I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(37)

“I just do.” Becky opened the door wider. “Look, I’m married now to a good man, and I have a son. I don’t want to get dragged back into all that mess. I don’t want them to know about Larry.”

“I won’t pull you into this story. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to Marsha.”

She shook her head. “You said something like that to me the first time, and then my name was all over the news.”

“If I could just ask a few more questions—”

“No. I’m done. Don’t ever come back.” Becky slid behind the door and slammed it closed.

Nikki stared at the pineapple ornament attached to the door. It was not lost on her that the adornment symbolized hospitality. It certainly was not the first door slammed in her face, nor likely would it be the last.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Tuesday, August 13, 12:30 p.m.

Alexandria, Virginia

Just over Five Hours after the 911 Call Vaughan parked in front of the ten-story office building where Roger Dawson worked. This strip of Duke Street straddled the new business district, filled with modern high-rise offices, and Old Town’s historic section. The former was home to law firms, associations, and corporate headquarters; the latter was packed with brick and clapboard buildings originally built by tobacco traders generations ago.

Spencer matched his pace as they walked inside the sleek tiled lobby to the security desk. Each showed their credentials, and the guard on duty pointed them toward a bank of gold-plated elevators. The doors opened, and Vaughan pressed six.

“Is this the firm that Foster works for?” Spencer asked.

The elevator doors closed, and the car ascended. “No. I’m not sure how Mark figures into all this,” Vaughan said, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

Each kept their theories to themselves as the elevator stopped and then opened to a large gilded sign that read WEIDNER AND KYLE. A receptionist verified their identification, escorted them toward the corner office, and knocked on the closed door before cracking it and saying, “Mr. Dawson. The police.”

“Send them in.”

Vaughan and Spencer entered and found themselves staring at a lean man wearing dark suit pants, a white shirt, and a blue tie. His dark hair was thinning, and thick round glasses magnified owlish dark-brown eyes.

A dozen diplomas hung on the wall, and a mahogany credenza featured Dawson in various scenarios, including a shot with Hadley and Mark Foster.

When the door closed, Dawson asked, “Tell me what is going on with Hadley. And where the hell is Mark? I called him after I got off the phone with you, and he’s not picking up.”

“Mr. Foster is in the hospital recovering from surgery,” Vaughan said.

“Surgery? Has there been an accident?”

“Mr. Foster was attacked in his home at about seven o’clock this morning,” Vaughan said.

“Jesus. Is he all right?”

“He appears to have suffered superficial wounds,” Spencer said.

“Where are Hadley and Skylar?” Dawson asked.

“They’re missing,” Vaughan said. “We’re hoping you might be able to tell us where they might be?”

“Missing.” He shook his head. “How could they be missing? I just talked to Hadley last night.”

“I noticed you called her several times this morning,” Spencer said. “Are you two close?”

“She’s a friend,” he said quickly. “She’s also my personal trainer. She was supposed to meet me at the gym this morning but missed our appointment. She never misses, and I became worried. If she’s missing, how did you get her phone?”

Spencer ignored the question. “I’ve worked with a personal trainer for years,” she said. “She missed one of our sessions last year, and I called her once. Not multiple times.”

“I guess mine was better than yours. And I can be obsessive when I don’t have an answer.”

“Is she more than a personal trainer?” Vaughan asked.

“What do you mean? She and Mark are both my friends.” Dawson reached for the cuff of his tailored shirt and tugged it.

“How did you two meet?” Vaughan asked.

“I met her through Mark. He and I have crossed paths professionally for years at various conferences. My ex-wife and Hadley are good friends.”

“How long have you been divorced?” Spencer asked.

“Why are you asking me these questions?” Dawson challenged.

“Until we can locate Hadley and Skylar, I’m going to be asking a lot of nosy questions,” Vaughan said. “You do want to help, don’t you?”

“Of course, of course,” he rushed to say. “I’ve been divorced a year. Have you asked Mark where his wife and daughter are?”

“He claims he doesn’t know,” Vaughan said.

Head shaking, Dawson dropped his gaze to the tips of his polished shoes. “Ask him again.”

“What does that mean?” Vaughan asked.

“He and Hadley have not been getting on for at least a year,” he said.

“She told you this?” Spencer asked.

“Sure. When you work out with someone three times a week for almost a year, you start to talk. I dished to her about my divorce, and in the last couple of months, she opened up about Mark.”