holding up his injured arm, and he appeared to wince as he scooted to the door. Pollard, a portly man with thin graying hair, wore a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, a blue tie, and polished black shoes.
Nikki McDonald was on scene and ignoring another reporter who was trying to get her attention. Vaughan had to give her props for her dogged pursuit of this story.
Pollard glanced at Nikki and then Vaughan before he whispered a few words to Foster. Like a windup doll, Foster stumbled toward Vaughan.
“This is my house,” Foster shouted. “I have a right to go inside. You can’t keep me out!”
“Yes, we can, Mr. Foster,” Vaughan said calmly. “This house is a crime scene, and we need to preserve as much evidence as we can.”
A few of the neighbors appeared on their porches or in front windows. Two news vans rolled up at the end of the block with their reporters and camera crews spilling out of them.
“The house is covered in my wife’s blood!” Foster shouted. “It’s not right.”
“No, sir, it’s not right,” Vaughan said. “But we have to tolerate it for now.”
Rodney Pollard put his arm around Foster’s shoulders. “Mark, you came here to make a statement. What do you want to say?”
The pain in Foster’s eyes appeared genuine. Even if Foster had planned to murder his wife as Spencer had suggested, he certainly couldn’t have been expecting this mess. “Yes, I have something to say.”
The cameramen and reporters edged closer, but it was Nikki McDonald and her GoPro that made it to the prime spot first.
“I want my wife and daughter back,” Foster said. “I will do whatever it takes to get her safely home. I love you both very much.” Tears welled in his eyes and then spilled down his face. He wiped them away and clenched his fingers into fists. “Please don’t hurt my girl.”
Vaughan was struck immediately by his use of the singular. My girl, not my girls. Her. Not them. It could have been the meds and stress addling him.
Pollard looked at the cameras with the practiced confidence of a man who was comfortable with the spotlight. “Mr. Foster loves his family, and he’s just as much a victim in this case as his wife and daughter. If anyone knows anything about Hadley or Skylar Foster, call the police or my office. We’re prepared to pay a reward for any information leading to their safe return.”
A reward would ensure twice the number of bogus calls.
“Detective Vaughan,” Nikki said, “is there any link to this crime and the recent identification of Hadley Foster’s sister?”
“No comment at this time.”
All the reporters began to volley questions at Vaughan. The back-and-forth between media and law enforcement went on for another twenty minutes before Vaughan called a halt to the conference and ordered everyone to leave.
Foster’s gaze held a mixture of sadness and anger. He appeared almost in a stupor. “Find my wife and daughter. There has to be someone out there who knows something.”
Sarah Pollard stepped forward and laid her hand on Mark’s. “Come to our house. You need to rest.”
“I’m not leaving my own house.” Foster snatched his arm from Mrs. Pollard’s grip. “I have a right to be here.”
Vaughan’s frown deepened. “You’re not helping your wife and daughter. Let us do our job.”
“Come to our house,” Pollard urged. “It’s quiet, and you can sit down. You look like you can barely stand.”
“I can’t sleep or rest now,” Foster said.
“No one is going to get any rest until Hadley and Skylar are found,” Spencer said. “Let us escort you to the Pollard house.”
Foster’s shoulders slumped forward, as if whatever adrenaline had fueled him had run dry. They crossed the side alley between the two privacy fences and made their way up the Pollards’ back steps into the sunroom that overlooked the Fosters’ house. By the time Mark Foster sat, he was pale and drawn.
“I’ll get us something to drink,” Mrs. Pollard said.
“Thank you, dear,” Pollard said.
Foster relaxed against large floral pillows that all but molded around his body. His face was pale, and his left hand trembled slightly. “Where are my wife and daughter?”
Vaughan asked Pollard, “Can you give us some privacy, please?”
“Pollard can stay,” Foster said. “I need all the friends I can get now.”
“I’m also his lawyer,” Pollard said. “Mark is not talking to you without representation.”
“Mr. Foster, do you feel like you need a lawyer?” Vaughan asked. “We are on the same side.”
Foster looked toward his neighbor. “Rodney says