The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

by Andrea Kane

  “Was it real? Or a wig?”

  “I don’t know. Krissy didn’t have a feeling about that….” Claire spread her hands wide in an uncertain gesture. “The woman was wearing dark sunglasses. She was clearly disguising her appearance. But, more important, she was doing her best to impersonate Krissy’s mother. Her car. Her hair. A big smile. A welcoming wave.”

  “And a kidnapping.” Casey’s mind was racing. “Was Krissy remembering what happened in the car? Was the kidnapper alone? Did she hurt her?”

  “I think she chloroformed her, and later drugged her again. And Krissy heard her talking. I didn’t sense anyone else in the car, so I’m guessing she was on the phone.”

  “Probably talking to whoever she’s working with—or for.” Casey pushed on. “What else did you sense? Where’s Krissy now? Could you see her surroundings? Who was with her? Anything at all that could help us find her?”

  This time Claire hesitated. “Casey, I really should talk to the police first.”

  “You probably should. But it’s freshest in your mind now. The cops are in meetings, getting their assignments so they can head out and start interviewing. I’m here. I’ll memorize everything you say. I can be there when you talk to the task force, so that just in case a detail starts to fade, we’ll ensure you give them the clearest and most comprehensive picture possible.” A pause. “Claire, you’ve worked with me before. All I want is for that little girl to be found before it’s too late. So tell me what you remember.”

  “She wants her nightgown,” Claire replied quietly. “She doesn’t like pajamas, but she’s wearing flannel ones. She’s in a downstairs bedroom, behind a door with a lock on the outside and a separate one on the inside for when the kidnapper is with her. No one’s there now. She heard voices before, but now it’s silent, and she’s frantic for her mommy.”

  “The room—did you see it?”

  “Flashes of it, yes. It’s bare. Quiet. There’s a canopied bed with a white bedspread that has little gold crowns on it and pink ruffles all around the sides. There’s enough light in the room, but it’s from a lamp on the nightstand. No sunlight. And no window. Just four pale pink walls and a bare carnation-pink carpet. Like an institutional room, but with a few personal touches.”

  “No surprise,” Casey responded. “The main offender is most likely a man. He’ll want to put Krissy in an environment where she feels totally vulnerable, but surrounded by enough personal touches to lower her defenses and convince her that he cares. That’ll provide him with the greatest sense of control. As for the little-girl decor, I’m sure that’s courtesy of his female accomplice. She’ll do it for him, but I’m hoping that a small part of her will also do it for Krissy. That would mean the woman feels a shred of pity or compassion—up to the point where she’d be crossing the line and jeopardizing her own safety. If that’s true, we can use her emotions to our advantage.”

  Claire nodded, walking over and picking up the coloring book and crayons. “I’m going to find the North Castle detectives.”

  “Assuming they’re still here,” Casey reminded her. “It’s possible that everyone’s out doing their job and that the only law enforcement here are whoever Peg assigned to the Willises and the phones.”

  “Then I’ll talk to them.”

  “Do you want me to be there?”

  “No.” A raw pause. “In this case, my recall is one hundred percent—unfortunately.”

  “I can imagine.” Casey didn’t envy Claire’s gift. It had to be enormously painful at times like this. “Whoever you talk to, just don’t do it in front of the Willises. They’re about to give a media statement, and the BAU isn’t here yet to coach them. The last thing they need is to hear that Krissy is terrified and locked up—for God knows what purpose. We can talk to them later. We’ll make sure to emphasize the fact that Krissy is alive.”

  Halfway to the door, Claire paused, looking at Casey as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. “You’re very insightful.”

  “So’s my whole team,” Casey replied. “It’s something that you and I should discuss—when the time is right.”

  Claire’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Okay. We will.”

  Just after Claire left the room, Casey’s BlackBerry rang. She glanced down at the caller ID. No surprise at what she saw.

  She punched on the phone. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” said a deep, masculine voice. “I wanted you to know that I’m in your neck of the woods. I’ve got a case in Westchester County. I’m not sure when I can break away, but when I do, can we get together? Maybe later tonight?”

  “Oh, a lot sooner than that,” Casey assured him. “I’m at the Willises’ house right now. I assume that’s where you’re headed?”

  A sharp intake of breath. “They hired you already?”

  “What can I say? They’ve got good taste. Just like you.” Casey’s light banter vanished. “I’m glad you’re coming. We’ve got to find Krissy Willis before she’s killed—or worse. Hurry.”

  Casey got the Willises alone before the BAU-3 team arrived to prep them.

  “After your TV statement, my team and I are going over to Krissy’s school,” Casey told them. “We’ll be interviewing a few specific staff members.”

  “Why just a few?” Hope interrupted. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Please, Ms. Woods, don’t skim the surface just because the authorities are pressuring you. I hired you because of your creativity, your track record and your freedom to push the boundaries. Edward and I are both lawyers. We know the drill. Law enforcement is bound by rules that you can circumvent. So circumvent them. Do whatever you have to. Do it thoroughly. And do it fast.”

  “I intend to.” Casey spoke as quietly as her client. “Don’t confuse specificity with reticence. If I think someone on your list is a person of interest, I’ll delve into their background, even if our investigation overlaps with the FBI’s. But if my instincts tell me they’re a dead end, it would be a waste of time to pursue them when I could be devoting my attention to more likely suspects, or people who could lead me in the right direction. I especially want to talk to Liza Bock, the car-pool mom who saw Krissy jump into the kidnapper’s car. I also want to talk to her daughter, Olivia, and all Krissy’s other friends. Kids very often know more than they think they do. The FBI task force will cover the gamut.” Particularly the sex offenders, she thought silently and grimly. “Let us cover the probable.”

  Hope nodded. “All right.” She handed Casey a stack of papers, including everything she’d given to Peg Harrington: a full list of personal names and each individual’s relationship to Krissy, and pages and pages of professional names that Hope and Edward had come up with as potential enemies, resentful plaintiffs and/or defendants, parents who’d lost custody of their children, and all the other people who might hold a grudge against them.

  “I’ll review all this and get started,” Casey said. She thumbed through the pages. “First come the angry parents. An eye for an eye would be strong motivation. Ferreting through that part of the list and interviewing the right candidates will be my job. I’ll have Ryan concentrate on trimming down the list to the most logical thinkers among those. Whoever orchestrated this was sharp, focused and intelligent. And Marc will zero in on those who have the greatest access to you, your home and your day-to-day lives, plus anyone with a criminal record. You have no idea how fast and thorough we are. Have faith.”

  “I’m trying.” Tears slid down Hope’s cheeks. “But she’s my baby.”

  “I know,” Casey replied gently. “And, on all fronts, you’ve got the best of the best working for her safe return.”

  “Hey.” Marc came up behind Casey. “Speaking of which, the BAU’s here. They sent Hutch.”

  Casey half-turned. “Yes, I know. He called a little while ago.” She watched as the familiar, commanding presence of SSA Kyle Hutchinson filled the room. For a man who epitomized the word reserved, Hutch managed to take charge without even tr
ying. There was a natural, compelling quality about him that screamed leadership. From the power of his build, the innate confidence he exuded, even the jagged scar across his left temple—a souvenir of his days as a Washington, D.C., police detective—the whole package yanked everyone’s gaze his way and told them he was someone of significant importance.

  He never gave credence to those reactions. As always, he had just one purpose in mind. Doing his job.

  He pressed forward, his sharp blue eyes focused on the Willises. Right behind Hutch was his partner, SSA Grace Masters, who was every bit as formidable as her partner. Anyone fooled by her slender build or wavy, light brown hair was an ass. She had a steel-trap mind, guts and grit to spare and an unflappable personality. Hutch’s expressions were unreadable. Grace’s were well thought out and executed. The two pros had worked together for years, and now brainstormed with the ease of a long-term partnership, and the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

  “Marc. Casey.” Hutch nodded at each of them, then shifted his attention to the Willises. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson and this is my partner, Supervisory Special Agent Grace Masters. We’re from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He and Grace shook the Willises’ hands.

  “You’re here to profile the bastard who took my daughter,” Edward stated.

  “We’re here to behaviorally analyze the crime to help the investigative team do their job,” Grace replied. “But, yes, we’ll zero in on motivation, personality types, number of offenders—anything that will lead us to your daughter’s kidnapper or kidnappers.”

  “Let’s put off the details for now.” Hutch nipped Edward’s questions in the bud. “We’ve got to deal with the immediate. You’re going on TV in ten minutes. So let’s get you prepped and ready.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  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. S
till, 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.”