by Andrea Kane
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 u
nloaded 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.”
“Where is he now?”
“The most recent address I have is in Ithaca. But it’s eight years old. The one interesting thing is what his job was, and maybe still is—custodian in an elementary school.”
Marc let out a low whistle. “Any indication of off-color behavior during that time? Approaching kids, talking or acting inappropriately around kids—even watching kids at the bus stop?”
Ryan shook his head, double-checking by inputting a slew of data into the computer. “Nothing documented,” he reaffirmed. He called up a page, entered the print command and waited for the single sheet of paper that he snatched off the laser printer. “But here’s the address of the school, and a list of the faculty. The principal’s been there for ten years, so he’s bound to know Sidney Akerman. And some of the faculty predate the principal. I’d say this is our best starting point.” A questioning look at Casey. “Do you want me to drive upstate and check it out?”
Before Casey could respond, there was a knock at the front door.
“Hold that thought,” she said, heading for the hall.
She returned a minute later, Patrick at her side.
“Marc, Ryan, this is former Special Agent Patrick Lynch, our new consultant on the Krissy Willis abduction.” Casey made the introductions. “As I told you, he was the lead case agent on the Felicity Akerman investigation.”
The three men shook hands.
“Good timing. We were just discussing Sidney Akerman,” Casey informed Patrick, bringing him up to speed. “Ryan tracked him to upstate New York.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “And I was just asking Casey if she wanted me to drive up there and check it out.”
“I’ll do that,” Patrick intervened. “If you picked up on Sidney Akerman’s trail, I want to follow it. He was always one of my missing pieces. There was never any doubt that he was a genuine wreck when Felicity was kidnapped. But there was also no doubt that he became an angry drunk afterwards. Plus, the fact that he’s been MIA for decades is a huge loose end. It’s my responsibility to see it through. I’ll head up to Ithaca early tomorrow.”
No one argued. Patrick had supplied them with all the background on the Akerman cold case. It was his right to pursue this lead.
But Casey wanted to know a lot more about the Felicity Akerman abduction than where Sidney Akerman fit into the puzzle. After her conversation with his ex-wife earlier today, she had other people of interest to ask about.
“Patrick, let’s all go upstairs to our conference room,” she suggested. “That’s our think tank, the place where we do our best brainstorming. Appropriate, since you and the group of us have a mountain of information to share.”
“Share being the operative word,” Patrick returned drily. “I’m not going upstairs to be interrogated.”
“Then you’re going to be majorly pissed off,” Casey answered with her usual candor. “Because I plan on firing questions at you. I also plan on giving you ample time to do the same.”
A gruff laugh. “You’re quite the force to be reckoned with, aren’t you, Casey Woods?”
“I like to think so. But this isn’t about me trying to one-up you. Time is running out. We all know it. If we don’t put our heads together and come up with some answers—and I mean now—we’ll lose any shot of finding Krissy Willis.” Casey’s pause was grim. “And when we do find her…I pray she’s still alive.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Day Three
The medical complex was set in a section of countryside just north of Westchester County. The grounds weren’t vast, but they were well maintained, especially the colorful gardens. The buildings were kept clean, even if they appeared a bit Spartan and institutional looking.
The facility was called Sunny Gardens. And it was the best that a middle-class income could afford.
The woman sat in one of the lovely gardens overlooking the park. She gazed across the grounds, not really seeing them. Her mind was wandering to a different place and time. Sometimes her thoughts were vivid and clear, as real as if they were happening right now. Other times, the present and the past melded into one, and, try though she would, she couldn’t separate them. Those days she felt very confused, and she was happy for her medication. She also needed the nurses to explain. Sometimes they were wrong. She knew it. But sometimes they were right. She just wasn’t always sure when.
Today was a fairly good day. She understood where she was. She even had a good idea why. And she was certain that today was Wednesday, which meant she’d have a visitor. Her favorite visitor.
Her little girl.
She worried a lot. Maybe seeing her mama like this would frighten the child. True, she never showed signs of fear. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid. She was always so good at hiding her emotions.
Was that what she was doing now?
The nurse was walking over, a big smile on her face. The name tag on her uniform said Marla Greene. Marla Greene—did she know her? She must. Because the nurse was gazing at her with familiar recognition.
“Lunchtime,” she announced cheerily.
“Lunchtime?” The woman shook her head vehemently. “It can’t be. My baby’s not here yet.”
“Maybe she’s coming later today,” Marla Greene suggested. “You know how much work she has.”
“Yes.” The woman beamed. “She’s smart. I gave her extra homework to do.”
“Well, that explains why she’s late. So let’s go inside and have some lunch. You need to keep up your strength for her.”
Patrick drove rapidly up the highway. Ithaca was only four hours and change from his place, and he’d left the city right after breakfast. So he’d be showing up at Plainview Elementary School by noon.
Ryan McKay was obviously damned good at what he did. For over a year after Felicity’s abduction, and sporadically thereafter, Patrick had tried to find a lead on Sidney Akerman’s whereabouts—and come up empty-handed. Of course, today’s technology changed all that by leaps and bounds. So Patrick was cautiously optimistic that he’d locate Hope and Felicity’s father.
And then what? Did the man know anything, or was he just another dead end?
Patrick thought back to the time of the original abduction. Sidney Akerman had been all over the FBI from the get-go. Half the time, he’d been inebriated, but that didn’t stop his relentless quest to find Felicity. He’d cooperated fully, taken and passed his polygraph test and answered all the questions he was asked during his interview. After that, he’d insisted on being told about every lead—until time and stress wore him down and the liquor won out.
Could he have information he didn’t even realize he had—information that would tie these crimes together and shed light on his granddaughter’s kidnapping? Did he even know he had a granddaughter?
Regardless of what Patrick learned today, there was a connection between these two abductions. He didn’t know what, how or why. He only knew what his gut was telling him. And he’d learned to listen to his gut.
The sign for his exit appeared just ahead. He signaled, slowed down and turned off the highway, heading directly to his destination—and, hopefully, to some answers.
Claire jerked awake, her body drenched in sweat.
She’d been up all night. She’d gone over her notes all morning. She must have drifted off.
