I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(10)

“The mother had multiple sclerosis,” he said.

“That’s right,” she said. “Father was not particularly beloved by his neighbors because he was so particular about his yard. He hated it when anyone walked on the grass. But the family overall had no issues that anyone really noticed. And then his daughter vanished.”

“Marsha stayed on the FBI’s missing persons list for a long time.”

“She was removed just today.”

Vaughan tapped his finger on the faux-wood-grain tabletop. “Nikki McDonald said she received the original tip via her website. We tried to trace the sender but had no luck.”

“Not surprising. The killer isn’t ready to be caught.”

“But he could be?”

“I’m betting when the identity is made public, he’ll want more attention.”

“Why now?” Vaughan asked, more to himself.

“He needs recognition and validation to fill some kind of void in his life.”

Vaughan nodded. “He’s suffered some loss or upset in his real life. Lost a job, underwent a divorce or breakup, or maybe even his health.”

“Those are the primary triggers,” Spencer said.

“I discovered that Marsha Prince’s surviving sister now lives in Alexandria,” Vaughan said.

“After Marsha disappeared, Hadley married her high school boyfriend, Mark Foster, and they moved to Oregon. The couple has one child. In January of this year, Mark Foster accepted a new accounting job in Alexandria, and the family moved back east. Hadley is a fitness instructor. The daughter, Skylar, is a senior in high school.”

“You’d think after the pain of losing her sister, Hadley would never have returned to Alexandria.”

“Promotions are hard to turn down, I suppose.”

“I owe her a death notification, unless you’ve done that already,” Vaughan said.

“I have not. This is your jurisdiction. I’m here strictly to inform you of my findings.”

He glanced at his watch. “No time like the present. Care to join me? I know you’re as curious as I am about this case.”

She placed the photos back in her folder. “Actually, I would. I’ve spent six weeks molding Marsha Prince’s face, and I’d like to see this girl find justice.”

“We can take my car.”



Wild Blue: My mother and father always fight.

Mr. Fix it: Parents can be so selfish.

Wild Blue: I know, right? They always put themselves first. I hate the shouting.

Mr. Fix it: You shouldn’t have to live like this.

Wild Blue: I don’t want to live like this anymore.

Mr. Fix it: How about we grab dinner?

Wild Blue: I’d like that.

Mr. Fix it: When?

Wild Blue: Always easiest to sneak out on Mondays. Both my parents are always out until late.

Mr. Fix it: Tonight then.

Wild Blue: You keep me sane.

Mr. Fix it: Remember, you are very special.





CHAPTER FOUR

Monday, August 12, 4:30 p.m.

Alexandria, Virginia

One Day Before

The faint scent of french fries still lingered in Vaughan’s car as he watched Spencer click her seat belt into place. The dark interior radiated the day’s heat, but she managed to always look so cool and collected.

“Excuse the fast-food smells. I just dropped my son off at college. The kid was eating like there was no tomorrow.” He had mentioned his son in passing, but she had not asked him any questions about the boy, and when he’d inquired about her personal life, she had confirmed little beyond the fact that she was single.

“I’m sure he was a little nervous. Freshman year of college is a big deal. It certainly was for me.” She typed the address of the Fosters’ home into her phone.

“I always bought him fries after soccer practice or if I had to work a double shift. I think the fries were more for my benefit than his.”

“Feeding is a form of love. He might not have said it, but the ritual must have comforted him.”

“All I got from the kid today were grunts and silence.”

“His prefrontal cortex isn’t fully developed; add in hormones and the stress of a new life situation, and you’re bound to get a moody kid. Your son is acting as he should.”

“You should know. You’re the profiler.” He had never asked what she’d noticed about him, but he was slightly curious. “And what advice do you have for his old man?”

“Keep doing what you are doing.”

Up until now, he had tabled whatever additional questions he’d had about her personal life. “You have any kids?”

“No.”

“Did I hear something about you moving?”

“To Old Town. An uncle left me his place on Prince Street.”

He whistled. “That’s expensive real estate.”

“Don’t get me started on the electric bills.”

“You going to keep the place?”

“I don’t know. It’s crammed full of furniture and memories. Until I sort through it all, I’ll hang on to the place.”

The GPS directed him down familiar streets and then on Janney Road and finally into an upscale neighborhood. It was five fifteen when he parked in front of the Fosters’ two-story brick colonial. It had a neat front yard that managed to remain green in the brutal August heat, and parked in the gravel driveway was a late-model Ford Explorer. It was upward of three thousand square feet and, in this high-dollar neck of the woods, would have cost over a million dollars.