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Mrs. Bradford, who had clearly been listening, came into the room, scowling. For a mild-mannered woman, she looked particularly fierce, as if she were a mama bear ready to defend her cub. “It’s time you both go. I know you have a job to do, but right now, this girl needs rest. She’s had a terrible shock and needs time to heal.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Zoe said. “There is so much more we need to discuss.”
“Call me in the morning, and we’ll see. Now leave, or I’m calling social services and my friend the judge.”
Zoe and Vaughan exchanged glances and, with little choice, knew they had to go.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Zoe said to Skylar.
The girl was already reaching for the channel selector and aiming it at the television. A click, and the slasher movie reappeared.
Zoe and Vaughan left the house, and once they were sitting in his car, both found themselves staring back at the house.
“She’s totally distanced herself emotionally from what has happened,” Zoe said.
“That girl is smarter than she lets on. She also remembers more than she’s saying.”
“Agreed. I want to talk to Jason Dalton again. He’s had quite a bit of contact with Skylar this year.”
“He acted like he didn’t care about her.”
“I don’t believe him.” Her phone rang. “Nikki McDonald is calling.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thursday, August 15, 11:00 a.m.
Fifty-Two Hours after the 911 Call
Alexandria, Virginia
Zoe and Vaughan walked through the front door of the police station to find Nikki McDonald pacing. The reporter appeared impatient to the point of agitation, but Zoe found she had very little patience of her own.
“Ms. McDonald,” Vaughan said.
“Finally,” she said.
“I didn’t realize it was an emergency,” he said.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked. “I have news about Marsha Prince.”
Vaughan’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “Come upstairs.”
“Agent Spencer,” Nikki said. “I know you’ll want to hear this.”
The trio made their way up the elevator to a second-story conference room. As they sat at a small conference table, Vaughan closed the door and asked as they sat, “What do you have?”
“I’ve been chasing old leads on the Marsha Prince case since Agent Spencer identified her,” she said. “I spoke to Larry Prince’s former secretary, Hadley, and Marsha’s cousin. I even visited their old house.”
“Why?” Vaughan asked.
“The cousin remembered that Marsha used to keep a diary. She also remembered she kept it hidden in the closet in her room. Long story short, I found the diary.” She reached in her bag and pulled out a plastic bag containing a stack of banded papers.
Zoe and Vaughan both pulled latex gloves from their pockets and tugged them on. “Did you wear gloves when you handled this?”
“I sure did. And in full disclosure, I’ve photographed the contents.”
“I assume you’ve read it?” Vaughan asked.
“That’s exactly why I’m here.” She sat back, folding her arms over her chest and looking very pleased. “Basically, Hadley wasn’t just mildly resentful of Marsha, as several have suggested. Hadley hated her sister.”
“Says who?”
“Marsha, in her diary.”
“And you’re sure Marsha wrote it?” Zoe asked.
“I am, but I’m sure you’ll need a handwriting expert to confirm it.”
“Continue,” Vaughan said.
“Marsha details several occasions when Hadley either followed her around, spread lies, or out-and-out punched her. Even their cousin mentioned that no one wanted to get on Hadley’s bad side. I’m not sure she’d have told me about the diary if Hadley were still alive.”
“Did Hadley hate her sister enough to kill her?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t know if she had the nerve to pull it off herself,” Nikki said. “Marsha’s entries suggest Hadley wasn’t the type to do her own dirty work.”
“Like Mark?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t think Mark was her boy. He truly respected Marsha. Plus, he was a bit of a Boy Scout. He was always calming Hadley down and keeping her from doing something stupid.” Nikki drew in a breath. “I have no proof,” Nikki said. “But if I were you, I’d take a hard look or two at Jason Dalton.”
“Dalton.” Like Nikki said, there was no solid proof yet of his involvement, but more and more indicators were pointing toward him.
Nikki raised a brow as she dropped her gaze to her phone. “Marsha’s last entry was dated August second, 2001. It read: I’m a little nervous. He asked me out. Not my kind of guy at all. But that smile makes it so tempting. Hadley heard me talking to him and was actually nice to me. She said he’s cool and that I should go.” She looked up. “Who do we know with the killer smile?”
“Jason,” Zoe said.
“He strikes me as the bad boy who acts before he thinks. Aggressive, and not just with men,” Nikki said.
“But we know from the garage video footage that he couldn’t have attacked Hadley in her home,” Vaughan said.
Nikki shook her head. “The only murder I’m chasing is Marsha Prince’s. And I think Jason is your boy for that one.”
When Zoe and Vaughan pulled up to the garage, Jason was parking a late-model sports car on the side lot. He got out, walked to the front desk, and left the key with his boss.
As Zoe and Vaughan approached, he reached for a rag in his back pocket and wiped his hands. “I heard Mark confessed.”
“Did you hear that he also recanted and is out?” Vaughan replied. “He’s still maintaining there was a masked intruder.”
“I hope you don’t believe his bullshit,” Jason said.
“I don’t believe anyone at this point unless it’s substantiated,” Vaughan countered.
Jason eyed them warily. “How’s Skylar?”
“She’s staying with friends,” Zoe said. “She’s holding up as well as can be expected.”
“Probably at her boyfriend’s house. She’s got a lot of her mother in her. She likes having a man in tow.”
“Tell me more about Hadley and her sister, Marsha,” Vaughan said.
“What does Marsha have to do with any of this?”
“You knew her pretty well, didn’t you?” Zoe asked.
Jason walked over to the soda machine, fed in four quarters, and made a selection. The can rattled through its insides and dropped down the chute with a clunk. He grabbed the can, popped the top, and took a long drink. “Sure, I knew her. She wasn’t around as much as Hadley.”
“But you were sleeping with her.” Zoe couldn’t confirm this yet, but she let the statement sit.
“Who says?” Jason demanded.
“Marsha. It turns out she kept a journal about you.”
“I hope she said nice things.” Jason shrugged and then grinned. “Sure, we slept together once. We had fun, but I was smart enough to know that we were going in separate directions.”
