I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(89)

“He panics, puts both in the car,” Vaughan said. “Maybe he did want to save Hadley, but she bleeds out. Now he has to protect his daughter and save himself. Stashes the kid, dumps the body, and runs home.”

“But there are no traces of his wife’s blood on his suit clothes,” Bud said.

“He was sleeping on the couch,” Spencer said. “Guessing he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts in case his daughter happened in on him in the middle of the night. He was dressed in those clothes when Hadley was stabbed.”

“Where are the clothes soaked in his wife’s blood?” Vaughan asked. “And where did he clean up?”

Bud grinned. “I might be able to help with that one. We found traces of Hadley’s blood in Skylar’s motel room shower. We attributed that to Skylar’s shower, but her father could have cleaned up there as well.”

“Foster had a suitcase full of clothes in the trunk of the Lexus,” Spencer said.

“He dumps Hadley’s body and then takes Skylar to a motel. He dopes her up, showers, changes, ditches the bloody clothes, and runs home. He has time to stab himself and call 911 by 7:00 a.m.”

“Where’s the knife he stabbed himself with?” Spencer asked.

“It has to be in the house close to where he was found,” Vaughan said.

“Are Veronica Manchester’s or Galina Grant’s knife wounds similar to Foster’s?” Vaughan asked.

“I can’t rule that out definitely,” Bud said. “I studied pictures of the wound patterns on both women. The knife used to kill them had a shorter and wider blade.”

“Any DNA pulled from Veronica Manchester’s or Galina Grant’s bodies?” Vaughan asked.

“Hair fibers. Semen samples. All of it’s been sent off for testing, but that could take weeks. Do you still think the two cases are linked to Hadley Foster’s murder?”

“All the women had a very similar look, lived within twenty miles of each other, and two of the three knew Mark Foster,” Vaughan said.

“It could be a coincidence,” Bud offered.

Vaughan raised a brow. “How often do those really happen?”

“Almost never.”



Nikki parked in front of the nondescript trilevel home on the tree-lined Alexandria street. A FOR RENT sign was in the front yard, left worn and brittle by the August heat. As the AC blew against her skin, she felt oddly flushed as she stared at the house where the Princes had lived seventeen years ago.

She grabbed her bag and got out of the car, wondering where the years had gone. She simply had not noticed the time zooming past until she had seen herself on tape and now. Shit. She felt old.

Within seconds, the day’s heat made her perspire as she walked past the sign and up the brick sidewalk covered with weeds growing up through the cracks in the mortar. Her hand slid along the wrought iron railing as she climbed the stairs. Memories flashed as the day’s heat seemed to close in on her. There had been a tremendous amount of chaos and confusion when Marsha Prince had first gone missing. The area had been swarming with cops, and many of the neighbors had been terrified that their own children might be at risk. Many had not wanted to talk to her for fear their children would be targeted by the unseen assailant.

A car door closed behind her, bringing her back to the present. She turned to see a trim young woman dressed in a bright-red dress and sensible heels with a flash of gold at her wrists and ears. The woman’s hair was swept into a practical ponytail.

Nikki found a smile as she pulled back her shoulders. “Ms. Westwood?”

Sure, quick heeled steps clicked over the cracked sidewalk. “Yes. Romi Westwood. I’m with the property-management company, and this house is one of my listings.” Green eyes narrowed. “You’re the reporter.”

“I am.”

“Weren’t you put on leave or something?”

“I was.” She sidestepped any explanations or apologies. “I would like to see the house. Is that possible?”

A frustrated sigh shuddered over her lips. “You aren’t interested in renting it, are you?”

“I should have been more forthcoming on the phone, but no, I’m not interested in renting. I’m working a story about the Prince sisters.”

Romi shook her head, her expression a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “I knew it was too good to be true. This house has always been difficult to rent.”

“With so many people coming and going from the Northern Virginia market, I’m surprised it’s an issue.”

“You would think the house was cursed.” The young woman dropped her gaze to her phone.

As Romi seemed to tune her out, Nikki said, “You heard I was the one who found Marsha Prince’s body, right?”

Romi looked up. “I don’t watch the news. Bums me out too much.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one who got the tip and discovered the skeletal remains in a trunk.” She added the last bit as a teaser, hoping to appeal to the darkness that lingered in everyone. “I’m trying to figure out who killed Marsha Prince.”

“Does it really matter?” Romi asked. “I mean, it’s been years.”

“I think it does matter,” Nikki said with an edge to her tone. “Especially now that her sister, Hadley Foster, was found murdered.”