Doe’s motel room,” Bud offered. “The bathroom had been wiped clean, and towels were missing. He took the towels he used with him.”
“Another similarity between the two crimes,” Zoe said.
“They are hard to ignore,” Vaughan said.
“A gut feeling?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“As long as you don’t mix gut feelings with facts,” she said.
The collection of perfume bottles was lined up perfectly on the marble countertop, and beside them was a small notebook that appeared to be a workout log. Today’s date was written on the left side, but there were no miles logged. She looked back to the neatly made bed. “I would bet money, given Hadley’s rigid schedule, she got up, dressed for her run, and then made the bed.”
“If she was able to make the bed, where was Mark?” Vaughan asked.
“It’s a three-bedroom house, and the extra room is Mark’s office. The pillows on the couch looked creased. Maybe he’d been banished to the couch.”
Vaughan tapped an index finger against his thigh, as if he was mentally cataloging and thumbing through the facts. “Bud, did the paramedics say what Mark Foster was wearing when they found him?”
“He was wearing his business suit pants, white shirt, and tie. His clothes are being tested for DNA as we speak,” Bud said.
“Maybe he had been up early,” Zoe said.
“Is there another shower in the house?” Vaughan asked.
“There’s one off the upstairs hallway,” Bud said. “It’s dry, just like the one in the master bathroom. No one showered here this morning.”
Zoe and Vaughan moved down the center staircase to the kitchen, where one coffee mug sat on the counter. It was an extra large cup and sported the Washington Redskins logo. It was half-full. She touched the cup and then the pot. “Both are ice cold.”
“A man’s mug, unless Hadley liked large cups of coffee.”
“Fingerprints will tell us more.”
Zoe shifted her attention to the wooden knife block on the counter. The set of knives was expensive, the type a chef would envy, and all the slots were filled except one. “This slot is for a boning knife.”
“To cut meat?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any sign of it in the dishwasher?”
She opened the stainless dishwasher door and peered inside to an empty interior. “No.” She searched the drawers but didn’t see it.
“It would have been handy enough for anyone to grab on their way upstairs.”
“Agreed.”
Vaughan peered out over the kitchen window, toward the backyard. “The privacy fence gate is ajar.” He checked the door leading to the patio. It was unlocked.
But the blood trail led to a side door. Again, following what amounted to forensic bread crumbs, they opened the door and stepped into an empty garage big enough for one car.
“Yesterday when we were leaving, there was a black Lexus in the driveway that had not been there when we arrived.”
“Mark’s car,” she said.
“Hadley and Skylar left via this exit,” he said.
“The few cases I’ve worked like this one were always done by an acquaintance. It’s time to talk to Mark Foster. He should be out of surgery soon.”
Vaughan checked his watch. “Now you’re talking. I’ve been ready to talk to Foster since the moment I stepped over the blood in the foyer.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tuesday, August 13, 9:00 a.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Two Hours after the 911 Call
Vaughan drove to the hospital with Spencer tailing behind. His phone rang. “Hughes, what do you have for me?”
“I’ve got the judge’s signature. Now it’s a matter of collecting the Fosters’ financial data,” she said.
With a missing child in the mix, everyone in the system was moving full steam ahead. “Great. The more we know about this family, the better. We need to trace the family’s phones and find their Lexus. It’s black, late model, and I’d bet money it has a GPS locator on it.”
“I’ll check it out.” Someone in the background shouted Hughes’s name, but she told him to wait. The homicide room was always busy, and there was never a recession in their business. Hughes, along with the rest, was juggling multiple cases. “I also heard from the medical examiner. Dr. Baldwin is going to do the autopsy on your Galina Grant.”
“The Jane Doe stabbed in the motel room?”
“Yes. I ran her prints through AFIS, and no surprise, she’d been arrested for prostitution and drug charges multiple times.” Pages flipped in the background, and he imagined her searching the battered red notebook she always carried. “She was nineteen and had been in the area for about six months. It wasn’t her first time at this motel.”
“When is her autopsy scheduled?” Vaughan