Читать книгу The Girl Who Disappeared Twice - Andrea Kane - Страница 10

Forensic Instincts showed up at the Willis house at the same time as the FBI. Watching them pull into the driveway, Casey immediately recognized the four special agents who’d been contacted and deployed by the Crimes Against Children Unit at FBI Headquarters in D.C. They were one of the two Child Abduction Rapid Deployment teams in the Northeast, and consisted of specially trained agents from several different field offices, each of whom had dropped everything and taken off the instant they’d been contacted. Aware of how crucial these first postabduction hours were, the CARD team was here to assist C-20, the New York Field Office’s CAC squad, in tracking down Krissy Willis and bringing her home.

The team members now jumping out of their car consisted of Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens, and Special Agents Will Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. And Casey knew exactly which of them would be smiling at the sight of her team’s arrival, and which of them would be exceedingly pissed off to see them.

“Hey, Don.” As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, Casey waved at the seasoned agent who had to be nearing fifty-seven and mandatory retirement. He was hard-core, married to the Bureau, and yet he was more open-minded about Casey’s team than some of the younger squad members. Go figure.

“Casey Woods. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Owens acknowledged her with a slight smile, his trim gray mustache curving with his lips. “I’m lucky I sped to Logan, and that my shuttle flight from Boston arrived early. Otherwise, you would have already set up the FBI’s Command Post and canvassed half the neighborhood.”

“Damn straight,” Ryan muttered under his breath.

Casey rolled her eyes. Ryan was cranky. He hadn’t gotten any of the sleep he’d anticipated after closing the last case. Functioning on zero rest was Casey’s specialty. She could operate on empty and make it seem full. She was able to push past her fatigue and get the job done. And Marc was a Navy SEAL to the core. He could run on sheer adrenaline. So Ryan was the cheese who stood alone. He was a royal pain in the ass when he went without sleep. At times like this, barring essential needs to communicate, Casey and Marc avoided him like the plague.

“This place is going to be a circus,” Ryan continued to mumble. “The CARD team. The Feds. The county police. The locals. Can’t we send them all back to their desks?” A grunt. “You know, leave us alone…. I’ll hack into the little girl’s computer. Casey, you can run down the list of suspects, interrogate the right ones. Marc can beat the crap out of the scumbag who did this. Then you’ll size up his reactions until we figure out where he hid the poor kid. And Krissy Willis will be safe in her own bed before the miserable prick who took her can do his worst. After that, we can all go home and crash.”

Before Casey could reply, Ryan spied the tall, slender woman who was squatting down just outside the Willises’ garage. Her brow was furrowed in intense concentration, and her delicate fingers were gliding over the streamers that dangled from the handlebars of what was clearly a little girl’s bicycle.

“Oh, great,” Ryan complained more loudly. “Look who’s here. It’s Claire-voyant—the cops’ favorite psychic, doing her thing. Now, we’ll be grilling suspects, and she’ll be clutching Krissy Willis’s dirty socks trying to get up in her head. I can hardly wait.”

Casey stifled a smile. Claire Hedgleigh—Claire-voyant, as Ryan insisted on calling her—was a noted, self-described intuitive who consulted with several police departments, using her special skills to help solve cases. Casey and her team had crossed paths with her on a couple of cases. And Casey was more than impressed. She’d done extensive background research on Claire, both educationally and professionally.

Academically, Claire held a master’s degree in Human Development and another in Transformative Theory and Practices. In addition, she had teaching accreditation from schools in the U.S., England and Australia in everything from psychic development to metaphysical sciences. And professionally, she had an A+ reputation and a three-year track record with the police. She was so good, in fact, that Casey was determined to lure her over to Forensic Instincts. She’d be a great addition to the team—once Casey broke the news to Ryan and pried the chip off his scientific shoulder. Instinct told her it wouldn’t be as hard a sell as Ryan pretended. He and Claire interacted in a way that only masqueraded as combat. But both Marc and Casey recognized it as a smoke screen for something more.

At this point, Claire was rising to her feet. Tall and willowy, with pale blond hair and light gray eyes, Claire had a gentle, ethereal quality about her that suited her calling. Now, she released the bicycle handlebars, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and spotted them. An exasperated expression crossed her face when she saw Ryan. Clearly, she was not in the mood for a verbal sparring match. And Ryan was practically vibrating to start one.

Casey’s grin widened. An electrically charged tête-à-tête was definitely on the horizon. And Casey and Marc had already placed their bets on a timeline—and an outcome—for that.

For now, some barbed banter would be fine with her. The moments of levity would feel good. More than good. It would be like Novocain before a root canal. Because the latter was what they were about to walk into. Child abductions were among the toughest crimes to swallow.

“Play nice, Ryan,” she said drily as they approached the garage. “Claire knows what she’s doing. So don’t give her too much crap.”

“Who? Me?” he replied with mock innocence.

“Yeah. You look like a lion who’s been prodded with a sharp stick. Relax. You can go back and hole up in your lair as soon as we get the lay of the land here.” Casey reached Claire and stopped. “Hi, Claire. You’re working this case?”

A friendly nod. “And, obviously, so are you. Anything I can do to help out, let me know.”

Ryan made a derisive sound. “I think we’ll rely on science. Messages from inanimate objects just don’t cut it, at least not for me. But thanks anyway, Claire-voyant.”

“Ah, Ryan. More obnoxious than usual, I see. What happened? Did you forget your Batman lunch box?”

“Ignore him,” Casey advised. “He hasn’t slept in a few days.”

“Well, that explains it.” Claire looked more amused than bothered—which pissed Ryan off even more. “Thanks for the news flash. I’ll consider myself forewarned.”

With that, she headed into the house. “Time to commune with inanimate objects,” she called over her shoulder. “You’d be surprised how much talking they do—in a world that’s realer than cyberspace.”

Ryan definitely had an answer for that one, but he pressed his lips together and refrained from spouting it, as he, Casey and Marc reached the CARD team.

“So, the Willises hired you already.” Special Agent Guy Adams looked even more unhappy than Ryan about the prospect of working together. Adams was a trained hostage negotiator, in his mid-thirties, sharp, and as competitive as Ryan and Marc. And he had little regard for approaches other than those he’d learned through the Bureau—least of all Forensic Instincts and their out-of-the-box methods.

“Is that a problem?” Marc asked in a cool, probing tone.

“Not as long as you don’t overstep.”

“We’re here to work with you, Guy. You and C-20.” Casey nipped the tension in the bud. “We all want the same thing—to bring Krissy Willis home, safe and with as little trauma as possible. So let’s not turn this into a pissing match.”

“Our special agents are already inside,” Guy informed her, purposely sidestepping her attempt at detente. “The New York Field Office sent Harrington and Barkley. They’re with the parents now, working on the Child Victim Background Questionnaire. The rest of the New York team is at Krissy’s school, along with a couple of agents from the White Plains RA. Harrington and Barkley are about to debrief us. Harrington is lead case agent on this one.”

“Good choices,” Casey replied.

“Glad you approve.”

“I do.” Casey ignored his sarcasm. She was mulling over the agents she was about to deal with in the Willis home. Peg Harrington and Ken Barkley were both seasoned agents who’d been working CAC cases for over a decade. They were intelligent, and they were self-assured—which meant they didn’t trip over fragile egos. That made working with them tenable. And having Peg at the helm would be great. She was cool under pressure and effective as hell.

“Did your clients supply you with all the facts?” Guy was asking Casey.

She wiggled her hand in an ambivalent gesture. “I checked in with Hope Willis from my car. I got the basics. Anyone happen to catch the license plate on the Acadia the kidnapper was driving? “

“Just a letter or two. Nothing solid to go on. The cops put out an APB. So far, nothing’s turned up. They also notified the Westchester hotline, issued an Amber Alert and entered the case into the NCIC. Officers are at both scenes—here and at the child’s school, along with the county police and CSI.”

It dawned on Casey that Guy was being unusually chatty and informative, given his preliminary hostility. She glanced past him, and spotted McHale and Dugan head into the house. So that was Guy’s plan. To keep her talking while the rest of the CARD team agents joined their C-20 counterparts and got a jump start on the case.

She had to admire their tenacious attempt to outmaneuver her, even if it had been feeble. She also had to admit she’d have done the same thing in their place. The fact was, C-20 had every right to run the show. They were law enforcement; she and her team weren’t.

Nonetheless, she was getting into the house and meeting the Willises. The FBI couldn’t deny her that—they were her clients. The truth was, she didn’t just want to meet them, she wanted to study them. She needed to know what Hope Willis was holding back. And she needed to get a firsthand look at how Hope and Edward Willis were coping—both individually and as a couple—with these initial hours after their five-year-old child’s abduction.

Body language was a powerful revealer.

The FBI and the police had already conducted official interviews with the Willises, and were about to turn their efforts toward debriefing the CARD team. The usual procedure. Eliciting the usual response from Forensic Instincts. While the doors were firmly shut in their faces, they’d take full advantage of the opportunity to get information from their surroundings and the people in them. Each of Casey’s team members would accomplish this in his or her unique way.

“Playtime’s over, Guy,” Casey stated bluntly. “You can shut us out of your debriefing sessions, but you can’t shut us out of the house. Hope Willis hired us. We’re going in to meet her and her husband. We’ll be discreet. And we won’t interfere with your investigation.”

“That’s fine,” Don said, though with a bit of a sigh. “Any insights you glean would be a welcome addition to our efforts. We’re talking about the life of a five-year-old little girl. I’ve got a granddaughter that age. Let’s pool our resources and solve this one—successfully.”

“Agreed.” Casey gestured for her group to follow Don and Guy inside. This was great. They’d made peace with the CARD team supervisor. Barkley and Harrington had worked with them a lot, and they respected them. Ditto for the Violent Crimes squad in White Plains, and the Westchester County Police.

“Sweet,” Marc murmured quietly. “Now we just have the locals to convince. Unfortunately, that’s the hardest part.”

There was no argument from his coworkers. The locals, especially the smaller precincts, were often skeptical of what and who they didn’t know. Some were also determined to prove themselves, which made them territorial and leery of Forensic Instincts’ independent status.

“We might get resistance, but we won’t get beginners,” Ryan said. He’d done a brief computer search on the North Castle P.D. “They’re pretty solid.”

Marc edged him an inquisitive look. “What did you find out?”

“They’re got a retention rate that’s sky-high. Their cops and detectives just stay on. They like their jobs. They’re well trained and dedicated. There’s not a lot of major criminal activity for them to deal with—mostly car and house break-ins. But they’re ready for big stuff, too. They’ve got an impressive Emergency Service Unit. It’s been around for over a dozen years. They’ve also got a strong community spirit. They take care of their own.”

“Sounds good,” Marc responded. “Unless they’re insular and uncooperative.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Casey nodded. Best possible scenario. Best investigators. Best police support.

Now if she only knew what Hope Willis was hiding.

* * *

Hope was in the living room of her sprawling house, pacing around and tucking strands of blond hair behind her ears in erratic, repetitive motions, when Casey first laid eyes on her.

It took about ten seconds for Casey to feel convinced. The woman with the haunted eyes and the inability to sit still had had nothing to do with her daughter’s disappearance.

Edward Willis was a little tougher to read. Stiff by nature, Willis was a polished attorney who was accustomed to hiding behind a well-established veneer. But beneath that veneer a fine tension rippled the surface. Just as there was obvious tension between him and his wife. Physical and emotional distance. Separate entities instead of one frantic unit. Edward was edgy, and way too knowledgeable about the law not to know he was a suspect.

Casey walked directly over to the couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Willis? I’m Casey Woods.”

Instantly, Hope stopped pacing. She closed the gap between herself and Casey. “There’s been no word,” she blurted out. “No ransom note. No phone call. Not even a threatening email.” Hope looked helplessly from Casey to the FBI agents she’d just spoken to, to the CARD team now moving in. “Does that mean he’s hurting her? Worse? If he doesn’t want money, what else could he want besides … oh God.” Hope drew a few sharp breaths, her features contorting with fear.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Judge Willis.” Don stepped in front of Casey and introduced himself, keeping his voice quiet and calm. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens. These are Special Agents Will Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. We’re part of a specially trained child recovery team. We’re here to help find your daughter. Have you given Special Agents Barkley and Harrington, as well as the police, a full description and photos of Krissy, along with clothing samples …?”

“Yes.” Edward Willis moved to his wife’s side. “Thank you for coming, Agent Owens. I’m Edward Willis, Krissy’s father. In answer to your question, we filled out a background questionnaire. We gave the police and the FBI a preliminary list of neighbors, friends, relatives, Krissy’s friends, classmates and teachers—and we’re working on a list of all of Hope’s and my potential enemies. We also provided the photo and clothing you just mentioned, along with Krissy’s comb and toothbrush, and all the details of the abduction that we have—which aren’t many. What else can we do?”

“Make yourselves available for whatever’s necessary,” Don replied. “Media broadcasts. Following our lead when we ask you to prolong any phone calls we’re recording. Working with us to separate what’s real from what’s bogus as the public starts to communicate potential leads. Which they will. Some through our hotlines. Some through the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Some through tips to law enforcement. You’ll both be required to submit to polygraph tests. I assure you, it’s routine. Don’t be insulted—just do it. Eliminating suspects can be as important as pursuing them. And, most of all, have faith.”

“Pursuit,” Hope echoed, reminded for the umpteenth time of the potential flight risk involved. “What about roadblocks?”

“Taken care of county-wide and beyond,” Don assured her. “And highway patrols are combing the area. Trust me, Judge Willis. We all know what we’re doing.”

Hope nodded, lowering her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.

It was clear from the expression on Don’s face that he empathized with Hope’s fears. It was also clear that he knew there was only one way to alleviate them.

“If you’ll excuse me, my team needs to be debriefed,” he informed her. “The quicker the better. That way we won’t lose a minute. What room can we use?”

“My home office,” Hope said at once. She pointed. “It’s down the hall, second door to your right. The other FBI agents are in there with the police. There’s a conference table and more than enough chairs.”

With a brief nod of thanks, Don and his CARD team disappeared in that direction.

Hope turned back to Casey.

“I picked up on a certain evasiveness in your voice,” Casey stated without preamble. “You’re hiding something. Before we go any further, I want to know what that something is.”

Inhaling sharply, Hope responded to the obvious first. “Do you honestly believe I could harm my child? Is that why you think I was being evasive?”

“Initially, it was one of the explanations I considered.” Casey continued to be frank. Simultaneously, she was watching an interesting scene taking place diagonally across from them, in the kitchen. But the answer she provided Hope was definite and direct. “But after seeing you in person, my suspicions are gone. However, that doesn’t answer my question. You are holding something back. What? And why?”

“Because it has no bearing on our daughter’s disappearance,” Edward Willis inserted abruptly.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, Casey signaled for Marc and Ryan to go do their thing. Once they’d complied, she leveled a direct stare at Edward.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, Mr. Willis, but I get the feeling you’re not much in favor of your wife’s decision to hire us.”

“You’re not wrong. I’m a firm believer in the legal system.”

“As an attorney, I’m sure you are.” Casey kept her tone respectful. But she didn’t like this man. He was judgmental and controlling. And it was no surprise that he believed in the legal system—his legal system. He specialized in putting violent criminals back on the street in exchange for high visibility, a rush of self-importance and a hefty fee.

Aloud, all she said was, “I understand where you’re coming from. Rest assured, my group won’t be abusing law enforcement or whatever decisions you make with them. We’re here to follow their lead—if our discussion with you now results in a mutual decision for us to work together.”

“If?” Now Edward was taken aback. It was clear the man was used to getting his own way—even if, like this time, it meant Casey and her group vanishing into thin air.

His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand, Ms. Woods. My wife hired you.”

“True. But there’s a stipulation. I need my answer. What is it I’m not being told?”

Hope stared at the floor for a minute. The hard swallow that she gave, the way she steeled herself, and the way she shifted into autopilot told Casey that she’d relayed this story countless times, but that it never ceased to hurt.

“My sister Felicity was kidnapped thirty-two years ago,” she said quietly, her voice quavering from emotional strain. “We were six. She was sleeping next to me when it happened. I was chloroformed. So was she. Only it was Felicity the kidnapper chose to take. I’ve never understood why. We are—” a painful pause “—were identical twins. Very few people could tell us apart—unless they were familiar with our personalities. Which, to me, says the kidnapper was someone who knew us at least fairly well. And before you ask, Felicity’s body was never recovered. The case was labeled cold, and closed two years after the abduction. Now, history is repeating itself … with my baby.” Choking up, Hope pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.

“Now you see why I didn’t want you to pursue this line of questioning,” Edward snapped, once again putting an arm around his wife. The gesture seemed oddly stiff, even staged. “Dredging up a painful incident from Hope’s past is pointless.”

“I disagree.” Casey quickly processed the implications of what she was being told, even as her gaze flickered once again to the kitchen doorway. “It explains that this terrifying crime is even more terrifying for your wife than it might be for another woman. Two treasured loved ones kidnapped in a lifetime—the first unsolved, and occurring when your wife was an impressionable, young child? Scars like that don’t heal, Mr. Willis. Especially when the victim is an identical twin, who most people claim is like half of a whole. And now, a child—the very heart and soul of a mother. I can see why Judge Willis would be coming apart at the seams, reliving the past, and willing to go to any extreme to avoid a repeat of it.”

“So you understand.” Hope scrutinized Casey, her gaze filled with agonized pain.

“I do,” Casey said without hesitation. “I understand your fear. And I understand what you weren’t saying on the phone. Consider yourself our top-priority client.”

Hope literally sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

Casey wasted no time in getting down to business. “Your babysitter—it’s Ashley, right?” She gestured in the direction of the kitchen.

Startled by the abrupt change in subject, Hope looked up and followed Casey’s stare. Edward’s head snapped around, too.

“My babysitter?” Hope repeated. “Yes, it’s Ashley Lawrence. Although she’s not really a babysitter. She’s been Krissy’s nanny since the day Krissy came home from the hospital. So we don’t think of her as an employee. She’s family. And she adores Krissy.”

“All the more reason for my curiosity. If everything you’re saying is true, why has she spent the entire time since I walked in here on her cell phone, arguing with someone?”

“It’s probably her boyfriend.” Edward waved away the observation. “I’m sure he’s unhappy about her decision to stay here until we have news about Krissy.”

“I see.” Casey could sense Edward’s escalating tension. “So he’s a serious boyfriend. What’s his name?”

“Frank. Frank Barber.”

Casey jotted that down. “You mentioned that Krissy’s stuffed panda was stolen from the house sometime today. Did the police find evidence of a break-in?”

“None.”

“And no one had access to the house except Ashley, who claims that nobody came by here all day, and who’s now arguing with her boyfriend.”

“Oh, no.” Vehemently, Hope denied the notion that Ashley could be involved. “As I said, Ashley adores Krissy, and the feeling is mutual. The poor girl was crying hysterically when I got home. She’s in shock. She’s probably talking to her boyfriend for emotional support.”

“I don’t think so. She seems more agitated than distraught. Agitated and, if I’m reading her body language right, scared.” Casey pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe she just realized she bit off more than she could chew, and that events are spiraling out of control.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Ms. Woods,” Hope insisted. “Ashley’s not capable of harming Krissy.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have to be—at least not directly.” Casey’s gaze shifted to the pile of sophisticated-looking textbooks sitting on the kitchen table. “It looks like Ashley’s in grad school. Unless you’re paying her a fortune, I assume she has outstanding student loans. What does Frank do for a living?” The ensuing silence gave her her answer. “Nothing lucrative, I take it.”

“He dabbles,” Hope replied, reluctance and wavering trust evident in her tone. “He’s a part-time bartender, and a part-time bouncer. Nothing concrete.”

“And nothing a huge windfall wouldn’t help in a big way.” A poignant pause. “Think about it—a vulnerable young woman in love with the wrong man. A young woman who has direct access to your home, your schedules and your daughter.”

For the first time, Casey’s gaze flickered coolly to Edward, who—as Casey had anticipated—had gone very, very still. “I’d say that’s a solid enough lead to check into, wouldn’t you, Counselor?”

His jaw was working, but his gaze pierced hers with laser intensity. “I’d say that’s your call, Ms. Woods.”