The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (16 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From Edward Willis’s office, Casey drove up to Armonk to carry out the house-hunting charade she’d arranged with Claire and Marc.

After several hours of pounding the pavement and ringing doorbells, they collapsed on the Willises’ sofa, worn-out as they discussed their findings. One thing was for sure: it was amazing the trivia you learned in a suburban neighborhood just by asking the right questions.

By the time the “happy couple,” escorted by their “Realtor,” had visited a ton of local residences in the Willises’ community, they knew more
about
the negligent parents and more
from
the overprotective parents than any official call could ever yield. They knew the number of kids in each household, as well as their ages and genders. They knew who the career moms were, who the stay-at-home moms were, and who the moms were who constantly had housefuls of kids over. They knew which dads worked at home, which were frequently around, and which were away on perpetual business trips. And they knew which families were tight with each other, which ones were the neighborhood leaders and which ones were loners who kept to themselves.

While there were definite families who didn’t make the popular list, that list was, nonetheless, devoid of people demonstrating creepy behavior or questionable actions. Everyone described the neighborhood as warm, friendly and overwhelmingly safe. The recent abduction of Krissy Willis had sent shock waves through the community. The home owners all assured Claire and Marc that nothing like this had ever happened before, nor, given the extensive neighborhood watch that had been set up, did they intend to ever let it happen again.

Most of them were certain the crime had been a personal one, given the type of people the Willises dealt with in their work, and the high-profile nature of their careers. But not even one neighbor so much as hinted at a suspicion involving someone in the community.

Casey was unsurprised by the results, as were Marc and Claire.

“I didn’t pick up significant negative energy from any of our visits,” Claire pronounced. “And Hero didn’t pick up Krissy’s scent.”

“Agreed. It was just the usual affluent suburban competitiveness,” Marc clarified drily. “Whose landscaping was more elaborate, who had the latest and greatest model of Mercedes SUV, and whose built-in pool was larger. Nothing unexpected. Just another reason I’m glad I’m not a rich suburbanite.”

Casey gave him a half smile. “I hear you. As for what we did—or didn’t—find out, that comes as no surprise. None of us expected to hit the mother lode from this adventure. But we had to try.” She glanced down at her notes. “Just to tie this inquiry up with a neat little bow, I’ll email Ryan the names that came up most frequently in a negative capacity. He can check them out. If they’ve had so much as a run-in at a Little League game, he’ll find it.”

She began typing names into her BlackBerry.

“The FBI has been with Sidney Akerman all day,” Marc reminded her. “Do you think they found out anything?”

“I think Patrick would have let us know if they had.” Casey bit her lip thoughtfully. “I’m not quite sure why, but I trust him. Maybe it’s because he’s not officially on any side. Or maybe it’s because I sense the same maverick spirit in him as I do in us. Whatever the reason, I think he’d let us know if they were onto something. Weaving your way through the members of the mob is no easy task. They’re working with the details given to them by the FBI’s resident agency in upstate New York—details they obtained from the perp who cut a deal by giving them information on Sidney’s run-in with the mob. They’re also dealing with Tony Bennato, who bought that company. And they’re dealing with Joe Deale, who’s a small potato in a much bigger organization. It’s not going to come together in one day. Still…” A pensive pause. “It can’t hurt to be safe. Marc, you and Hutch haven’t had any time to catch up. Why don’t you drop by the North Castle P.D. and see if he wants to grab a drink, or a late lunch.”

Marc’s lips twitched. “I’m flattered. You think I can get more out of a friend and former colleague than you can out of a guy who can’t stay away from you for more than a few weeks at a time.”

“Damn straight, I do. Business is business. You’re former BAU. You worked together. And you’d be talking guy to guy. That’s about as sacred as it gets. Besides, this will give Claire and me a chance to talk to Hope and Vera. I want to get as many seemingly inconsequential details as I can. The more I get, the more Ryan has to run with.”

“True.” Marc rose. “Maybe I could also drop in on Joe Deale’s foreman, and intimidate him a little about those architectural plans. You never know how deep he’s in.”

“Good point. And good luck.”

“I’ll check in later.” Marc shot a quick wave at Claire and headed out the door, where Hero was waiting in the car.

The man-to-man stuff was underway. Time for a little woman-to-woman action.

Hope and Vera were seated in the Florida room, sipping on cups of chamomile tea, when Casey and Claire found them.

Hope jumped to her feet in a heartbeat. “Is there news?”

“Not yet,” Casey replied. “But we’d like to talk. I’ll fill you in on the names we’ve crossed off the list, and then I’d like to ask you both some questions. The questions may seem trite, but I assure you, they’re anything but.”

“All right.” Hope resettled herself on the couch. “Whose names did you delete from our suspect list? And how?”

Quickly, Casey ran through their house-buying charade.

“That’s very creative,” Hope commented when Casey was through. “But the FBI and the police have already interviewed all our neighbors. So that territory has been covered.”

“Yes and no. The task force did their job—very thoroughly. But police badges and FBI ID tend to intimidate people. So the interviewees automatically supply factual answers, rather than more detailed, personal ones. We took every iota of negative feedback, however small, and turned the information over to Ryan McKay, my techno-genius. He’ll do detailed searches on those people—so detailed that anything even remotely out of whack will pop up. That’ll support the law enforcement investigations, and eliminate a neighborhood of suspects altogether.”

Hope gave a wan smile. “I appreciate that. But it doesn’t bring me much comfort.”

“I agree. That’s why we want to talk.” Casey sat down and opened her notepad, gesturing for Claire to take a seat beside her. “I still believe that your sister and your daughter’s kidnappings are related. I think you do, too. The cops are digging into your father’s connection to the mob, however limited. I want to look at the past, too, but through a different route.”

“Which is?”

“You. I want you to think back thirty-two years. To rack your brains to remember every single detail, person or conversation associated with the time right before and after Felicity’s kidnapping. You’d be surprised how much each of us stores away in our memory that we don’t even realize is there. Events, snatches of conversation, and flashes of visual images. I’m asking you to trust me, and to try this. Claire can help us. If anything you touch on triggers a feeling or insight, she’ll pick up on it. Together, maybe—just maybe—we can zero in on something that can help find Krissy.”

“I was six years old,” Hope reminded her.

“I realize that. Were you in kindergarten? First grade? Focus on that, on the friends you remember coming over to play. That’s a good place to start to initiate memories.” Casey turned to Vera. “And you were Sidney’s wife. You must remember the last months you were together. Things he said. The way he acted. How he reacted to Felicity’s abduction—and not just the drinking. The things he harped on. What set him off. Which parts of the FBI investigation threw him the most. Any people who came by to offer their support that elicited a notable response from him. Things like that.”

Vera drew a slow, painful breath. “That was a horrible time in our lives and in our marriage. I can’t overlook the drinking—it consumed us. And, yes, Sidney was obsessed with the FBI investigation. Now I realize why. He felt responsible. He
was
responsible.”

“Did he have any friends who supported him? Anyone who came by frequently to offer words of encouragement?”

“I understand where you’re going with this,” Vera replied. “But Sidney wasn’t interested in support. He was a man with a mission.
I’m
the one who craved the support. I didn’t get it from my husband. I was fortunate that my friends, and the mothers of Hope’s and Felicity’s friends, were there for me. They came by every day, bringing food and words of encouragement.” She swallowed, hard. “We had a prayer vigil each evening, the entire first week that Felicity was gone.”

“I remember that,” Hope murmured. “Mrs. Matthews, Mrs. Tatem, all our neighbors, and a lot of other mothers I didn’t know. Felicity and I had different friends. I do remember all the mothers from the camp soccer team coming over.”

“Daily,” Vera confirmed. “They were kind, loving…and scared to death. They were afraid the kidnapper was targeting the girls from the team. I think they felt better being close to the investigation, so they could feel reassured. I don’t blame them.”

“Was there any justification for their fear?” Casey asked. “Were there any seedy characters hanging around watching the girls?”

Vera shook her head. “Not that any of us knew. Of course, now that I know the mob was involved, I can’t be sure. They’re good at staying hidden. But even if they were watching, there’d be no reason to scrutinize anyone but Felicity. None of the other fathers was involved with Sidney’s business.”

“Have you stayed in touch with any of these mothers?”

“Of course. Some of them still live in New Rochelle. Some moved, but we kept up by phone, and now, by email. Tragedy is a funny thing—it binds people together for life.”

“I understand.” Casey was jotting down some notes. “Are the names of all those women—from school, camp and the neighborhood—listed in the original file along with your current friends at the time? I haven’t had the chance to sink my teeth into the file yet. Agent Lynch just got it to us.”

“I believe all the names are in there, yes.” Vera thought about it and nodded. “Special Agent Lynch was very thorough. He collected every detail. The only ones you won’t find in his file are those attached to the mob connection you’ve only now just uncovered. Henry Kenyon’s name will be in there, of course. He was Sidney’s employer and friend. The FBI questioned him—evidently not thoroughly enough.”

Casey lowered her pad and gazed steadily at Vera. The last thing she wanted was for the older woman to get the wrong idea about the Bureau’s competence. “As you noted, Mrs. Akerman, the mob is adept at hiding. Organized Crime is very good at staying under the radar. They keep operations like the one they were running through Henry Kenyon’s company small and unobtrusive.” As she spoke the truth, she still knew in her gut that Patrick was undoubtedly beating himself up for missing the connection. “The FBI would have no reason to have their antennae raised about any mob involvement. Plus, technology then was a lot more limited than it is now. Computers were a new phenomenon, and certainly not standard Federal issue. So there were no internet searches, or in-depth profiles.”

“We know that,” Hope assured her. “I remember hearing my parents talking. They said the FBI was all but living at our house. I’m sure Special Agent Lynch did everything he could to find Felicity. He’s obviously still distraught over the case. Pointing fingers would be absurd.”

“I’d never do that,” Vera clarified hastily. “Hope is right. Special Agent Lynch was a godsend. He led the investigation, and he dealt with Sidney. I don’t know which was more of a challenge. I’m sorry if I sounded accusatory.”

“You didn’t,” Casey reassured her. “You sounded tormented. Which you were, and now are again.”

“Do you have a photo of Felicity that you could give me?” Claire inserted herself for the first time, tackling the situation via her area of expertise.

“Of course.” Vera opened her purse and pulled out a photo album. A few sleeves of pictures were inside. Most of them were dated, but still clear. She handed two photos to Claire. “Both of these are from the summer before…before our world ended. The first one is just Felicity. She’s beaming ear to ear because she’d just won a plaque for scoring the most goals at her camp soccer tournament. The second photo is of Felicity and Hope together.” A wan smile. “Very few people could tell them apart.”

“I can see why,” Claire murmured, studying the photos. “I’m going to start with the one of just Felicity. I don’t want to get hers and Hope’s energies confused, especially since they’re identical twins. If I sense anything at all from the first photo, I’ll move onto the second.”

She shut her eyes, touching her fingertips lightly to Felicity’s image.

A few moments passed.

“I sense joy. Pride. Maybe a little smugness.” Claire’s lips curved. “She beat out Suzie by only two goals.”

“That’s right.” Vera leaned forward, her eyes huge as saucers. “What else can you sense?”

“That was the last game Felicity played. Not because of the abduction. Another reason.” A pensive pause. “I sense impatience, frustration and pain. A lot of it.” Claire’s fingers shifted slightly and came to rest near Felicity’s left elbow. “Her left arm. She can’t bend it. And it hurts terribly. Shooting pain.”

“She broke it,” Hope supplied, visibly awestruck by Claire’s talent. “It was in a cast most of the next summer. The doctor gave her the green light to play again the day before she was kidnapped. I remember how excited she was.”

Claire nodded without opening her eyes. “She was. She loved soccer. She loved sports.” A heartbeat of a pause. “She loved sharing them with your father.”

Not a flicker of envy crossed Hope’s face. “Thank you for your sensitivity. But my father’s enthusiasm over Felicity was common knowledge. It wasn’t that he loved her more than he loved me. They just had more in common. I never felt neglected or uncared for. Besides—” Hope patted her mother’s hand “—I had my mom to share my love of reading and learning with. So it all evened out.”