“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 puzzlement, 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.
“No. I knew her, and I worked for her father, but we didn’t date,” he said.
“How long did you work for Prince Paving?” Vaughan asked.
Jason scratched the back of his neck. “About a year. It was a good job, and Larry was a decent boss.”
“You quit a couple of weeks before Marsha Prince vanished,” Vaughan said.
“My leaving had nothing to do with Marsha. I simply got a better job offer in Florida. I liked Larry, but he didn’t pay top dollar.”
“Hadley was with you when you were arrested for speeding,” Spencer challenged.
“We had dinner once,” Jason said. “That night, as a matter of fact. We didn’t see each other again.”
“If I ran a DNA test, would yours match as Skylar’s biological father?” Spencer’s gaze was as blunt and direct as her question.
Jason’s intake of breath was slow as he stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “If I had a one-night stand with Hadley, so what? That was eighteen years ago. It has nothing to do with now.”
“It might have something to do with Skylar and Hadley’s disappearance,” Vaughan said.
“I don’t see how it could,” Jason said.
“Have you been communicating with Skylar through a secured phone app?” Spencer asked.
“That’s not against the law,” Jason said.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “Did you?”
Jason inhaled deeply. “Yeah, Skylar and I started texting in the spring.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?” Vaughan asked.
“No.” He exhaled. “Have you asked her dad where the hell she is?”
“Where would Skylar go if she were in trouble and wanted to hide?” Vaughan asked.
“She’s got that boyfriend, Neil, wrapped around her little finger. You should ask him.”
“We did,” Spencer said.
“Ask again. If Sky was going to reach out to anyone, it would be that pencil neck.”
“When did Skylar find out you were her biological father?” Spencer asked.
“The kid is very smart. She always knew she wasn’t like Mark.”
“How so?” Spencer asked.
“Temperament. Interests. Apparently, kids like Sky sense when they don’t exactly fit into a family.” Another inhale and exhale of smoke. “Anyway, she tested her DNA against Mark’s, and it proved her instincts were right.”
“Did she ask her mother?” Spencer inquired.
“No. Like I said, Sky’s no fool. She knows Hadley would never come clean with her. Sky dug around in Hadley’s old papers in the attic and found a picture of Hadley and me. The kid looks like me. There’s no getting around that. I came out of work one day, and the kid was standing there. She asked me to dinner. We hit it off.”