I See You (Criminal Profiler #2)(66)

Foster’s eyes darkened as invisible weights seemed to grow on his shoulders. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His lips twitched, as if the words clamored at the tip of his tongue and begged to be spoken.

“Mark,” Mrs. Pollard said. “Rodney is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

And just like that, Foster seemed to catch himself and draw back. He looked shaken, as if he realized he had nearly stepped over the edge of the cliff. Mrs. Pollard pressed her cell into his hand, and he raised it to his ear.

She could not hear Pollard, but it was enough to buttress the man’s failing reserves.

“Okay. I won’t say a word,” he said. “I understand. Not a word.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Mrs. Pollard. “I’m going upstairs now. I’m tired.”

He rose on trembling legs, turned, and vanished around the corner in the kitchen.

Time was up.

For now.

Mrs. Pollard escorted them to the front door, and as they stepped over the threshold, she said, “Don’t come back to my house unless my husband is here.”

The door slammed, and they walked slowly toward Vaughan’s car.



Nikki lowered down in the seat of her car and stayed out of sight as Detective Vaughan and Agent Spencer exited the Pollard house. She had been reviewing her questions for Foster when the two had arrived, and judging by their grim faces going into and leaving the Pollard house, she suspected something had broken in the case.

She reached for her cell and dialed Manny’s number. He answered on the fourth ring. “I know you’re busy,” she rushed to say.

“Up to my ass in alligators.”

She crossed her fingers. “I heard about the break in the Foster case.”

“How the hell did you hear?” he said, dropping his voice.

A chorus of ringing phones and fast-paced conversations buzzed in the background. It sounded like all hell was breaking loose on his end. She could only assume that Hadley, Skylar, or both had been found dead.

“I’m good at what I do.” And then, taking a risk, she asked, “Did they transport the body yet?”

He sighed into the phone. “Yes.”

“Was it the mother or daughter?”

He cursed and lowered his voice. “You’ve got to stop calling me. I can’t keep feeding you information.”

She drew in a slow breath. “Manny, how long have we known each other? Almost twenty years. You know I don’t burn my sources.” She could hear him on the other end and knew he couldn’t fault her statement. “This will never come back on you.”

“It was Hadley.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.” He hung up, cutting her off from the chaos on his end and leaving her to sit in the silence of the car.

She texted the number of her tipster. Did you kill Hadley?

She sat for several minutes, hoping for a response. The air conditioner hummed as she lifted her gaze toward the Pollard house for a sign of Foster.

“What the hell were you expecting, McDonald?” she muttered.

She slid the phone in her purse and shut off the engine. Grabbing her notebook, she hurried across the street and up the front steps of the house and rang the bell.

Footsteps sounded; curtains fluttered and then dropped. Whoever was on the other side of the door did not open it.

“I’m Nikki McDonald, a reporter, not a cop,” she said. “I’m Mr. Foster’s chance to talk directly to the world. I can help him.”

Floorboards shifted, and then the footsteps moved away from the door.

“Don’t go. Let me help.”

The footsteps grew faint and then silent. She dug one of her cards out of her purse and shoved it in the doorjamb.

As she turned from the doorway and descended the stairs, her phone chimed with a text. She fished out the phone and read it. Hadley deserved it.

Did Marsha deserve it?

Seconds passed, and then, No. But it was still fun killing her.

Let me interview you.

You don’t want to get too close to me.

I’m not afraid. That wasn’t true, but this story was getting too big to let fear get in the way.

You should be.



He calls himself Mr. Fix It. And that’s true. He’s a marvel in an odd sort of way. Daddy would flip if he knew he’d asked me out. And that I said yes.

Marsha, August 2001





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wednesday, August 14, 11:00 a.m.

Alexandria, Virginia

Twenty-Eight Hours after the 911 Call

“What else do we know about Hadley’s past?” Zoe asked. She and Vaughan had returned to the police station and were huddled by Hughes’s desk. “In the surveillance tape taken outside the hardware store, Hadley had the look of a woman who had seen a ghost.”

Hughes reached for a folder in one of the stacks and opened it on a pile of other folders. She rummaged through a few pages. “She and her parents moved to Alexandria when she was five. She and her sister grew up in this area and attended the local public school. She was a solid A/B student and was squeaky clean until she got a speeding ticket when she was seventeen. It should have been a straightforward ticket, but her boyfriend, who was with her at the time, got an attitude with the cop. The officer ended up arresting them both. Her father got her off, but he left the boyfriend in jail.”