He frowned and blinked, as if trying to remember. “No, I guess not.”
“When you got home that night, did you realize she’d been with Roger Dawson?”
He shook his head. “No. She was home when I got home. We didn’t speak until the morning.”
Vaughan reached for a memory, hoping it would appeal to Foster. “When my marriage went south, it didn’t happen right away.” The sincerity of his own words surprised him, and it wasn’t lost on him that he was having this conversation with a suspect in front of Spencer. “It was a slow and steady downhill slide.”
Foster’s hand trembled a little when he took a sip of coffee. “It sneaks up so slowly you don’t see it coming.”
Again he let the silence simmer. “Is that when you reached out to Veronica Manchester?”
He looked up, his gaze earnest. “Yes, but I broke it off.”
“Did you? Your phone records recorded multiple conversations recently, and we found no text that suggested a breakup.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a text. Maybe I called her from the office phone. I just don’t remember.”
“Where is she now?” he asked casually.
“Vacation. In France.”
“She kept in touch with her friends while she was traveling?”
“Not that I heard of.”
Vaughan tapped a finger on the table, trying to figure out if this guy was telling the truth or playing him for a fool. DNA, surveillance tapes, and possible new eyewitness testimonies would eventually tell the story, but what he needed now was to find Skylar.
“Tell us about yesterday. How did it start?” Vaughan asked.
“Like it always does.” Foster sipped his coffee. “It was very ordinary. I got up, and Hadley wasn’t in bed but out for a run. She likes to get up early and get a workout in before she sees her clients.”
“She’s dedicated.”
“More likely, obsessed.”
“Did that bother you?” Vaughan asked.
“Not when we first married. I knew she was carrying the guilt over Marsha. I thought it would get better, but it only got worse, and after a while, it bugged the hell out of me.” The frown lines on Foster’s face deepened, and he looked as if he was ready to slip back into his brooding silence.
Vaughan scratched his chin. “You wake up. She’s out running.”
He dropped his gaze to the coffee. “I went downstairs to make coffee. I checked email on my phone, and when the pot was brewed, I took a cup up to Skylar. She’s always slow to wake up.”
“You were downstairs having your coffee?”
“Yes, and then I went upstairs for a shower and to get dressed for work. I had an early morning. While I was putting on my tie, I heard Hadley come upstairs.”
Vaughan sensed the truth was thinning and the lies growing. “What happened next?”
Foster swallowed more coffee and, for a long moment, stared at a deep scratch in the wooden table. “After I gave Sky her coffee, Hadley called out to me. She was pissed about something, and I chose not to answer. It only fueled her anger, and she blurted out that she loved Roger and was leaving. I don’t remember much after that. I was angry because we were supposed to be trying to fix our marriage for Skylar’s sake. I saw white and barely remember going to the kitchen and getting the boning knife. I came back, and I stabbed that bitch in our bedroom.”
“Where was Skylar?” Vaughan asked.
Mention of his daughter’s name made him stiffen. He closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the image of her.
The pain crimping the man’s face felt genuine. His pain was real. But murder and regret often went hand in hand. Lashing out in the heat of the moment often led to a lifetime of regret. Murderers were people. They did suffer guilt. But that sense of remorse did not exonerate them from punishment.
“Skylar screamed. She was standing behind me and saw what I’d done to her mother.” Foster pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed slowly in clockwise circles. “Hadley was making the worst gurgling sound. She was struggling so hard to breathe. The look in her eyes.” He swallowed. “She was shocked.”
“What did Skylar do next?”
“Nothing. She kept screaming. I had to stop the sounds. I didn’t think, but I reacted. I told her to help me get her mother in the car. I told her we had to get to the hospital.”
None of the neighbors he’d spoken to had reported screaming. “Did you intend to go to the hospital?”
“At first, yes. Sky got in the back seat with Hadley. She was cradling her mother’s head as I drove. Skylar kept saying, ‘Daddy, help me. Mommy’s not breathing.’”
It was another lie. He knew from the examination of Hadley’s body that she had been facedown in the back seat. Once he had Foster’s version of events, he would compare every word of it to the evidence. “But you didn’t make it to the hospital.”
“Skylar said Hadley stopped breathing. She said there was no pulse. I pulled into the entrance of the park and checked Hadley. She was dead. The hospital was pointless. I panicked because I didn’t want to go to jail. I picked her up in my arms, carried her to the creek bank, and laid her down. I threw the knife into the creek.”
“Where was Skylar?”
“She was in the car. At first she was quiet, but then she started screaming. She was making so much noise. I just wanted her to be quiet. I put my hand over her mouth. She struggled. I kept pressing harder and harder, and then finally she crumpled in my arms. It was too late when I realized she had suffocated.”
“Where did you take her body?”
“I don’t remember. I was in shock and just started driving. I remember leaving her somewhere safe. And then I went home. I stabbed myself and made up the story about the attacker.”
Vaughan studied the man for a few moments. “Mr. Foster, we need to find Skylar.”
“I don’t know where she is,” he stammered. “I don’t remember.”
“How many pain meds have you taken, Mr. Foster?” Vaughan asked.
“I don’t know. I got a little confused and took an extra, but I am clearheaded.”
“You told me yesterday a masked intruder broke into your house.”
“I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. Now I do.”
“You’re inebriated. You need to go home and sober up, and then we can talk again.”
“Why? I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I just confessed to two murders! Case is closed. You win. Isn’t that what you want from me?”
“It’s not a win until I have the truth,” Vaughan said.
Foster slumped back in his chair. “It is the truth. It’s all my fault.”
“If you killed your daughter, where is Skylar’s body?” Vaughan pressed.
“I don’t remember!” Foster shouted.
Foster was not in his right mind. Vaughan was sure of it. And he was not convinced that Foster had killed his child. So why was he putting them through this dog and pony show? Was he trying to protect Skylar in some way?
Vaughan shifted in his seat, slowly tapping his index finger on the table. “Veronica Manchester is not on vacation, Mr. Foster. She’s dead.”
Foster stared at him with a blank expression. “What?”
“She was stabbed to death roughly ten days ago, and her body was dropped in a dumpster. Did you kill her as well?”
Foster’s face turned ashen, like a guy who had just taken a right cross. “No. I didn’t kill her.”
“Who would?” he asked.
Foster’s gaze took on a wild expression, as if he was witnessing a litany of dark scenarios. “I have no idea.”
“When did you find out that Skylar was not your biological child?” Vaughan asked, matter of fact.
“What the hell?” Foster whispered. “Skylar is my daughter.”
“I have no doubt you love her. You raised her. But you’re not her biological father.”
Foster folded his arms. “She’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”
“We know Skylar was in communication with a man through a password-encoded app on her phone. We also know she was having weekly meals near a garage where Jason Dalton now works.”
“I love Skylar. That will never change.”
Several times, he had used a present tense verb when referring to his daughter. “Was Hadley sleeping with Jason Dalton back in high school?”
Foster dug his thumbnail into a scratch on the table. “When she told me she was pregnant, I saw it as a sign of hope. I thought the baby would help her get over her sister’s death.” He swallowed. “I guess that’s been bubbling under the surface all these years, and that’s why I killed them both.”
“Did you tell your attorney you were coming here today?” Vaughan asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He’d have tried to stop me.” Foster chewed on the end of his thumbnail.
“You aren’t in your right mind, and your story is not matching up with what I’ve seen at your house. As time goes on, I will get more forensic data, and I’ll get a clearer picture of what really happened in that house.”