I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(73)

Preston’s phone’s receiver landed in the cradle with a firm click as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Foster showed up thirty minutes ago. He said he wants to confess to his wife’s and daughter’s murders. But I’ll warn you, he seems like he’s high on pain medications.”

“So we can’t use anything he says in court,” Vaughan said.

Spencer shook her head. “Has he said where he stashed Skylar’s body?” she pressed.

Preston pursed his lips, as if pausing to control anger. “He said it doesn’t matter where his daughter’s body is now. She’s with the angels.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” Vaughan growled. “I want to know what happened to that kid.”

“That’s what I thought.” Preston nodded in the direction of the interview rooms. “He’s all yours.”

“I’m on it.” Vaughan stopped in the doorway, his mind already turning with questions. “Does Foster drink coffee or soda?”

“Coffee,” Preston said. “One sugar.”

“Thanks.”

Vaughan paused at the break room and made a fresh pot of coffee. He offered a cup to Spencer, but she declined, and he then poured one for Foster and the other one for himself. A packet of sugar and a stir stick, and he was ready to go. He had learned a long time ago that if you wanted a man to talk about his crimes, he had to believe you were his friend.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Spencer said. “It’s too easy. All of a sudden, he wants to talk? What about his lawyer? He can’t be happy about this.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Sometimes it simply is. Let me talk to him alone. I don’t want this to seem like an interrogation.”

“I’ll be across the hall, watching on closed-circuit television.”

“Perfect.”

Legal pad tucked under his arm, he entered the small interview room, where Mark Foster sat at the table. Foster cradled an empty foam cup marred by small divots dug out by his thumbnail.

Vaughan set the fresh cup of coffee, sugar, and stir stick in front of him and then sat kitty-corner to him. “Thought you could use this,” he said.

Foster blinked slowly and nodded. “Thanks.”

Vaughan sat back in his seat and casually sipped coffee he really did not want. There was an art to looking calm and friendly when all he wanted to do was reach across the table and grab him by the collar.

“Can I get you anything else?” Vaughan asked. “Are you hungry? I could get us a pizza or burgers.”

Foster let a breath trickle out over clenched teeth. He swayed slightly. “No. I don’t need anything else.”

Vaughan carefully sipped the coffee, categorizing the dozens of questions that demanded to be asked. Instead of firing the first, he paused, knowing if he built a rapport, Foster might believe they were on the same side. The goal now was not to get a pound of flesh but to find the girl.

“I know you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress,” he said. “I can’t imagine how difficult the last few days have been.”

“It’s been the worst time in my life,” Foster said, dropping his gaze to his cup. “Never did I think I’d be here.”

“I believe you.” Vaughan set his cup down and reached for a pen in his breast pocket. He clicked the end of it and let the silence settle between them, knowing it could coax some kind of conversation.

Foster reached for the sugar packet and carefully tore off the top, poured it into the cup, and stirred. “Hadley hated it when I used sugar. She said it was poison for the body.”

“You’ve got to live a little,” he said, forcing a smile.

Images of Hadley Foster’s mutilated body, as well as the dead bodies of Galina Grant and Veronica Manchester, crowded around him. He took a mental step back from the memories as he added sugar to his coffee.

“That’s exactly what I used to tell her.” Foster took a sip and set the cup down carefully.

“Was she always so set in her ways? Disciplined, I guess?”

“Not when we first met.” His mind seemed to drift. “She was carefree and so much fun. In those days, I woke up and fell asleep thinking about her.”

“When a woman gets in your blood, it’s hard to shake,” Vaughan said truthfully.

Foster looked up. “A teenage boy never had a chance against Hadley Prince. She blew into my life like a hurricane, and I was never the same.”

He leaned back, shifting tactics again. “How did you meet Hadley?”

“She was running a register at her father’s shop. Once I saw her, I applied for a job.”

“You worked there for a summer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Marsha also worked there.”

“Yes.”

“Before we talk about Hadley, I’d like to talk about Marsha Prince.” Vaughan would work the conversation around to Hadley in a minute. “Were she and Hadley close?”

“On the surface, but Hadley resented Marsha because their dad’s business had been profitable enough to send her to Georgetown. The tables turned when it was Hadley’s time to go. Marsha was still going back to Georgetown, and Hadley was headed to community college, if she was lucky.”

“Did they fight?”