by Andrea Kane
“Then what do we do from here?”
“We divide and conquer.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The brownstone was dark.
Hero was stretched out on the carpeted floor, enjoying a late-night snooze.
In the bed, Hutch threw back his head with a shout, every muscle in his body strained to the hilt. Then, with an exhausted groan, he shuddered and collapsed on top of Casey, his body drenched in sweat.
Casey sank into the mattress and shut her eyes, still quivering in the aftermath. Her fingertips traced a fine line down Hutch’s back.
“Still mad?” she finally managed.
“Too tired to be mad—now.”
A soft laugh. “You’re tough to win over.”
“Have your way with me a few more times. I might reconsider.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Long, silent minutes passed.
Broaching the inevitable, Hutch rolled over, throwing an arm over his head and sprawling out on his back. “It’s bad enough you play by your own set of rules,” he said. “But you’re reckless, too. That ransom drop could have gotten ugly. We’re trained to handle that. You’re not.”
“Point taken. But I didn’t have time to arrange a posse. I had to act fast. Plus, I wasn’t sure it was a ransom drop. All I was sure of was that Hope was acting weird. Then she left abruptly—right after her father showed up. I didn’t think—I just took off after her.” Casey tipped her head back to look up at Hutch. “That’s as close to an apology as you’re going to get. I hope it makes the grade.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You really are a piece of work. Yeah, fine, it makes the grade. I’ll give it a C+. But as for our methods—we’re never going to have a meeting of the minds on those.”
“True,” Casey agreed. “The good news is that the FBI task force is now on the same page with us about the two kidnappings probably being related. Your team can drill the hell out of Sidney Akerman and Joe Deale, and my team and I can soft-pedal it.”
Hutch gave her a quizzical look. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that organized crime is the FBI’s forte. But there are other ways to skin a cat. There are tons of subtleties yet to explore. Law enforcement’s job is clear—to chase down every viable lead, from the mob to the other suspects on your list. Which makes Forensic Instincts’ job just as clear—to hunt down more subtle leads, through the more subtle sources.”
“Just to clarify, you’re totally abandoning the idea that Krissy’s kidnapping might be an isolated event?”
“You know me better than that. I never abandon anything—not until the case is officially, and successfully, closed. I have a few avenues left to travel on the isolated kidnapping theory, although my gut tells me they won’t pan out. Nothing illegal, I promise. Mostly, I want to pursue the related kidnappings theory. I plan to go over the Felicity Akerman case file with Patrick. He’s going to be an invaluable resource in recreating the past—for your team and mine. I want to take in everything he tells me. Then I want to talk to Hope and, most importantly, to Vera Akerman. If Sidney was in trouble when Felicity was kidnapped, his family might know more than they realize. Hope, from a child’s innocent perspective, and Vera, from a wife’s real-life observations. I want to hear about friends. Business associates. Even casual acquaintances who struck an odd note.”
“It sounds like you’re reaching.”
“Maybe we are. But we don’t have a clear suspect, just a lot of muddied waters. So between your tried and true methods and our unconventional ones, we’ll have all the bases covered.” Casey propped herself on one elbow. “Speaking of unconventional methods, stop eyeing Claire Hedgleigh with such skepticism. She’s for real, and she’s good. I’m hoping to convince her to come work for my company once this case is behind us.”
“Duly noted. I guess my personality and training make it hard for me to believe in psychics.”
“Then think of her as a highly sensitized intuitive. She’d like that description better anyway.”
“Is that the argument you used on Marc and Ryan to get them to welcome their new colleague?” Hutch asked with a grin.
“Something like that. Marc’s very similar to you. He’s dubious, but reasonable. Ryan’s less open-minded. Then again, I think he’s dying to get her into bed, and hasn’t come to terms with it. She’s a one-eighty from him and from the women he’s used to.”
“In other words, she’s not climbing all over him.”
“Exactly. So his reaction to having her around on a daily basis isn’t entirely professional.”
“Mixing business with pleasure,” Hutch said drily. “It’s a lousy idea.”
“True.” Casey’s eyes twinkled. “Then again, sometimes you just can’t help yourself.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Hutch concurred in a husky voice.
He pulled Casey over him, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close.
My doubts had been wrong, my protests in vain.
It had been worth the risk.
Krissy. Watching you cradle the panda and the robin makes me all the more certain that I did the right thing by following orders and breaking into your house. And spraying the robin with that perfume… Now, you’re sleeping peacefully—at last.
I’ve got to make you willing. This plan can’t work without that. Your old life must cease to exist.
Or you’ll cease to exist.
Day Four
It was seven in the morning, and it was Marc’s turn to walk Hero.
He didn’t mind. The dog was smart as a whip, with a sniffer to match.
They returned to the brownstone with bagels and coffee for everyone. Casey and Ryan were already seated at the conference room table, so Marc and Hero completed the team.
“I brought enough for Hutch. What did he do, sneak out the back door?” Marc asked wryly.
“No.” Casey was unbothered by the good-natured teasing. “He left at the crack of dawn, boldly through the front. He’s meeting with Patrick and Sidney. The FBI task force gets to talk to them first. But that’s okay. We have a few things to take care of in the meantime. And Patrick had copies of the Akerman case file sent to both me and to Don. So we’ll be privy to the same information. I’ll make photocopies for each of you.”
“Good.” Marc distributed breakfast, then took a seat. “That’ll give me lots of reading material.”
“Well, you won’t be doing it today,” Casey informed him. “Today you’re going to be a determined husband searching for a new house. One that’s in Armonk, where the school system is exceptional.”
“Really.” Marc’s brows rose. “And who am I married to? You?”
“Nope. I’ll be your Realtor. We need someone who can be overbearing to play that part. And that’s yours truly. Actually, Claire has agreed to help us out. She’ll be your wife. And Hero will be your dog. We’ll meet at the Willis house. Bring my STU-100, the gauze pads and tongs, some latex gloves and the special glass jars I bought. I’ll create a few scent pads, using some of Krissy’s things as scent articles. We’ll introduce a pad to Hero.”
“After which, we’ll be canvassing the neighborhood,” Marc surmised.
“Right. Once he’s familiar with Krissy’s scent, Hero will be able to tell us if she was taken to any of the neighbors’ houses. In the meantime, we’ll be talking to the home owners, asking questions about what it’s like to live there. How many kids are around and their ages, if the parents are friendly, if there’s any trepidation over the recent kidnapping. I’m willing to bet we’ll find out lots of gossip, tidbits that average people don’t share with law enforcement. It’ll give us a good perspective on anyone in the area who’s considered to be ‘off,’ plus firsthand interaction with the folks who live here, as well. If Krissy’s kidnapping is a stand-alone crime, that should help supply us with some viable suspects. Then, Ryan can run down their names and see if anything unsavory pops up.”
“But you don’t believe it will.”
“No, I don’t. I think the two crimes are connected. But this will help the Willises comfortably rule out their friends and neighbors, and give us a chance to cross some names off our list until the FBI lets us in the door to talk to Patrick. I don’t want to step on their toes. I pissed them off enough already by following Hope to the ransom drop. If they try to block our access, we’ll be screwed. So let’s play by the rules, at least where it comes to the organized crime angle.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair, eyeing Casey shrewdly. “That’s not all you have on tap for today, is it?”
Casey shook her head. “I’m going to talk to Hope, get more details of her childhood. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to talk to Vera Akerman. I’d be willing to bet she can relay information she doesn’t even know she has. At which point, you’ll come in. I’m hoping to have some names to give you, some from the Willises’ neighborhood, and some from their past. You’re going to be a busy boy by dinnertime.”
“Good. I look forward to the challenge.”
“For you?” Casey arched an eyebrow. “It won’t be a challenge. You could do it in your sleep.”
Her cell phone sounded its upbeat ring tone. “Casey Woods.” She was quiet for a minute, listening. “I’m still in the city, but I’ll be heading up to Armonk in a little while,” she supplied. Another pause. “Are you in Midtown now? Fine. I’ll meet you in your office in an hour.” She disconnected the call.
“What was that about?” Marc asked.
“That was Edward Willis. What was it about? Ostensibly, he wants to see me in his office to discuss the status of our investigation.”
“In reality, he wants to know if you plan on telling his wife that he’s sleeping with Ashley Lawrence,” Marc finished.
“Bingo.” Casey tapped her pen on the table. “That marriage is already in trouble. Edward probably wants to keep it from blowing apart. Not good for his image. And that means covering his ass. The man is a major pig.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
Casey gave Marc a tight smile. “I think I’ll make him squirm.”
Edward Willis was doing paperwork at his desk when his secretary showed Casey into his office. He requested privacy—door shut, no interruptions, no phone calls. The poor young woman immediately agreed, giving her boss one long, infatuated look before retreating. Casey wondered if Edward was sleeping with her, too.
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Woods,” he began, once they were alone. “Would you like coffee? Tea?”
“I’ll help myself, thank you.” Casey poured herself a cup of regular coffee from the expensive brewing station, then took a seat across from Edward. “I didn’t know you were in the office today. I thought you’d be at the hospital with Ashley, or joining your wife in driving her home.”
She saw Edward’s jaw visibly tighten.
“I find work to be therapeutic,” he replied. “It keeps me from going crazy worrying about Krissy.”
Casey studied his expression, thinking that that was probably the first completely honest statement he’d ever made to her.
“So your phone call sounded important,” she began. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“This.” Edward slid a check across the desk until it was right in front of Casey, so she could easily view it.
She didn’t look down but, instead, continued watching him expectantly.
He gave her the explanation she was seeking. “When my wife hired you, I thought of you as a fledgling company with a very light proven track record. I had no idea you’d be as committed, or insightful, as you are. I’m afraid I treated you rather brusquely, and without the respect you deserve. I know that Hope is paying you well. Still, I’d like to add a bonus to that fee right now. And another if you bring my daughter home safely.”
At this point, Casey glanced down at the check. It was made out to Forensic Instincts LLC, and it was in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars.
A lovely, generous bribe.
Keeping her expression carefully blank, Casey met Edward’s gaze.
“Let me tell you a few things about myself and my company, Mr. Willis. We’re everything you just described and more. Someday, we’re going to be known as the foremost profilers in the Tri-state Area, with the most out-of-the-box, creative approaches to solving crimes—successfully. None of those approaches is going to include gossiping or inciting family breakups. So while I appreciate your offer, I’m not too crazy about its basis. So let me put your mind at ease. Frankly, I don’t care if you sleep with Ashley Lawrence and half of Manhattan. It has no bearing on Krissy’s kidnapping. I’m convinced that neither you nor Ashley had anything to do with her abduction. And that’s all that interests me.”
Casey slid the check back across the desk. “Consequently, there’s no need to buy me off. Like you said, your wife is paying us twice our normal rates. That’s more than enough. On the other hand, don’t tear up the check. I’ll be happy to take it as a bonus, once we bring Krissy home.”
Edward startled, and then, for a split second, he actually looked as if he might smile. “Very well,” he agreed, picking up the check and putting it in his desk drawer. “It’s clear we understand each other.”
“Crystal clear.”
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.”