The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (10 page)

“I won’t.” Tears glistened on Ashley’s lashes. “I already feel guilty enough about what we’re doing to Judge Willis. And now Krissy’s abduction…” She broke off, swallowing to regain her composure. “But I know the rules. And I’ll play by them. With the authorities, and with your wife.”

“You do that. The alternative won’t be pleasant.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Patrick Lynch was too good a former FBI agent not to know that Casey Woods’s idea of pushing the boundaries and his own were very different.

He’d shared a good chunk of information on Felicity Akerman’s kidnapping with her, and agreed to share his notes and the file. She, in turn, had filled him in on everything she had on Krissy Willis’s abduction, and all the avenues that she and her team were pursuing—both the ones that were in conjunction with the authorities and the ones that weren’t.

She’d omitted more than a few details. Then again, so had he. Trust wasn’t something you developed in one conversation. It took time, and lots of it. So Lynch had kept certain cards close to his vest, and he was sure Casey was doing the same.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she and her team were heavily pursuing Hope Willis’s former court clerk, Claudia Mitchell. He understood why. Their reasoning had merit. Their methods, on the other hand—well, those he had a hunch would be teetering on the brink of illegal.

He couldn’t be a part of it.

On the other hand, there was no saying he had to stop it.

It was just after dark when Casey and Marc parked their car under a canopy of trees a half block down from Claudia Mitchell’s house. They were both dressed in black sweatshirts and jeans. They looked perfectly ordinary, and were hardly noticeable in the darkness. Marc carried his tools in a sport waist pack.

They approached the front door like casual visitors and rang the bell.

As expected, there was no response.

A second ring.

This time a cat meowed from somewhere inside.

“Did you hear that?” Casey asked flatly, knowing full well that Claudia owned two yellow tabbies.

“Yeah.” Marc’s response was equally bland. “I wonder what it was.”

“I couldn’t tell if it was a cat or a child. Could you?”

“Nope. But if it’s a kid, he or she can’t be left alone in the house.”

“Definitely not. And he or she sounds like they’re in some kind of distress.”

A second meow.

“That’s it.” Casey reached for the doorknob. “We can’t risk it. We have to go in.”

Marc grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Don’t bother. I think it’s unlocked. Let me check.” He pulled out a torque wrench and pick. Inserting the flat end of the wrench, he exerted just enough pressure to the L-shaped top of the tool, which served as a lever. He then inserted the pick and carefully tapped each pin out of the way. There was a slight click and a subtle movement of the cylinder as the torque wrench acted as a substitute key, turning the entire cylinder and disengaging the lock.

With a slight push, Marc opened the door. “I was right. Unlocked. Let’s check on that sound.”

They crossed the threshold in a heartbeat.

“Start with the basement,” Casey instructed, all sarcasm having been abandoned. “That’s the room where Claire kept visualizing Krissy.”

They found their way to the stairs leading down to the basement. All Casey was hoping to see was a room transformed to a bedroom, much the way Claire had described.

All she found was a bare-bones basement. Drywalled partitions. Indoor-outdoor carpet. Two pull-string fluorescent fixtures. An Alienware gaming laptop sitting on top of a small desk. The only upgrade to the decor was a leather gaming chair facing a large flat-screen TV, along with video game consoles, controllers, various accessories and all the games to go with them.

But no sign of a child.

“Dammit,” Casey muttered. She flicked on one of the overhead fixtures and scanned the room.

Nothing.

“You take care of the computer,” she told Marc. “I’ll keep searching.”

In response, Marc walked over to the laptop, which was currently turned off. He popped open the DVD drive with a paper clip and inserted the disk Ryan had given him. Closing the drive, he turned on the computer and watched as it booted from Ryan’s disk. In an instant, the laptop’s hard disk indicator began flashing furiously, as the program hacked into the password security tables, inserting a seemingly innocuous system account with full administrative rights and an undetectable spyware program that tracked everything. It also enabled the microphone and effectively turned the laptop into a one-way intercom, with Ryan able to listen to everything that transpired in the room.

When the program finished, it shut down the laptop as if nothing had happened.

Marc removed the disk, sliding it into his jacket pocket, and closed the drive.

While Marc was occupied, Casey walked over to the gaming setup and thumbed through the extensive selection of games.
BioShock 2: Limited Edition. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. Batman: Arkham Asylum. Left 4 Dead 2. Resident Evil 5: Gold Edition
.

“Terrific,” Casey commented in a grim tone. “Isn’t
BioShock
the game where you can decide to kill little girls?”

“Sadly, yes. But it’s also superpopular among normal people. The fact that Claudia’s fiancé enjoys shooter games doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe not. But this guy is obviously a hard-core gamer. When Grace described the offender, she said he’d be into hobbies like model airplanes or video games. Claudia’s fiancé certainly fits the bill.” Another somber look. “But there’s no sign of Krissy.”

“They could be holding her elsewhere in the house,” Marc noted, using his heavy-duty flashlight to peer around.

“Or in a different location entirely.” Casey took a few photos with her cell phone, then headed for the stairs. “Let’s search the rest of the place.”

They were thorough, although neither of them expected to find Krissy on the main floor of the ranch-style house. It was too open, with no private areas or secluded rooms. The basement had been their best bet. And it had come up empty.

The house’s decor was country style, and decidedly feminine. No surprise, given that Joe had just moved back in. Still, it was odd that there was virtually nothing personal of Joe’s to be found, other than a broken-down chest of drawers in a corner of the bedroom.

“Let’s take a look inside,” Casey said to Marc. “We need to get a handle on this guy. Is he just an obnoxious boyfriend and an odd duck, or is he capable of kidnapping a little girl?”

Marc was already pulling on a pair of gloves. He waited while Casey did the same. There was a big difference between responding to an alleged cry for help and ransacking a man’s drawers. They had to tread very carefully.

The top three drawers held the usual: T-shirts and jeans, underwear, some construction gear. Again, no surprise. Ryan had noted that Joe worked for Bennato Construction Company, doing mostly road paving projects.

The bottom drawer had his pay stubs from work, all rubber-banded together. The amounts were consistent, and everything looked to be in order. There was a stack of papers—software receipts, game magazines, a couple of credit card slips from a local pub.

A folded diagram was sticking out from underneath the stack of papers.

“What’s this?” Casey murmured. She pulled out the sheet and smoothed it out.

It was an architectural layout of Armonk’s elementary school parking lot—
Krissy’s
elementary school parking lot. It included the exterior of the rear side of the building, the outside lights, the surveillance cameras—everything.

“What the hell…?” Marc breathed, squatting down and shining his flashlight directly on the plans. “This is literally a map of the kidnapping scene.”

“It’s also probably one of Joe’s workplaces,” Casey mused aloud. “I remember that the parking lot at Krissy’s school was newly paved, as was the playground. We should find out if Joe was on that job.”

“Yeah, along with why he would have kept this layout, even after the construction work was completed.”

“Right.” Casey took out her phone again, and shot a couple of pictures. “Okay, let’s put everything back exactly as we found it and get out of here.”

Ten minutes later, they left the house, locked the door and headed back for the car.

“Ryan’s turn?” Marc asked once Casey was driving, heading back to Tribeca.

“Yup.” Casey gripped the steering wheel. “We sure as hell aren’t leaving this one alone. A map of the crime scene, a mother-lode gaming center, and the very real possibility that they could have stashed Krissy anywhere. Besides the hack job, we need to have Ryan get a GPS tracking device on Joe’s car and, hopefully, on Joe himself.” She turned onto the highway. “Let’s get to the office. I want to see what Ryan found on Sidney Akerman, anyway.”

Before Marc could respond, Casey’s cell phone rang. She punched the receive button on the steering wheel. “Casey Woods.”

“So, did you get lucky?” an older masculine voice inquired through the speakerphone. “Or did you walk away frustrated and with nothing? I agree with you that you’ve got a strong suspect in Claudia Mitchell. She worships that boyfriend of hers, and he’s a real wack job. Still, I can’t get past the feeling that there’s a connection between the past and the present.”

“Patrick,” Casey said, after a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “Are you tailing us?”

“Don’t have to. I knew what you had on your agenda. What I don’t know—and I
don’t want
to know—is how you got in.”

Casey’s lips quirked. “Then I won’t disappoint. Let’s just say the door was open and we heard crying from inside. It turned out to be the cats.”

“Of course it did.”

Gesturing at Marc, Casey made the audio introduction. “Patrick Lynch, meet my passenger and associate, Marc Deveraux.”

“Hey,” Marc said. He looked more amused than surprised by Patrick’s insightful analysis of the evening’s events.

“Nice to meet you,” Patrick replied. “Even by phone.”

“How about in person?” Casey’s mind was racing. “We’re heading back to Manhattan. Ryan’s in the office. Since you’re keeping such great tabs on us, can you swing by and meet the rest of the team? You know—the team you’ll be working closely with to solve this crime by sharing all the reasons why you think the past and the present kidnappings are connected. The team you won’t be holding back any details or information from.”

“That’s doable.” Patrick sounded as if he’d expected the invite. “I’ve got your address. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Hope’s heart was pounding in her chest as she opened the safe in Edward’s home office.

She was taking a huge risk doing this during evening hours. But Edward was still at work, and the task force was scattered, performing their various assignments. This was as good a time as any to check out the contents of the safe.

She wasn’t planning on removing the cash now. She couldn’t. If Edward had reason to look inside during the next twenty-four hours, and he found the safe cleaned out, her entire plan to recover Krissy would blow apart. And there was no way she was taking that chance.

No, now wasn’t for confiscating. Now was for counting. She had to see if she had enough to add to the $128,000 she had accumulated from today’s bank visits.

She’d had to go to two separate banks, and pull cash from two separate safe-deposit boxes, to avoid suspicion. She’d never realized how heavy and bulky large sums of money in small bills could be. She couldn’t walk into the bank with Krissy’s gigantic duffel bag—not without looking out of place. Nor could she leave the house in the middle of the day lugging it along. So she’d taken her roomiest laptop case and removed all she had from each box.

Now, she peered into her husband’s open safe, grimacing in disgust at the sight. Piles of cash Edward had accumulated in ways that turned her stomach, but that right now might be her lifeline to Krissy. Quickly, she unloaded stacks of money and counted.

She stopped when she reached the magic number of $122,000. There was more than enough in this safe to cover what she needed.

Replacing everything the way she’d found it, Hope locked the safe and slipped out of Edward’s office.

Ryan was glued to his computer screen, pounding away at his keyboard and eating trail mix out of a bag, when Casey and Marc walked in. Hero was glued to Ryan’s feet, crunching on the pieces of granola that were being inadvertently—and not so inadvertently—dropped.

“Well, I see that you two have developed a rapport,” Casey noted aloud.

“Huh?” Ryan looked up, then glanced down at Hero as he realized what Casey had said. “Yeah, we had a talk after that peeing episode. It’s been smooth sailing ever since. While we were walking to the park, he got a whiff of something and took off. We were half a block away. He nearly yanked the leash out of my hand, he was sniffing so frantically. Turns out it was the manager of that dog hotel he stayed at. She must have been great to him, because he shoved me out of the way and jumped all over her like they were supertight. Not that I blame him. She was hot. I got her phone number. But Hero got all the attention. You have to admire that kind of strategic intent.”

“I do.” Casey perched at the edge of Ryan’s desk and filled him in on what she and Marc had found at Claudia’s. “The laptop’s taken care of. But I need you to find a way to track Joe Deale’s movements.”

“Not a problem. He’s working on a bridge repair project in the Bronx. I’ll arrange for a diversion at the site tomorrow morning, during which I’ll plant a GPS in his car, and a tracking chip in his cell phone. I’ll monitor them on my PC.”

Casey nodded, folding her arms across her breasts. “Good. Now, what did you find on Sidney Akerman?”

Ryan stared at his computer screen. “He lived like a vagabond after his marriage broke up. Different towns, odd jobs—all over the Tri-State Area. He couldn’t hold down any of the jobs because of his drinking. It seems he finally got it together enough to go to rehab a good decade later, somewhere in the Northwest. He got out, joined AA—according to an Arizona newspaper article on the group—and started working as a bookkeeper for a small office supply chain in upstate New York. That didn’t last long. He went back to the bottle, and vanished off the screen. I’m still trying to fill in the blanks. I get snatches of what he’s been up to, and then nothing. Suffice it to say, he hasn’t exactly lived a productive life.”