Читать книгу The Girl Who Disappeared Twice - Andrea Kane - Страница 13

Claudia Mitchell was ironing and watching a rerun of one of her favorite TV comedies when a special report interrupted. Breaking news. An Amber Alert had been issued. Krissy Willis, the five-year-old daughter of Family Court Judge Hope Willis and prominent defense attorney Edward Willis had been kidnapped.

The parents appeared on-screen, ready to speak.

Quickly, Claudia turned off her iron and set it down on the stand, hurrying over to turn up the volume. The Willises were issuing a statement, a plea, begging for their child’s safe return. Claudia stared at Judge Willis, the woman to whom she’d been court clerk for years. In all the time she’d known her, Claudia had never seen or heard her like this. No makeup. Panicked. A lost look in her eyes. Choked sobs in her voice. For a woman who was always put together and in complete control, it was a startling sight.

But why shouldn’t she look like death warmed over? Her little girl was missing. The most important person in her life had been taken away, and could be lost forever.

It was a terrible ordeal, one that elicited great sympathy. It made Claudia wonder if maybe Judge Willis would have gone easier on her, shown her more compassion, if she’d already endured this life-altering trauma before she’d fired Claudia. At that time, Claudia had felt just the way Judge Willis felt now. Terrified and helpless. Alone. Joe had just ended their engagement and walked out of her life. Claudia had believed the decision was permanent.

Joe was her whole world. So, yes, she’d gone to pieces. And Judge Willis had tolerated it for a month, maybe two. Then, she’d let Claudia go, saying her work was unsatisfactory and that her improper management of the docket was compromising courtroom procedure.

So Claudia found herself not only alone but unemployed. And, given the state she was in, she was in no condition to seek employment elsewhere. Her entire life was in shambles.

Now maybe Judge Willis would understand. But, actually, how could she? Krissy wasn’t her whole world. She was barely a part of it, given the number of hours the judge worked. The precious child was raised by a nanny, not a mother and father.

And Judge Willis would never be alone. She had a husband. Money. And now she was saying something about taking a leave of absence until her daughter was found and brought home safe and sound. A leave of absence? Her job would still be waiting for her. Her career would be intact. And she’d be held in high regard for her maternal commitment, rather than stared at like an emotional basket case.

Given the circumstances, Claudia felt a wave of guilt, which dissipated beneath the weight of an overwhelming sadness. She could still remember the first time Krissy had visited Judge Willis’s courtroom, her wide-eyed excitement when she’d sat in her mother’s chair and held her gavel. She was a wonderful child. None of what had happened was her fault. The poor little girl. She needed love, security. She didn’t need—

The front door swung open, and Joe walked into the house. Claudia rushed out of the kitchen to greet him. She still couldn’t believe her good fortune. He’d come back to her. The circumstances didn’t matter. He’d come back.

“Joe.” She put her hand on his arm, stopping him before he could pass by on his way to the basement.

He looked annoyed, glancing up from the video game he’d purchased and was now reading a description of. “What?”

“Judge Willis is on TV. She’s announcing that her daughter was kidnapped, and she’s pleading for her safe return.”

“I heard about it on the car radio,” he replied. “The little girl will be fine. And I wouldn’t get any pangs over the judge—not after what she’s done. I’m heading downstairs. You start dinner.”

“But, Joe …”

His gaze hardened. “I’m not in the mood, Claudia. Let it go. I don’t want to repeat myself. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Quickly, she released his arm and backed off. “I’ll peel the potatoes.”

“Good.”

“When will you be coming up?”

“I’m not sure. I have a new game to try out.”

It was almost midnight.

The Forensic Instincts team gathered around the brownstone conference table, reviewing their notes, their accomplished tasks and their plans. The Willises’ TV statement had gone off without a hitch. The FBI task force was utilizing the lower-level media room of the Willis house as their command center. In addition, all the telephone recording devices and the toll-free tip line were in place, and concerned citizens—along with the usual cranksters—were starting to call in. The interviewing process had long since commenced and would be continuing round-the-clock.

Casey had spent another hour with the Willises—including a half hour alone with Hope—filling in some crucial blanks.

Armed with their individual information, it was time for the team to regroup.

Ryan began by describing what he’d learned in conjunction with the forensic computer specialist who was doing a cursory sweep of Krissy’s computer before removing it for a thorough evidential analysis. No real surprises. As expected, Krissy was a normal, if precocious, five-year-old whose only computer activities appeared to include games, crafts and chats via her avatar.

Whether or not one of her chat buddies was, in fact, a child predator laying the groundwork to get his hands on her remained to be seen. Once the computer reached the lab, an in-depth investigation would be conducted.

Marc reported in next, telling them that he’d used his FBI clout to gain info that would cross a chunk of suspects off the list—although he was still bugged by Sal and Rita Diaz, the Willises’s gardener and housekeeper, who happened to be husband and wife and who the BU had ruled out due to confirmed alibis. Alleged alibis or not, Marc still viewed them as a couple who’d maxed out on all their credit cards and who were in debt up to their eyeballs. A couple who constantly had their noses shoved in the Willises’ affluence, and who might very well feel they wanted a piece of it. A couple with a husband who had a history of bar fights, and a wife who was clearly cowed into submission.

It was a classic setup for a kidnapping—except for the fact that two separate employers had vouched for their whereabouts all afternoon, and that no ransom demands had come in. Still, Marc wasn’t ready to let it go.

Casey had talked to all the car-pool mothers, particularly to Liza Bock. And, while she hadn’t learned anything glaringly new, the evasiveness she’d encountered—on a whole different front—had raised her antennae and convinced her that her earlier suspicions were well-founded.

“I think Edward Willis is sleeping with Ashley Lawrence,” she announced.

“The nanny?” Marc arched an eyebrow. He looked more intrigued than surprised. Very little about human nature surprised him these days—certainly not an affair.

“Yup.” Casey leaned forward and propped her elbows on the conference table. “All the signs are there—Ashley’s body language and her bickering with her boyfriend. Edward’s antagonism toward us and absurdly forced show of protectiveness toward his wife. The weird dynamic that permeates the house. Affection mixed with tension and a hint of desperation, not to mention a healthy dose of anger and mistrust. Hope cares for her husband, but she’s resigned herself to his career-immersed absence from her life and from Krissy’s. Judging from the way she pulls into herself and away from her husband, I’d be shocked if she doesn’t suspect there’s another woman—and equally shocked if she thought it was Ashley. As for Ashley, she adores Krissy, but feels guilty as hell about something. And Edward is an arrogant, egocentric powermonger, who’s perfectly suited for his job, and for screwing over his family.”

“Does that include grabbing his kid and his hot young nanny and taking off for parts unknown?” Ryan asked.

“Uh-uh.” Casey shook her head. “He loves his daughter—as much as he’s capable of loving anyone—but he sure as hell doesn’t want full responsibility for her. Any more than he wants a life with that hot young nanny. What he wants is exactly what he’s got—the whole nine yards. A perfect little family. Great sex from a young woman who worships him. And a prestigious legal practice that he’d never in a million years leave. It feeds his bank account and his ego. Nope. Edward’s got a good thing here. He just doesn’t want us to blow it by telling Hope. As it is, he knows he’s under the FBI’s microscope, since he’s Krissy’s father and, therefore, a prime suspect. So he’s not a happy camper.”

Marc was tapping his pencil against his leg. Now he hunched over and drew a line through two names. “So we’re crossing off the nanny and her loser boyfriend. What about other relatives—grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles?”

“Edward’s an only child. Both parents deceased,” Casey responded. “Hope, as you know, has a much more complicated past. After her twin sister, Felicity, was kidnapped and the trail went cold, her parents’ marriage fell apart. Her father started drinking heavily. He and his wife divorced. He took off, never to be heard from again. The wife, Vera, came close to a nervous breakdown. Having a six-year-old who needed her kept her from going over the edge. She still lives in the same house the twins grew up in. Hope says that part of her mother never gave up praying that Felicity would come home.”

“Where is this house?”

“New Rochelle. A solid half hour away. Vera Akerman is too shaken and heavily medicated to drive herself. For obvious reasons, Krissy’s kidnapping is bringing back the worst memories of her life. But she needs to be with her daughter. So Hope’s arranged for a car service to pick her up and bring her to Armonk.”

“Do you plan to interview her?” Ryan asked.

“Gently, but yes. Tomorrow afternoon. I want to give her some time alone with her daughter.”

“I agree,” Marc said with a nod. “It’s doubtful she can cast any light on Krissy’s kidnapper anyway. In the meantime, let’s move on. I scanned some internet articles on recent cases Edward was involved with as defense counsel. A few of them raised some red flags. Wealthy, white-collar scumbags, with backgrounds that scream violence. I’m sure they’re guilty of the crimes they were charged with committing, but are instead free as birds, living the good life, thanks to Edward Willis. I already called in a few favors. I’ll be getting a look at the court transcripts. Then, I’ll be paying a few visits.”

“How soon?” Casey asked.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll be pounding the pavement by noon.”

Casey’s head dropped back against the chair’s backrest, and she blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re fighting the clock. Krissy’s already been missing for longer than the first crucial hours. Peg told me they have nothing solid from the call-ins. And there’s been no contact about ransom. None.”

“Child predator,” Marc muttered. “You know that’s what Hutch and Grace are going to come up with.”

“Yes,” Casey said quietly. “I know. But there are too many unique personal details here for our kidnapper to be a random sex offender, even one with a fetish for little girls. He specifically wanted Krissy. Why? We have to tie the two together.” A pause. “I plan on being at Krissy’s school tomorrow, and talking to her friends during recess. The parents all gave me permission, as did the school. It’s a comfortable environment, and the kids won’t feel pressured. I’ll keep it light. But I’ll get what I can. Tonight, I’m running through the list of disgruntled parents from Hope’s family court. I’ll talk to as many of them as I can tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll also be talking to Claudia Mitchell, Hope’s former court clerk. Seems she broke up with her fiancé recently, and skitzed out enough so that Hope had to fire her.”

“Both of you are going to step on more than a few law enforcement toes tomorrow,” Ryan said thoughtfully. “So let’s keep me out of the mix to minimize the collateral damage. Give me the lists. I’ll hole up and do some in-depth searches. Based on what I find, I’ll put together likely scenarios for the suspects I think have not only the motive, means and opportunity, but the brain power and access to the right people to pull this off. I take it we’re looking for a main player who’s male and a compliant accomplice who’s female.”

“I think so, yes.” That triggered another issue in Casey’s mind. “I believe that Krissy’s being held in a basement that was converted into a princess-pink bedroom. The woman who took her impersonated Hope, right down to her tailored black suit. She drugged her and took her to wherever she is. As of late afternoon, Krissy was terrified and isolated, but still alive.”

“How do you know.” Ryan broke off, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been talking to Claire-voyant. I saw her wandering around the house. I don’t know why the cops—and you—listen to her.”

“Because ninety percent of the time she’s right,” Casey shot back. She steeled herself, and went for it, head-on. “You know I plan to expand Forensic Instincts. I think we need a better balance to the group. We’ve got logic up the yin-yang. A little ethereal input would be good for us. I’ve done my homework, Ryan. Claire Hedgleigh’s the real deal. I want to hire her.”

“Ah, shit.” Ryan slapped his palm on the table.

Casey ignored him, turning to Marc. “Ryan’s feelings are obvious. Yours?”

Marc pursed his lips, silently weighing the question. “You know I’m not a big believer in psychics,” he replied at last. “The fit’s not going to be easy. But I do see your point. I know Claire’s success rate. That’s fact, not speculation. Do you know if she’s interested?”

“Not a clue,” Casey answered honestly. “I wanted to talk to the two of you before I broached the subject. So I take it you’re not opposed?”

A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “How tough is she? There’s going to be a lot of infighting going on. Can she take it?”

“Not a doubt.” Casey arched a brow in Ryan’s direction. “Can you?”

Ryan met Casey’s gaze. “I can take anything. But I’m not going easy on her. If I think she’s spouting crap, I’ll say so.”

“Are you going to go after her on purpose?”

“I’m not in middle school, Casey. If you think she’s a value-add, I won’t fight you—or her—unless I disagree. Which I probably will. But I’ll make it work, if it makes the group stronger.”

“Good. Because I think it will.” Casey rose. “Why don’t the two of you go home and get some rest. We never did sleep off the Fisher case. Plus, I want to hit the ground running first thing tomorrow.” She frowned. “It makes me ill that Krissy Willis is out there tonight, scared to death, and possibly being violated in some sick way.”

“Sexual predators don’t wait for bedtime, Casey,” Marc reminded her quietly. “If that’s who has her, time is what matters. Not time of day.”

“I know.” Casey raked a hand through her hair. “And I’d pound the pavement all night, if I thought that Peg Harrington wouldn’t cut us off at the knees. We’ve got to play ball a little or the Feds will kick us out on our asses. They’ll be out there 24/7. So I’ll spend tonight reviewing my notes and seeing if something I haven’t spotted yet jumps out at me.”

“You get some rest, too,” Ryan advised, yawning as he came to his feet. “You’ve got a packed day tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

But both guys knew that meant “won’t do.” Just as they knew they’d be burning the midnight oil themselves.

It was well past two in the morning when Casey’s doorbell rang.

She’d been scribbling notes in the margins of her lists, and had pretty much reached a roadblock that couldn’t be skirted until the morning’s interviews.

She put down her pen and smiled. Only one person had the stamina, the tenacity and the incentive to show up on her doorstep at this ungodly hour.

She went down the two flights of stairs and peeked outside. Then she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Hi,” she greeted her guest with a smug grin. “Here for breakfast?”

Hutch walked inside, kicked the door shut and dragged Casey into his arms. “Damn straight.” He was already unbuttoning her shirt as he covered her mouth with his. He lifted her off the floor and turned sharply, pressing her against the wall as he continued yanking off her clothes. “First time will be right here,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Then I’ll take you to bed.”

“It’s four flights,” she reminded him breathlessly, unzipping his fly. “I might not leave you with the strength.”

“Try me.”

“I plan to.”