I See You (Criminal Profiler #2)(58)
Hughes studied her computer notes. “FYI, Mark Foster called the same number sixteen times in the last two weeks. It’s an unregistered phone, but I called it. The owner’s voicemail was canned, and the inbox was full and didn’t accept a message.”
“Read it off to me?” Vaughan asked. As she did, he scribbled down the number.
“Mr. Foster’s cell phone records indicated the last time he called this individual was seven days ago. They spoke for thirty-two minutes.”
“What about Skylar’s phone?” Vaughan asked.
“Most of her calls were to Neil Bradford,” Hughes said. “And there is one more number that doesn’t appear to be attached to a name. It has a North Carolina area code and, like the number Mark was calling, is a burner.”
“One thing for Mark Foster to call a burner, but Skylar?” Spencer said.
“Not all kids can afford the better phones,” Vaughan said.
He took several more bites of pizza and then dialed the number. “Let’s see.” It rang several times but never went to voicemail.
She nodded to the man’s image on the screen.
“Kids from nice neighborhoods think they’re invincible and trust too damn easily. They think that protective bubble will follow them everywhere.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wednesday, August 14, 2:00 a.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Nineteen Hours after the 911 Call
Zoe and Vaughan worked past three o’clock in the morning, reviewing the Fosters’ financial and phone records. Fatigue was settling into her body, but she pushed through it, refusing to quit. A couple of times, he checked his watch and, when he caught her studying him, smiled sheepishly and admitted he had to remind himself that Nate wasn’t home. She felt for the guy but knew there wasn’t much she could say.
They had learned the Foster family enjoyed nice clothes, fancy restaurants, and expensive jewelry, but they were in deep debt. The house had two mortgages against it, and both Hadley’s and Mark’s credit cards were nearly maxed out.
Vaughan had also discovered that Mark had taken out a three-million-dollar life insurance policy on his wife a year ago. He was listed as the sole beneficiary.
By three in the morning, Zoe and Vaughan agreed to take a two-hour break so each could swing by their home to shower and change clothes.
He walked her to her car, and she drove back to her town house, cutting down the quiet streets of Old Town Alexandria. She parked and hurried down the brick sidewalk to her front door.
Zoe’s ring of keys rattled in her hand as she twisted the old lock to the front door of her home. The hardware was brass and had stunning detail on both the handle and faceplate. However, it required finesse and jiggling to work, as if it really did not want her in the house.
She missed her modern condo with the doorman and the view of downtown Arlington and the Potomac. She also dreamed about the dual-head jet shower and the huge walk-in closet. Sure, it had had zero personality or history, but it had been convenient for work, which was what had kept her going after Jeff had died. And yet here she stood.
She closed the door behind her and hooked her purse strap on the end of the bullnose banister. Climbing the narrow staircase, she passed the wall cluttered with photo memories and paused to look at the picture of Jeff and his uncle. Both were still grinning.
It had been eight years since that picture had been taken, but it might as well have been a lifetime. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the picture.
As she climbed the last steps, she shrugged off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse. She was anxious to peel off the smells of the day and wash away the lingering scents of the crime scene. She turned on the shower, knowing the old pipes needed time to coax out hot water. As the water ran, she stripped and unfastened her hair.
A glance to the right captured the large picture of her when she had been at her peak physical shape, leaning back against a tree. She would have tossed it, but it had been a favorite of Jeff’s.
Zoe turned to the mirror and ran her hands over a belly no longer rock hard or perfectly flat. Her hips had also rounded since then, and the tone in her muscles had softened. She missed the ability to command her body to move in any direction and have it immediately obey.
She stepped under the hot spray, shifting her focus from the past to a very dark present that involved two missing women, a body in a motel room, and another stuffed in a dumpster.
She lathered her hair and washed. The warmth stoked the fatigue, and she was drawn to the unmade bed that waited for her. Instead, she turned the warm tap to cold, inhaling a breath as the chilled water smacked her skin and made her heart jump.
She switched off the water, quickly dried her hair, and dressed in a clean suit. The other would be dry-cleaned before she would consider wearing it again.
After heading downstairs, she made a cup of coffee and sipped it as she stared out her back window toward the long thin yard now overgrown with vines and weeds. She remembered visiting this house when she and her husband had first met a decade ago. It had been spring. The yard had been meticulously groomed, with its garden full of red and white tulips.
She popped a frozen bagel in the toaster, pleased with herself for stocking a few items in the freezer before she’d left for her last assignment. She set up her french press for another cup of coffee, knowing it would take at least two to shake off the dull headache.