school?” Zoe asked.
“I’m sure they pass each other in the hallways, but that’s it. I don’t see how she could help you.”
“We are talking to everyone at this stage. Sometimes the smallest detail is important. Is Jessica home?” Vaughan asked.
“Yes. She had a fever this morning, so I kept her out.”
“We’d like to talk to her,” Zoe said.
“All right. Please come in.” She escorted them to a neatly furnished living room bathed in several hues of white and beige. It was as perfect as it was cold.
“Can I get either of you a coffee?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“No, thank you,” Vaughan said. “We just need to speak with Jessica.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Harris vanished into the house, her heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Upstairs, a door opened and then closed.
“Let me interview Jessica,” Zoe said. “I think she’ll be more receptive to a female. And if not, you can give it a try.”
“She’s all yours.”
The door upstairs opened and closed, and this time two sets of footsteps sounded on the landing and down the stairs. Mrs. Harris appeared in the doorway along with her daughter, Jessica, a plump girl whose designer stressed jeans and loose-fitting burgundy top looked more uncomfortable than stylish. Long dark hair hung around her slumped shoulders. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose.
“Jessica,” Zoe said. “I’m with the FBI, and Detective Vaughan is with the Alexandria Homicide team.”
“I haven’t really spoken to Skylar since last spring,” she said.
“But you spent a lot of time with her, didn’t you?” Zoe said.
The girl glanced to her mother, who nodded. “Yeah, we were pretty good friends.”
“Why haven’t you talked to her since last spring?” Zoe asked.
“Because she started dating Neil, and he just took over her life.” Hints of bitterness sharpened the words.
Zoe glanced toward Vaughan, prompting him to say, “Mrs. Harris, would you join me in the kitchen? I have questions.”
“I’m not leaving my daughter,” she said.
“Agent Spencer is one of the best.” A smile warmed his stark features. “She is simply on a fact-finding mission. Our goal is to find Skylar.”
“People often remember different details if they aren’t influenced by others,” Zoe said. “It’s not about deception or ill intent, but I interview witnesses alone.”
“My daughter didn’t see anything.”
“Agreed,” Zoe said. “But she’s one of the very few people who knew Skylar well.”