“So, like, you think the murders are connected?”
“Seems a little odd, don’t you think? Two sisters murdered?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her phone dinged with another text, and she dropped her gaze again to the screen.
“If you show me the house, think of the stories you can share with your colleagues and on social media.”
Romi looked up and then shrugged. “I’m here, so I might as well show you around.”
“That would be great.”
“So, what are you looking for?” Romi knelt by a locked box by the door, punched in a key code, and then removed a key.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Nikki said.
Romi unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The air in the house was thick, stale, and hot. “We turned the AC off to save money.”
Nikki’s shoes clicked on the clean, polished floors as she moved to the middle of the empty living room. She glanced down the hallway toward several doors, remembering what Rose had told her. “Do you have any idea which room belonged to Marsha?”
“You’d know better than me.”
“I never was allowed in the house. Her parents weren’t fond of the media.”
“It’s a three-bedroom house,” Romi said. “Can’t be too hard to figure out.”
“True.” Nikki moved down the center hallway and stopped in the first bedroom. Opening the closet, she checked the floor and the baseboards, but all were affixed firmly in place. She repeated the process in the next room and found nothing. When she entered the third, she was again reminded of empty vaults and fools’ errands. Still, her body hummed with excitement.
In the final bedroom closet, Nikki knelt and ran her hands over the floor and the baseboards. The wood was smooth, but as she came around the last side, she noticed a small ridge. Looking closer, she saw the tiny seam. She removed a small multitool from her purse and worked it behind a baseboard that had likely been painted over several times since the Prince family lived here.
“What are you doing?” Romi asked, her patience with this adventure thinning.
“I’m not sure.” Nikki could sympathize. This entire adventure felt bogus. But still, she kept pulling on the section of wood.
“This is getting a little weird,” Romi said.
And then the wood gave way, and she saw the opening beneath it. After grabbing a small flashlight from her purse, she shined it inside the small dark hole.
The shifting of feet told her Romi had leaned forward, intrigued.
When Nikki initially did not see anything, she pushed her hand into the darkness.
“You’re going to put your hand in there?” Romi asked.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Nasty.”
Nikki opened the video app on her phone. “Can you do me a favor and tape this?”
“Sure, why not?”
For the camera shot, Nikki started the process over. She first tugged on latex gloves and inserted her hand through the opening. Her fingertips slid against the subfloor coated with grease and dirt from five decades. She’d been at the top of her game five months ago, and here she was, rooting on her hands and knees with a hand shoved in a black hole up to her forearm. Oh, how the mighty did fall.
At the very back, she felt a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be paper.
Removing the packet, she felt a sense of triumph. She had just taken another big step toward reclaiming the life she had. She looked up into the camera to make sure Romi was getting this.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the cops? This could be some kind of evidence.”
“I’m calling them as soon as I open it.” She pulled out the pile of banded papers and looked at the first page. Blood rushed to her head, and she absorbed what she was reading. “Holy shit.”
Vaughan and Spencer met Hughes in her office, and she had already prepared several surveillance clips for them to see. She downed the last of her coffee and looked up at them, her green eyes bloodshot.
“Don’t you two look chipper,” Hughes said. “Must be nice getting some sleep.”
“Don’t be hatin’, Hughes,” Vaughan said with a grin.
Her chair squeaked as she leaned back. “Yours truly has been up all night long reviewing video footage from multiple surveillance cameras. I’m amazed at all the cameras out there that are always watching.”
“What about Jason Dalton and the garage surveillance footage?” Spencer asked. “Do the recordings back up his story?”
“I did have a look at them all, and he was exactly where he said he was, working at the garage,” Hughes said.
“Meaning he could not have been the one who killed Hadley Foster,” Spencer said.
“Not unless he can teleport,” Hughes said. “I thought Foster said he killed his wife?”
“He’s sobered up now and not talking to us,” Vaughan said.
Hughes leaned back and grinned. “Then ask me what else I saw in the tapes.”
“I can tell by your expression, Hughes, that you found something,” Vaughan said.
“Let’s start with Veronica Manchester.” Hughes leaned forward, pushing aside several empty snack-size potato chip bags, and opened a file on her desktop. “This video surveillance follows the trail of Veronica Manchester’s last few days.”
She clicked on a file, and an image of Veronica frozen in midstep at the Pentagon City Mall appeared. In the clip, Veronica was walking out of the Jazz dress shop, a large shopping bag resting on her arm. She reached into her purse and removed her cell and held it up to her ear. She stopped, frowned, and looked around and then started moving at a fast pace toward the mall exit. She vanished out of sight.
Hughes clicked on another screen. “This was taken outside the north mall exit, which was the direction she appeared to be moving in when she left the dress shop.”
In this clip, Veronica exited the mall and crossed the lot toward a dark SUV. As she approached the car, the window came down. She paused to talk to the driver, who, at first glance, was not visible to the viewer.
“Wait for it,” Hughes said.
The door opened, and Mark Foster got out. He glanced from side to side, and then he kissed Veronica on the lips.
“What date was that?”
“Two days before she ‘went on vacation.’”
Hughes zeroed in on the car near the SUV. “Does this car look familiar?”
Spencer nodded. “It’s Hadley Foster’s.”
“And the driver is Skylar. She was following her father. She must have seen him kiss Veronica,” Vaughan said.
“Might be coincidental for the girl to just show up at the mall. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it,” Hughes said.
“Good work,” Vaughan said.
“Oh, I’m not finished yet. Let me replay Foster’s 911 call.”
7:00 a.m.
911: 911, what’s your emergency?
Caller: My wife has been stabbed. Kidnapped, along with our daughter.
911: Sir, what is your name and location?
Caller: I’m Mark Foster, and I’m at my home. Hurry.
911: Mr. Foster, are you injured?
Caller: I’ve been stabbed. My wife and daughter have been kidnapped.
“Now that we are reminded of the timeline, you’re going to find this interesting,” Hughes said as she clicked on another clip. “We were also able to pull the security footage from the neighbor’s home located on a diagonal to the back of the Fosters’ house.” She pulled up the image.
The black-and-white footage featured the Fosters’ backyard. It was dark, but there was a full moon.
The back door to the Foster home opened, and Hadley Foster appeared. She stretched, rolled her head from side to side, and jogged toward the back gate.
“What time was this?” Spencer asked.
“It was at 3:15 a.m.,” Hughes said.
“That’s almost four hours before the 911 call,” Vaughan said.
“A lot earlier than we first thought,” Spencer said.
“Hadley reappeared in her backyard at 4:20 a.m. through the same entrance,” Hughes continued. As Hadley walked up the back sidewalk, she pressed a hand to her side, as if she had a stitch. She vanished into the house. “Now watch the shadows by the toolshed.”
Both Vaughan and Spencer observed the inky darkness shrouding the back corners of the yard. It was totally still, and then seconds after Hadley went into the house, something moved. It was impossible to make out who was there, but it was clear there was something.
“An animal?” Vaughan asked.
“That’s what I thought at first. Keep watching.” Seconds later, a figure appeared wearing jeans and a hoodie. They both waited and watched, willing the figure to step into the light.
And then a security light tripped, and the face of Skylar Foster came into view.
“Skylar was up,” Spencer said.
“What the hell was Skylar doing outside?” Vaughan asked.
“Teenagers aren’t always asleep in their own beds,” Spencer said. “She could have been sneaking home.”
“From where?” Vaughan asked.
“Neil Bradford is the logical choice,” Spencer said. “But who knows.”
“Mark said she was in her room when the attack happened,” Vaughan said.