“Detective Vaughan and Agent Spencer,” Nikki said. “I was beginning to think you both were avoiding me.”

Vaughan grinned. “I said I’d talk to you when I had some information.”

Her eyes sparked. “And you do. Your expression gives it away.”

His smile widened. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Nikki rubbed her hands together. “I feel like this is going to be good.”

“It is,” he teased.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

On an intellectual level, Zoe understood Vaughan’s easy style worked well with those he interviewed. It was that charm that had drawn her to him initially. His life was not perfect, but he chose not to haul the baggage around with him. And seeing as she carried enough for two people, it was a welcome relief.

However, she wasn’t so crazy about the way Nikki McDonald leaned toward him when she spoke or the way she touched her hair in a flirty way.

Nikki led them down the hallway to a small waiting room furnished with four large chairs and a coffee table. Five sales brochures fanned across the sparkling glass tabletop. “The building manager uses this for sales meetings, but we can use it.”

The reporter extended her hand to the two chairs and took the one on the other side of the coffee table. She leaned back, a woman comfortable in her space. “Let’s have it.”

Zoe and Vaughan sat, and he nodded to her, giving her the go-ahead to deliver the news. “The bones you found belonged to Marsha Prince.”

Nikki’s gaze lost all hints of amusement as her gaze leveled on Zoe. “Marsha Prince. My Marsha Prince?”

“If you mean the woman who was the subject of your news reports years ago, then yes,” Zoe said.

Nikki had covered the girl’s disappearance extensively, as had many journalists in the beginning. She had floated several theories, including one that had suggested the girl had been killed by a serial killer in the Shenandoah Valley. Cops had later disproved that conclusively.

She sat back and tapped a manicured finger on the table. “This is huge.”

“Which makes it all the more important that we understand who sent you the message about the skull,” Vaughan said.

“I gave you everything I had,” she said.

“Have you been contacted in the interim?” Vaughan asked.

“No. Not another peep out of whomever this person is.”

“You reach out to the sender?”

“I have.”

“You covered the original story multiple times, and you did an anniversary report on the girl’s disappearance,” Zoe said.

“The story helped boost me up the ladder.”

“Why didn’t you include Hadley Foster in the anniversary piece?”

“I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. She was clear she didn’t want to be involved.”

“She never submitted to any interview, correct?” Zoe asked.

“No, she never would. I know the police spoke to her extensively. I tried once to get ahold of some of the interview tapes but couldn’t.”

A frown deepened the lines on Vaughan’s face. The idea that someone in his department would leak information to the media was clearly distasteful.

“The owner of the storage unit had no ties to the Prince family?” Zoe asked.

“She did not,” Nikki agreed. “Helen Saunders also had no children. She did have a great-nephew, but he moved away years ago, and I haven’t been able to find him.”

“If you do come across new information or this mysterious informant contacts you, you will tell us.” Vaughan had not tacked a question mark on at the end of the sentence.

“Of course. I always help law enforcement. If you figure this out, how about giving me an exclusive?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Vaughan said.

“You scratch my back—well, you know the rest.”

He stood, extending his hand. As they shook, he said, “Don’t hold out on me, Ms. McDonald.”

“Never.” She released his grip. “Agent Spencer, I would love to see a picture of the bust you created,” she said. “I understand you have a real talent for re-creating the faces of the dead.”

“We’ll be sending out a press release in the next twenty-four hours,” Zoe said.

“I don’t get a sneak peek?” Nikki asked.

“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Nikki offered an exaggerated pout. “No fair.”

Zoe lifted her gaze, knowing it was not friendly. “Marsha Prince would agree.”

 

Zoe and Vaughan arrived at the Alexandria Heights apartment complex where Marsha Prince’s body had been found. The brick entryway pillars were under construction, and the siding on the west side was covered in scaffolding. Several sets of windows on the top floor still bore the manufacturer’s sticker.

“The building’s undergoing a major renovation,” he said.

“I do not envy the residents. I’m considering a renovation of my place, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Why not just sell? The location alone is worth a fortune,” he replied.

“I’m not ready.”

“We’re at the top of the real estate market, so you must be sentimental,” he said.

She shrugged. “It happens to the best of us. I’m sure it will pass.”

“Were you close to your uncle?”

“Jimmy wasn’t actually my uncle. He was my late husband’s uncle,” she said.

Vaughan rattled the keys in his hands. “I didn’t realize you’d been married.”

“Jeff died several years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Every time she heard the words, they fell short of doing anything other than filling the silence. At least these days they did not make her angry. “Thanks. He was young, and it was so unexpected; it’s still not easy to talk about.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me show you the storage unit.”

“I understand Alexandria PD still has it closed off.”

“We were waiting for identification. I’ll lead the way,” he said.

As they entered the lobby, the sounds of children laughing echoed over the tiled floors. There were three elevators, and all appeared to be in use. A man on a cell phone stepped off the center one, glanced at them, and then kept going.

Vaughan circumvented the elevators, choosing a set of stairs to the right. She followed him down two flights until they were on the garage level. In the distance, a car door opened and closed, and two people were having a heated discussion about where to have dinner.

He crossed the garage and led her toward a dimly lit corner. He unlocked the door and flipped on a light. Immediately, she spotted the strip of yellow tape wrapped around the third caged unit.

“Whoever stashed Marsha Prince here must have known Ms. Saunders,” she said. “He or she would have known she barely used the unit. I wonder if we can identify that great-nephew Ms. McDonald mentioned.”

“We tried. We went through her phone records and financials and found no consistent caller. No distant relative or con man. Nothing.”

Her heels clicked as she walked up to the cage door, turned the latch, and swung it open.