“What have you found out so far?” Vaughan asked.

“The initial assault occurred in the bedroom, as I first thought. The victim was carried down the stairs and out the garage door to where the Lexus was parked. There’s also a sizeable bloodstain by the entryway. Because Foster was found bleeding by the front entrance, we can assume that blood is his, but I can’t confirm until I run DNA.”

“You’ve sent off samples?” Vaughan asked.

“A couple of hours ago. We are collecting DNA from hair fibers in both the mother’s and daughter’s bathrooms as well as the blood drawn from Foster at the hospital. I’m also expediting the testing of the blood samples taken from the Lexus. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

In the world of DNA matches, that was quick, but in the life of a missing kid, hours mattered.

“Bud, what about Skylar’s phone?” Vaughan asked. “You said you found it?”

“That’s correct,” Bud said.

“Were you able to access it?” Spencer asked.

“No. But a Neil Bradford called shortly after we recovered it. I answered it. Bradford sounds like a young kid, and he says that he’s her boyfriend.”

Vaughan scribbled down the name and number for Bradford. “Where’s the kid now?”

“He said he was calling from the local high school, and he was worried about Skylar because she was supposed to meet him.”

“Thanks, Bud,” Vaughan said.

Vaughan and Spencer walked into the house, and she moved directly toward the kitchen. She stood beside the Washington Redskins mug. “The cup’s full, but he said he drank half the cup. It’s a small detail, but they eventually add up.”

Vaughan looked out the window toward the trash cans and the recycling bin. “Foster also said he put the recycling bin out.”

Her gaze trailed past his toward the backyard and the blue-and-white plastic container filled with bottles. “There could have been another bin.”

“There were no others on the street. Small detail number two.”

“That blows his reasoning for leaving the front door unlocked.”

“The sun’s up at 6:19 a.m.,” Vaughan said. “Folks in this neighborhood are getting up and going to work. It’s busy around here, and someone should have seen a masked intruder. Foster called 911 at 7:00 a.m., which means the attack occurred at this peak time.”

“Maybe Foster got the time wrong. Maybe he passed out after he was stabbed. Maybe whatever happened occurred much earlier,” she said.

“Maybe. Fewer potential witnesses and less traffic between here and the cemetery. Want to start knocking on doors and talking to the neighbors?” he asked.

“I want to talk to Skylar’s boyfriend first,” she said. “If there’s something wrong at home, a teenage girl is likely to confide in her boyfriend.”

“He’s in school now, but it won’t be hard to pull him out of class to question him.”

“Let’s go.”

Zoe relaxed back in her seat as Vaughan drove the fifteen minutes to the Alexandria public high school. Out of the car, Zoe and Vaughan crossed the lot to the main doors. Neither appeared to be interested in the small talk most cops attempted in a bid to get to know a new partner. And to be honest, it felt a little weird.

Better to keep their focus on finding Hadley and Skylar. Once they were found, she could chitchat all he wanted, or better, they simply could go their separate ways.

Through the front doors, they walked directly to the main office, where both showed their police credentials. The secretary ducked in the back and found the vice principal, who in turn consulted the principal.

Principal Fred Myers was in his midforties with a thick shock of gray hair. He wore a charcoal-gray suit and a red tie embossed with eagles, the school’s mascot. Vaughan and Zoe both shook hands with him. “I understand you’re looking for Neil Bradford?”

“Correct,” Vaughan said.

“Can I ask what this is in reference to?” Myers asked.

“His girlfriend, Skylar Foster, and her mother are missing,” Zoe said. “We’re hoping he knows something.”

He glanced in a folder. “Skylar’s name is on the absent list this morning, and my attendance secretary has noted that no one at the house answered the phone.”

“Is Skylar absent a lot?” Zoe asked.

“She has been tardy four times already, and we’re only two weeks into the new school year.”

“Was tardiness a problem last year?”

“No. She was the model student. But we see this kind of thing with seniors. They start to coast, though most have the sense to wait until they’ve made it to the winter holiday so their college applications don’t suffer.”

Vaughan offered a half smile. “What kind of student is Skylar Foster?”

“She’s always been quiet. Last spring, she got into a fight with another girl at lunchtime. Both girls denied taking the first swing. Nothing was conclusive, so they both ended up with a three-day in-school suspension.”

“Who was the girl?” Zoe asked.

“Jessica Harris. They used to be close friends but don’t even acknowledge each other anymore.”

“Is Jessica here today?” Zoe asked.

“She’s home sick.”

“Let’s start with Neil Bradford. Can you get Neil for us?” Vaughan asked.

“Sure.” He unclipped a small two-way radio from his hip and called to one of the classrooms, asking the boy to come to the office. “Neil is a really good kid. He’s vice president of the student body and well on his way to being valedictorian.”

Vaughan nodded but knew damn well from his cop experience that kids like these weren’t always angels. “I have no doubt.”

Principal Myers leaned in a fraction. “Detective Vaughan, have we met before? You look very familiar to me.”

“We met at back-to-school night last fall. My son, Nate Vaughan, was a student here.”

His eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, yes, received a partial scholarship to James Madison University.”

“That’s right.”

“Of course. I see the resemblance now. How’s he doing?”

“I dropped him off at college yesterday. He looked ready to tackle the world.”

“I heard his mother, your ex-wife, passed.”

“Last year. She had cancer.”

His words did not hitch or stutter, suggesting that their split had not been easy. It had been a year before Zoe could speak about Jeff’s passing without tearing up or having to excuse herself. But Vaughan was cool, almost unmoved.

The door opened, and a tall, lanky boy stood at the threshold. He had dark hair, a smooth baby face, and a splash of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

When Zoe and Vaughan stood, the boy looked visibly nervous as he glanced toward his principal. “Did you call me, sir?”

“I did, Neil. Close the door,” Principal Myers said in a soft tone.

The boy’s shoulders hunched slightly, and his thick hair kept falling over his eyes, forcing him to shove it back with long fingers. “Is there a problem?”

“Neil, I’m Detective Vaughan, and this is Agent Spencer. There was a break-in at the Foster house.”