“I’ll have forensic do a sweep,” Vaughan said, texting.
As she searched the closet and bedroom, she found no connection to Mark Foster. And judging by Vaughan’s silence, he had found nothing either.
“Most women have pictures of their boyfriends, right?” Vaughan asked.
“I’m sure some do, but many store photos on their phone,” she said. “That’s where we’re likely to find her contacts as well. I suppose you’ve pinged her phone.”
“I did. It’s not putting off a signal.”
“The guard said she has been gone at least a week, so if the phone is intact, the battery must be dead.”
“There was no sign of her purse or keys in the dumpster,” he said.
“It could have been stolen, or maybe the killer kept it as a memento.”
“Saving mementos is the kind of behavior associated with serial killers.”
“I know.”
He shook his head. “A serial killer from Hadley Foster’s past comes back, stabs Veronica, Galina, and then stabs her and takes her daughter.”
She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, massaging the tension from her muscles. “It’s all just too coincidental.”
He pulled the door closed, and it locked behind them. They made their way down the elevator, past the guard, and out the front door to the street. A coffee shop across the street had opened, and the glow of its warm light was too much for Zoe to resist.
“I’ll treat you to a cup,” she offered.
“I won’t say no to that.”
They crossed the street, which was only just filling with the morning rush hour, and walked through the front doors of the sleek shop. A young guy with dark hair swept back in a ponytail took their order and swiped her credit card. As they waited, she stared across the street at Veronica Manchester’s apartment building and knew if she herself lived there, a place like this would be a daily stop.
She pulled up a picture of Veronica Manchester on her phone. “Don’t suppose you ever saw this gal?”
“Sure, that’s Veronica.”
“She comes in here often?”
“It’s her first stop every morning. I think she’s on vacation.”
“What makes you say that?” Vaughan asked.
“It’s all she’s talked about for the last few months. She just met a guy, and he was taking her to Spain or France.”
“Her boyfriend ever come in here?” Zoe asked.
The guy shrugged. “No. But I saw him come out of her building with her pretty regularly.”
“What’s he look like?” she asked.
“Tall, fit. Maybe late thirties or early forties.”
“They look serious?” she asked.
“She said he had just asked her to marry him.”
“Nice,” she said as she selected a picture on her phone. “They set a date?”
“I asked, but she was kind of vague. She said there was a lot of details to work out before they could settle on a date.”
“He look like this?” She held up a picture of Mark Foster.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Thanks.”
As she and Vaughan walked across the street toward his car, Zoe said, “It’s time we brought Mark Foster to the station for questioning. Dead girlfriend. Missing wife and daughter. It’s not looking good.”
“No, it certainly isn’t.”
Zoe checked her watch. “I want to go back to the Foster house and have another look. I want to revisit the Fosters’ neighborhood. Someone there must know more about the family.”
“Let’s go.”
They drove through the streets already heavy with traffic as the sun rose in the sky. She nestled in the seat, savoring the morning sky before dawn broke.
When Vaughan pulled up in front of the Foster house, there was a marked car outside, and the crime scene tape still maintained a tight perimeter around the yard. The news vans were gone for now, and the cluster of neighbors had cleared.
A woman walked her dog, a short mixed breed, on the other side of the street, while a man dressed in a charcoal-gray suit was opening his car door.
“Be right back.” Zoe hurried across the street toward the man as he got behind the wheel. “I’m Agent Spencer, and I’m working the Foster case. Are you familiar with the family?”
The man was in his late fifties—handsome in a worn sort of way. “How could I not know? Cops and reporters have been swarming all over my lawn.”
She let the comment go. “How well did you know the Fosters?”
“Casually. I work a lot of long hours. But I saw them at the neighbors’ night out last week. They seemed normal enough.”
“Can you clarify that?” she asked.
“Hadley was tense, but she’s always been a little high strung, and Mark had had a few beers and was feeling no pain. Skylar looked bored like all the other teens did.”
“Any idea why Hadley was always so uptight?”
“It’s how some people just come wired,” he said. “Knock on the front door and talk to my wife. She’s up and knew Hadley better than me.”
“Did you spend any time with Mark Foster?”
“No. Like I said, I work long hours.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to get going. Go talk to Barb. She’s pretty connected in the neighborhood.”
“Thanks.” Zoe walked to the front door, past a planter filled with yellow flowers and vines tumbling over the sides.
She knocked and heard the volume of a morning television newscast grow quieter as footsteps approached the door. The door opened to a heavyset blond woman in her forties.
“You’re police,” she said, somewhat startled. “I saw you yesterday at the Foster house.”
“Agent Zoe Spencer. Your husband just told me you know Hadley Foster well.”
“Sure, I’m Barb. Hadley and I didn’t know each other that well, but Skylar and my daughter, Devon, used to hang out.”
“But you spoke to Hadley from time to time?”
“Sure.”
“Did Hadley ever sound like she was afraid for her life?”
“God, no.”
“Did she ever mention that she wanted out of her marriage?”
“Who doesn’t from time to time?” And then, as if she realized her quip had fallen flat, she added, “No.”
“Can I speak with Devon?”
Barb shifted, twisted the ring on her finger, and then finally nodded. “Devon’s in the kitchen, having breakfast. Please come in.”
Zoe followed the woman through the house, past a collection of pictures and antique furniture. The place was clean and organized and stood in stark contrast to Uncle Jimmy’s place on Prince Street. She wondered if she would ever have the time to give the house what it deserved.
“Devon, Agent Spencer would like to talk to you about Skylar.”
Devon’s long lean frame was hunched forward over a phone as she quickly typed a message. Her hair was jet black and fell over her face in a thick curtain. “What?”
“The police are here, Devon. Put the phone down, honey.”
Zoe waited for the girl to type a few more words before she looked up, though she kept a firm grip on her phone. “You’re friends with Skylar Foster?”
“Sure. I mean, we were super close for a little while, but she’s all about her boyfriend now.”
Zoe pulled out a chair and sat beside Devon. “Skylar is missing, Devon. And I’m doing everything I can to find her. What can you tell me about her?”
Devon looked up at her mother and then back at Zoe. “I don’t know.”
“Anything you can tell me about her. Habits, boyfriends, friends her parents might not have known about.”
“She got along with everyone here okay. No big drama.”
“What about back in Oregon?”
Devon was silent for a moment. “Well, she had a boyfriend out in Oregon, and he tried to break up with her. She said it really hurt her feelings, and she had a hard time letting go. Sky started following him around.”
“She was stalking him?”
“When you say it that way, it sounds really creepy.”
Was there a nice way to say it? “What did she do?”
“Sky got caught breaking into his house. I think she might have even trashed his room.”
But was that the kind of offense that caused a family to uproot and move across the country? “Did she hurt anyone?”
“I don’t think it was on purpose,” Devon said.
“What happened?”
“She accidently hit him with her car. He’s okay now, but I think it kind of scared everyone. She’s on medicine now and doing better. She’s going to be pissed when she finds out I told you this much.”
“Do you remember the boyfriend’s name?” Zoe asked.
“George Tate.” Devon rushed to say, “She seems really happy with Neil.”
“Has she made any threats against anyone you know in Alexandria?”
“No. She was always super sweet. And when she wanted, she could charm anyone.”
“Thanks, Devon,” Zoe said. “You’ve been a big help.”
“It’s weird what happened in the Foster house. Do you think Skylar is okay?”