I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(59)

As the bagel heated, she checked the fridge and pulled out a stick of butter. The toaster clicked off the seconds. Her phone rang; it was Vaughan.

She cleared her throat, doing her best to sound awake and alert. “Did you miss me?”

“Guess who our Jane Doe is.”

Our. A dead body seemed such an odd thing to claim as a pair, but this was police work, and partners bonded over the strangest things. “Must be good—I can hear it in your voice.”

“Veronica Manchester. Mr. Foster’s office buddy.”

A pulse of energy more powerful than any caffeine jolted her into high gear. “Do you have an address?”

“I do. I’m on my way there now. Care to join me?”

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

Fifteen minutes later, the black SUV pulled up in front of her townhome as she was wrestling with her backpack, freshly filled coffee mug, and the damn lock that required two hands. Coffee sloshed on her skin. She cursed, yanking on the door handle while turning the key. It was quite an art.

Shaking the coffee off her hands, she slid into the passenger seat.

“I can’t get over the fact that you live on Captain’s Row.” He stared at her townhome with a tinge of disbelief. “What did Uncle Jimmy do?”

She set her mug in the coffee holder and clicked her seat belt in place. “James Malone was one of the best art forgers in the world. He made a fortune before he was arrested by the FBI. Law enforcement gave him a choice to either rot in a cell or help them. Jimmy didn’t want his talent to go to waste nor his assets seized, so he put his heart and soul into finding forgeries while living quietly here, where no one was the wiser.”

“He must have been talented.”

“He was in his own right but was never a great commercial success. He decided to show the art world he was better than they were. And then taught me how to spot the fakes. His tutoring got me my job at the FBI.”

“Why tell you his secrets?”

“He wanted the world to know. Didn’t want his skills going to the grave.”

“You going to sell the house? It’s got to be worth a fortune.”

“Maybe. Eventually. I have to clean it out, and that’s going to take time.”

“Looks pretty good to me.”

“Don’t be fooled by the outside.”

“You could get two million right now even if it was crammed full of stuff.”

“That stuff contains a lot of my history. And I want to figure that out before I make a decision.” She shifted in her seat. “Now, if we are finished with the twenty questions about my strange inheritance, can we figure out who killed Veronica and abducted Hadley and Skylar Foster?”

He pulled onto the cobblestone street and drove toward the banks of the Potomac River. The moon was full and cast a bright light over the smooth waters that drifted past.

“What can you tell me about Veronica Manchester?” she asked.

“As you already know, she worked as a new accountant at Foster’s firm. She was thirty-four and from the area. That’s all I have so far.”

He drove along Union Street and then worked his way back up toward King Street and I-395. Another ten minutes, and they were in Arlington, parking in front of a high-rise modern apartment building. In the lobby, they showed their badges to the guard at the desk.

“I’m Agent Vaughan. I called you about an hour ago. Agent Spencer and I are here to see Veronica Manchester’s apartment.”

“It’s early,” the guard said.

“I know it’s early. I still need the apartment opened.” He removed a piece of paper she knew was a search warrant from his breast pocket. She had to give Vaughan credit for finding a judge so quickly and getting a warrant executed.

“I’ll take you up,” the guard said. He spoke into a two-way radio and notified his partner to work the front desk. As soon as a second guard appeared from a side door, the trio took the center elevator up to the eighth floor.

“You know your residents pretty well?” Zoe asked.

“Yes. That’s part of the job,” the guard said.

“When is the last time you saw Veronica Manchester?” she pressed.

“At least a week ago.”

“Did she travel a lot?” Vaughan asked.

“Not a lot. She works long hours and only recently started talking about a vacation to France, I think. She was real excited. I figured she was in France.”

“Do residents notify you when they travel?”

“Most do, but not all.”

The doors opened up to a simple carpeted hallway painted in light grays. At apartment number 806, the guard paused and typed a code into the keypad and pushed open the door.

The guard switched on the lights, and they found themselves staring at a modestly decorated one-thousand-square-foot apartment. She knew firsthand that rent in this area went for about three grand a month and was barely affordable on a cop’s salary, including overtime.

“Do you mind leaving us?” Vaughan asked.

The guard glanced at the neatly folded search warrant and held it up. “Can I keep this?”

“It’s your copy.” Vaughan dug out his business card and handed it to the guard. “Any questions can be directed at me.”

Zoe dug out her own card. “Or me.”