I See You (Criminal Profiler #2)(13)

“The cops must have asked me that question a million times,” Hadley said. “I didn’t know of any, and I don’t remember any unusual characters coming by the house. There were no red flags.” She touched the edge of the picture and pushed it away so that her sister’s brown eyes were not staring at her. “I still can’t believe she’s really dead.” She shook her head. “I always held out hope.”

“Would she have had a reason to run away?” Spencer asked.

“No. At least not that I knew of. She was going back to school. Mom and Dad were so proud of her, and they gave her the best education they could afford.” She sat back, plucking an invisible hair from her pant leg. “Do you really think, after all this time, you can figure out what happened to Marsha? It’s been eighteen years.”

“I don’t know,” Vaughan said. “Time can sometimes work to our advantage. People who didn’t talk before are willing now. Forensic technology has improved.”

“Why would someone talk to the cops now, if they didn’t back then?” Hadley asked.

“A killer confesses to a loved one or friend. The killer has a falling-out with this person, and they tell the police what they know. Or the killer dies, and whoever was holding their secret is now willing to talk,” he said.

“Don’t they forget details?” Hadley asked.

“Sure,” Spencer said. “But sometimes fewer details are better than none.”

Vaughan shifted tactics. “Your father’s business was in financial trouble. He was highly leveraged.”

“That’s why I couldn’t go to college. If you want the exact numbers, you should talk to Mr. Slater. Henry Slater. He worked for Dad, and he bought the business after Dad died. The paving business goes by a different name now, but it’s still at the same location.”

The front door opened, and footsteps sounded in the foyer. “Mom! Dad and I are home!”

“My daughter and husband,” she said. “Mark knows, of course, but we’ve never told Skylar about any of this. She doesn’t know what happened to my family.”

“We understand,” Vaughan said. “We’ll take our lead from you.”

Hadley stood. “In here.”

Mark and Skylar Foster appeared in the door, both pausing when they saw Vaughan and Spencer. Skylar was petite and blond like her mother. She wore capri pants, a loose top, and sandals. She clutched a jeweled pink phone case and had a red backpack slung over her shoulder.

Mark Foster was tall and lean and wore crisp black suit pants but had loosened his red tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“What’s the deal?” Skylar asked. “Everything all right?”

“Of course,” Hadley said. She rose and crossed to Mark, kissing him softly on the cheek. He stood straight and did not lean into the kiss.

“This is FBI special agent Zoe Spencer and Detective William Vaughan,” Hadley said. “They had questions about an old cold case that, turns out, has nothing to do with me. They were just leaving.”

Vaughan and Spencer both rose. The appearance of her family clearly made Hadley very uncomfortable. Like it or not, she was not going to say another word.

Mark extended his hand to Vaughan and Spencer. “What cold case?” he asked.

“A girl went missing eighteen years ago,” Spencer said. “We thought she might have known your wife.”

Mark glanced toward Hadley, as if trying to gauge her state of mind. He laid his hand on his daughter’s shoulder but said nothing.

Skylar’s frown was a mirror image of her mother’s. “What girl?”

“It would have been before you were born,” Mark said.

“Who was she?” the girl pressed.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Hadley said. “I don’t want to hold up the detective and the agent.”

The girl did not appear satisfied but seemed to sense she would get nowhere with her mother with them present.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more of a help,” Hadley said.

“Thank you again for your time,” Vaughan said.

Spencer followed. “I can call you if I have more questions?”

“Certainly,” Hadley said.

They each handed Mark and Hadley a business card, and the couple escorted them to the front door. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

Mark’s gaze grew more pensive. “Thank you.”

Vaughan nodded as a smiling Hadley Foster closed the front door with a soft click. The locks slid back into place.

The two walked down the steps and along the sidewalk. They moved past a black Lexus and an Explorer parked in the driveway. “Wasn’t that interesting,” she said.

“I would have expected more shock from Hadley about the recovery of her sister’s body. But she seemed more worried about why witnesses talk years later.”

“The more perfect families and homes appear, the less I tend to trust them.”

On that, they agreed. “Hadley’s created a picture-perfect life here.”

“She’s holding on so tight I’m surprised her knuckles aren’t white.”

“Sounds like experience talking.”

She arched a brow but pivoted away from the very overt attempt to know more about her. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Slater. He knew the family back in the day and might have a few insights.”