As Foster studied him closely, the color drained from his face. “I should call Pollard.”
“That would be a good idea. I’ll arrange it.”
“Shouldn’t you read me my rights?” Foster asked.
“You’re not under arrest.” He leaned forward. “When my son was born, I felt on top of the world. I wasn’t more than a kid myself, but I loved that boy from the start. Was it that way with Skylar?”
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I was a goner the first time she smiled at me.”
“I’d do anything to protect my boy.”
“What are you getting at?” Foster asked.
“Where is Skylar?”
Foster was silent for a moment, and then he sat back and drank more coffee. “I don’t remember.”
Vaughan rose and closed the interview room door behind him. Spencer came out of the room across the hallway. They walked down the hall and away from the door.
Before she could speak, he said, “He’s lying.”
She shook her head. “He spoke about his wife’s death with vivid detail. But when he spoke about his daughter’s death, the tone and description deviated significantly. I think Skylar is still alive.”
“But where?”
“He’s stashed her somewhere. I don’t know if she’s locked up or just in hiding. But he doesn’t want us to talk to her.”
“Because she knows exactly what happened?”
“You know as well as I do that something more happened in that house yesterday.”
He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “Absolutely.”
“We’ll talk to him again in a few hours. I want him to sober up here and think about what he’s told us. His first set of lies didn’t work, and I want him to realize this set won’t either. Right now, we need to talk to forensics and see what they have.”
“All right.”
Twenty minutes later, they stepped through the doors of the forensic department. Bud Clary was leaning over a microscope when Vaughan knocked on the door.
“Bud,” he said. “What do you have for me?”
“Detective.” Bud leaned back and slid his glasses to the top of his head. “We’ve just finished collecting evidence at the Foster house. It’s going to take time to process all of it.”
“That’s the problem,” Vaughan said. “I don’t have time. Mr. Foster just confessed to killing his wife and daughter.”
Bud’s mouth bunched in a frown. “Where’s the girl?”
“That’s the thing. He doesn’t remember. He claims he suffocated her and dumped the body. I was hoping there might be some forensic insight you could offer.”
“Right now, all my evidence could be used to support his story.”
Spencer’s phone dinged, and seconds after she glanced at it, she held up her hand. “Hold on, folks. I think I might have found Skylar.”
“How?”
“Jessica Harris just texted me. Neil came by to see her. He wanted to borrow some of her clothes. She thinks he’s taking the clothes to Skylar.”
“Quite the detective,” Vaughan said.
“Give me Neil’s cell number,” Bud said. “And I’ll ping his location.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Wednesday, August 14, 5:00 p.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Thirty-Four Hours after the 911 Call
When Vaughan and Spencer pulled up in front of the motel, two marked police cars were positioned across the street, per Vaughan’s instructions. He had not wanted to arrive at the location hot, because given the amount of blood found at the Foster home, he was assuming that Skylar was being held hostage, and her abductor might kill her. Four marked cars and as many uniformed officers were primed and ready as soon as he gave the signal.
Spencer got out of the vehicle and walked carefully into the manager’s office. Her body language appeared relaxed to anyone glancing into the room, and when she leaned forward, blocking the view of her hands, he knew she was showing him her badge. The manager’s stiff nod came seconds before he placed a key card on the counter.
Spencer came out, nodding to Vaughan as he got out of his car. He approached room number 210 from the west side, and Spencer moved in from the east. They each stood by the door. A television blared inside, and the faint scent of pizza drifted out.
Each removed their weapons from their side holsters, and Spencer carefully slid the key card into the lock. She removed the card with a small click as he slowly pressed down on the handle. They exchanged glances and then slammed open the door, guns drawn.
They found Neil Bradford on the bed with a piece of pizza in his mouth. He was sitting cross-legged, watching an old episode of The Walking Dead. The shower was running in the bathroom.
“What the hell,” the kid said as he moved to scramble off the bed.
“Don’t move,” Vaughan warned. “Tell whomever is in the bathroom to come out.”
At this point, who the second person was did not matter as much as controlling the scene and figuring out who he was dealing with.
The zombies on the screen screeched and howled as the human defenders fought them with spears and axes. Neil blinked and dropped his slice of pizza to the box in the center of the bed.
Vaughan moved closer to the bed with his weapon pointed. “Do it!”
“Hey, come out here.” Neil’s voice broke, and he had to clear it before he could speak again. “Come out here, now!”
The shower shut off, and seconds later, the door opened to a cloud of steam and the scent of herbal shampoo. Both Vaughan and Spencer tensed and waited.
Skylar Foster had wrapped her body in a big white towel and had another around her hair. She stared at them both with a mixture of shock and even a little annoyance.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Lights flashing from the marked cars now bounced off the motel room walls. “You remember me, Skylar? I’m Detective Vaughan. Alexandria Homicide.”
Whatever annoyance he thought he saw vanished, and she said quickly, “I remember you. How’s my mom?”
Spencer stepped forward and moved past the girl to check the bathroom. When she indicated it was clear, he said, “Do you have clothes you can put on, Skylar?”
“Yeah, Neil brought me some from Jessica.”
Spencer holstered her weapon and then picked up the small red duffel, opened it, and then handed it to the girl. “Go change.”
Skylar’s gaze shifted to Neil, who scrambled toward the end of the bed. “Neil?”
“Go on, Sky,” the boy said. “We knew we’d have to talk to the police sooner or later.”
The girl clutched the bag close to her chest and vanished into the bathroom.
Vaughan holstered his weapon. “Neil, you were supposed to call me if you had any leads.”
“We planned to call you, but she was so upset. I just wanted to give her a little time.”
“We’ve had all the surrounding police forces looking for her,” Spencer said. “Withholding information is a crime.”
“She only called me about two hours ago,” he said quickly. “We were going to call any minute. I swear.”
“After the pizza? After her shower? When exactly?” Vaughan asked.
“Soon.” The boy’s voice raised an octave as his fear took root.
“How long have you been here?” Vaughan asked.
“I just arrived twenty minutes ago.”
“And she’s only just getting in the shower?” Spencer asked.
“She said she’s been sleeping since she checked in.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did she get here?” Vaughan asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You weren’t curious?” he pressed.
“Well, yeah, but I thought she would want to shower and eat first before we talked.”
“What did she look like when you arrived?” Vaughan asked.
“Exhausted. I had to pound on the door to wake her up. She could barely keep her eyes open.”
“Where are the clothes she was wearing?” Spencer asked.
“In the dumpster behind the motel. She wanted me to get rid of them right away,” Neil said.
Vaughan radioed to a uniform and asked him to check the dumpster. “Did they have blood on them?”
“Yes. But it’s not like I was hiding anything. I put them in a plastic bag, so they’ll be easy to find. She just wanted them out of the room.”
He picked up a cell phone from the nightstand. It was password protected. “Did you bring her this phone?”
“No. She had it already.”
“Where did she get it?” Vaughan asked.
“I don’t know.”
Of course he didn’t. “Open it.”
“No.” Neil puffed out his chest in a show of defiance, and Vaughan could not decide if the kid was a patsy or a master manipulator. So far, none of this case made sense.
An old air-conditioning unit hummed as Vaughan let his size crowd the boy. “I don’t want to toss you in a jail cell, but I will.”
The boy blinked and shifted his stance. “You can’t just arrest me.”
Vaughan reached for his cuffs. “You are a material witness, and I can hold you in the city jail for up to twenty-four hours.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea of what kind of guys comes through that jail on any given night?” He grinned as the boy’s eyes widened with worry. His comment had intended to summon frightening images, and it had.