I See You (Criminal Profiler #2) - Mary Burton Page 0,47
you, Neil.” Vaughan wrote down his cell phone number on his business card and handed the boy his card. “If you hear of anything, call me. Doesn’t matter when. If you have to get up and leave class, do it.”
“Okay. What do I do now?” the boy asked. “Should I go and look for her?”
“No. You wait. And we’re going to keep looking,” Vaughan said.
“Do you think Sky is all right?” the boy asked. “She could be hurt or something.”
“We don’t know.” Zoe thought about the blood in the Foster house. “That’s why we’re moving as fast as we can to find her.”
“The more time that passes, the greater the chances that it won’t end well,” Vaughan said.
If his intent was to scare the boy, the kid’s pale, drawn face said he had done just that. “Call us if you hear anything,” Zoe said.
“Especially if she finds a way to reach you,” Vaughan said. “You won’t be protecting her by not telling us.”
“I’ll help. I promise.”
Vaughan obtained Jessica Harris’s address from the principal and instructed him to keep this conversation confidential and his eyes open.
Outside the school, the pair crossed to his vehicle and climbed inside.
“What did you think of Bradford?” Vaughan asked.
“He reads genuine,” she said.
“Yeah.”
As he backed out of the space, he called the forensic department and read off Skylar’s passcode to her phone. “I need any texts or emails that might seem a bit off or troublesome.”
Phone still pressed to his ear, Vaughan said to her, “He’s pulling the phone right now.”
“I’d bet money her life’s secrets are on that phone,” Zoe said.
They drove less than a block, and then Vaughan said, “Let me put you on speakerphone. I have Agent Spencer with me.”
“Hello, Agent Spencer. This is Bud Clary.”
“I’m surprised we found you in the lab,” she said.
“Just barely,” he said. “We just had the Fosters’ Lexus towed to the forensic lab, and I was checking messages. That code you gave me for Skylar’s phone worked.”
“I’m interested in both text and email messages but also any apps that have encrypted messaging options.” Several apps required an additional passcode to view communications. Keeping notes between friends seemed innocent enough until a predator twisted the app’s intent and started a dialogue with an unsuspecting teen. There had been several instances of older men communicating with young teens and grooming them for sex or prostitution.
“The texts seem fairly ordinary,” Bud said. “We have texts between Skylar and Neil Bradford. They tell each other how much they love the other or what they want to eat for dinner. Texts from Mom telling Skylar to be home for dinner.”
“What about the apps?” Zoe asked.
He read them off. “I can open all of them but one. It has a messaging feature but requires a passcode.”
“Try 1812.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work.”
Frustration elbowed at Zoe. “She was born in 2002. Try that.”
“No. Doesn’t work.”
“All right. We’ll see if we can track down her passcode. Thanks,” Zoe said.
He ended the call. “I have never been a fan of those apps.”
“Me either.”
He drove several more miles, turned on a couple of tree-lined side streets, and parked in front of Jessica Harris’s house. Like the Foster house, it was older, made of brick, and in an affluent neighborhood.
They climbed the brick steps and rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened to a woman in her midfifties with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. “May I help you?”
Vaughan and Zoe held up their badges and introduced themselves. “Yes. We are investigating the disappearance of Hadley and Skylar Foster. You are?”
The woman appeared taken aback by the news, and it took a moment before she cleared her throat and said, “Margaret Harris.”
“We understand your daughter, Jessica, is a friend of Skylar’s?” Zoe asked.
Mrs. Harris’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “I saw it on the news. Jessica has not really seen Skylar since April.”
“What about at school?” Zoe asked.
“I’m sure they pass each other in the hallways, but that’s it. I don’t see how she could help you.”
“We are talking to everyone at this stage. Sometimes the smallest detail is important. Is Jessica home?” Vaughan asked.
“Yes. She had a fever this morning, so I kept her out.”
“We’d like to talk to her,” Zoe said.
“All right. Please come in.” She escorted them to a neatly furnished living room bathed in several hues of white and beige. It was as perfect as it was cold.
“Can I get either of you a coffee?” Mrs. Harris asked.