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“I love that little girl,” he said. “I would do anything for her.”
She heard the genuine affection in his voice. “We know you do. That’s why we have to find her. We have to help her.”
“Let us help Skylar,” Vaughan said.
Foster was silent for a long moment, and then finally he shook his head, as if shoring up that tiny breach in his defenses. “Skylar is tough. She’s going to be fine. She’ll get through this.”
“You say that as if it’s a certainty,” Zoe said.
“It is.” He swallowed hard. “It has to be.”
“Come to the station with us.” Vaughan made the order sound like a request. Technically, Foster was lawyered up, and they would have to tread carefully. This case was already a tangled mess, and the knots were more likely to tighten than loosen.
Foster shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I need to speak to Rodney.”
Mrs. Pollard stood a little taller. “I’m calling Rodney. And in the meantime, I need you both to leave my house.”
Zoe and Vaughan made no move to leave. This was not the first time either had been thrown out of a suspect’s house or had pushed the boundaries to get a witness to talk.
“Teenage girls like to talk,” Zoe said. “Not necessarily to their parents but to their friends and boyfriends. They unburden even the deepest, darkest family secrets.”
Foster leaned back in his chair, puffing his chest as if to make himself look stronger. “There are no secrets to share,” he said.
“There are always secrets,” she continued. “How long had you been having an affair with Veronica?”
His lips flattened into a grim line. “Six months. I’m not proud of it at all, and for the record, I broke up with her a few days ago.”
That would have been a neat trick, considering she was dead. “You spoke to her?”
“I sent a text. What does this have to do with my daughter?”
“When is the last time you spoke directly to Veronica?” Zoe asked.
“It’s been weeks.” Foster shoved out a breath. “Why are we talking about Veronica?”
Either he didn’t know about Veronica, or he was a very good actor; regardless, she wouldn’t press the point until she found Skylar. “When girls feel ignored or unimportant, they can reach out to other people.”
“Hadley and I had our problems, but we loved our daughter.”
“Did she know you two had decided to separate?” Zoe asked.
“No. We were always careful to keep our adult conversations private.”
“Have you heard the saying ‘Little pitchers have big ears’?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she heard a lot more than you realized,” Zoe said.
“I don’t believe you. Hadley and I made mistakes in our marriage, but we always kept Skylar out of it.”
“You didn’t keep anything from her,” Zoe pressed as Mrs. Pollard rose and grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen. “I’m guessing she heard a real whopper of a secret recently. Maybe it’s why she tried to kill her boyfriend back in Oregon.”
Foster’s face paled. “That was an accident.”
“And the stalking?” Zoe asked. “Was she stalking her ex-boyfriend?”
“No. The boy was making up lies to hurt her.” His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. “You’re trying to provoke me.”
Zoe pushed back. “Something bubbled over in your home yesterday. What was it?”
“I’m calling Rodney,” Mrs. Pollard said. “This is harassment.” She began dialing and then raised the phone to her ear.
Zoe leaned closer, knowing she now had seconds before she and Vaughan would have no legal reason to remain. “What happened yesterday? What cracked in that house? There was a lot of pain and secrets. Something blew the lid off this pressure cooker.”
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.
