by Andrea Kane
He handed Casey some printed pages. “Those are the adult images I came up with. Each page has a small corner photo of that person as a child. That gives us the continuity we need when we show the pictures to Vera Akerman and Hope Willis. See if either of them recognizes a familiar face. Particularly Hope. Have her rack her brain for anyone who’s been hanging around, maybe visiting as an alleged repairman or someone canvassing for a religious organization or political candidate. That would have given them access to the house and to the Willises—maybe even to Krissy. And if Hope does recognize someone, and if Vera recalls them from childhood, we might have a lead.”
Casey glanced toward the center of the room, taking in the copying machine. “It looks like you’ve been busy working more than one lead.”
“Yeah. I know we haven’t gotten anything incriminating off Joe Deale’s computer. And I know the guy’s low on the Vizzini totem pole. So I figured we’d step up our investigation, take it to the next level—the Bennato Construction Company.” Ryan walked over, patted the copier. “As of four this morning, this baby’s ready to go.”
Marc was in his office at the Forensic Instincts brownstone, getting ready for the visit he and Ryan had planned, when his BlackBerry rang. The call was short. But it was a shocker.
He made his way to Casey’s office, calling down to Ryan to join them.
“Get this—” he said the instant the three of them were together. “Claudia Mitchell is dead. Her car went off a cliff forty miles north of here, a couple of hours ago. There were two sets of tire treads at the crime scene. This definitely wasn’t an accident.”
“Wow.” Casey blew out a breath and sank down on the edge of her desk. “Who told you this—Hutch?”
“Yeah. He gave me a courtesy call, just so we’d have a heads-up. This sure as hell supports the mob theory. And it suggests that either Claudia knew something, or, more likely, that Joe is being delivered a message to keep his mouth shut. Which means he knows something, whether or not he realizes it.”
“All the more reason for today’s mission.” Ryan was already dressed and ready. “Casey, you go ahead up to the Willises’ place and deal with this new development. Marc and I will do our thing.”
Casey was already punching a phone number into her cell. “I’m calling Patrick. The FBI might already have alerted him, but, if not, he should be a part of this. It’s another indication that Sidney Akerman’s illegal dealings are at the heart of Krissy’s disappearance—and Felicity’s.”
An hour later, Marc—clad in a gray uniform with the word “Superior” printed on his shirt—pushed open the door of the Bennato Construction Company.
The reception area was cramped, filled with piles of building materials, with peeling walls, a dusty floor and a steel desk, behind which sat a young, attractive secretary. She was cracking gum, talking on the phone and reading Cosmo at the same time. Based on the conversation, and the juvenile notes she’d written on Post-its that were stuck to her desk, Marc knew he was not dealing with a brain trust.
All the better.
She looked up when Marc walked over. Her gaze traveled from his broad, well-built physique to his brooding, sexy stare.
“Suze?” she said into the phone. “I gotta go. There’s a workman here. I’ll call you back.” She hung up, folding her hands and leaning forward. It was no accident that she was providing Marc with a spectacular view of her cleavage. “Can I help you?”
“Now that’s a loaded question.” Marc gave her a slow, crooked smile and a wink, making sure to scrutinize her breasts appreciatively as he spoke. “I’m sure you can—in lots of ways.”
“Name them.”
Oh, this was too easy.
“You got it—” Marc waited for her to introduce herself. “Sonya.”
“You got it, Sonya.” Her name was a caress, as he turned his charms on full force. “But first, let’s get work out of the way. My name is Danger. John Danger.”
“Really.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “Is that your pickup name or your real one?”
“Both.” A twinkle. “I just got lucky, I guess.”
“I’m sure you get lucky a lot.”
“I never kiss and tell,” Marc replied in a teasing tone. “Anyway, back to business—for now. I’m from Superior Office, and your copying machine has been sending intermittent alerts to our office.”
“Really?” She was barely listening to him. But she was eyeing his crotch. “I didn’t know copying machines could do that.”
“They can, Sonya. Do you know the Check Engine light on your car? Same idea, except that the light is in our office instead of on your keypad. That way, we can be of best service to you.” Another smile. “Is it okay if I take a look?”
That question elicited a furrow between her eyebrows. “How much is this going to cost? I have to get my boss’s okay before I spend any money.”
“Won’t be necessary. It’s free. Service is included at no charge along with your machine.”
“Free is perfect.” She pointed to her left. “The copier’s in the storage room. Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m making a fresh pot.”
“Only if you join me.”
“Just what I had in mind.” She crossed the room, giving him a clear view of her tight pants and curvy ass as she did. “It’ll be ready when you are.”
“I can’t wait.”
When Sonya was at the sink, Marc strode into the storage room and opened up the copying machine as if to service it. He then slid the special piece of paper Ryan had given him into the main paper tray.
Hearing the coffee machine sputter its last drops of water, Marc called out, “I’m not seeing any error codes. Can you make a few copies for me?”
“Be right there,” Sonya called back. “How do you take your coffee?”
Marc rolled his eyes. “Hot,” he informed her, his voice filled with promise. “Just like my women.”
Sonya sashayed into the storage room and handed Marc a cup of steaming hot coffee. Marc moved closer to her, brushing up against her.
With a sharp intake of breath, Sonya asked, “What did you ask me to do?”
“I’d like to test the machine. Can you make a couple of copies?”
“Oh. Sure. I need some timesheets anyway.”
Reluctantly, she walked back to her desk, got the original and returned. Placing the page on the copier glass, she closed the cover, punched in ten copies and pressed the button that said Copy.
The machine whirred to life for a brief second, until Ryan’s sheet of paper reached the hot imaging area. Instantly, the copier seized, and a vile smell permeated the office.
Sonya’s head snapped around, and her eyes filled with dread. “What did I do?”
“Don’t freak out,” Marc soothed. “Let me see what’s going on.”
He slid out the imager, scowling as he pointed to the smoking drum. “Not good. It’s fried.”
Sonya was practically in tears. “My boss will kill me. Anytime something goes wrong in the office, he blames me.”
“Shh-shh-shh.” Marc pressed his index finger to her lips, then held it up in a one-minute gesture. Whipping out his cell phone, he punched in a number.
Around the corner in their van, Ryan’s phone rang. He hit the talk button. “Yup,” he greeted Marc.
“Hey, Jim,” Marc said in his ear. “It’s John. You know that machine you were going to deliver today? I need you to bring it to me here at Bennato Construction.” A pause. “I don’t care. Fuck ’em. They’ll get their machine tomorrow.” Another pause. “Fuck Eddie, too. He can kiss my ass. Just bring that copier to me now. It’s an emergency. I’ll handle Eddie.”
Hanging up, Marc turned to face Sonya, who was staring at him, speechless.
Marc gave her a huge, sexy smile, and said, “After this, we’ll work on the other things I can do for you, Sonya. And on the ways you can help me.”
Thirty minutes later, Marc and Ryan left Bennato Construction. Marc had a bite mark on his lip
s and Sonya’s phone number in his pocket. And the storage room had Ryan’s machine in it. The copier would soon begin to “phone home,” sending Ryan images of every piece of paper that went through it.
“Nice souvenir,” Ryan commented drily, turning from the wheel to indicate Marc’s mouth.
“Shut up.” Marc tore up the phone number and tossed the scraps into the trash container.
“Maybe you should keep that. You could get laid tonight. Hell, you practically got laid ten minutes ago on the new copying machine.” An approving nod. “I guess watching me in action has had a positive educational impact. You really pulled that off. I’ll make sure Casey knows that you’ll make a good backup when I’m otherwise occupied.”
“Don’t do me any favors.” Marc had no desire to fill the role of hot stud. “I do just fine on my own—when it’s for real. But this phony shit is not my thing, even if I am a stellar actor. I only did it this time because seductive ol’ you had to make technical tweaks on your copying machine.” He licked his swollen lower lip. “Damn. She almost tore off a layer of my skin, not to mention smothering me in her breasts.”
“She also had about three brain cells. Not my type either.” Ryan chuckled.
“Let’s just hope we get something off that machine,” Marc said soberly. “The spyware on Joe Deale’s laptop gave us zip.”
“True. We need a quick break. Claudia Mitchell is dead. Where does that leave Krissy Willis?”
“Not just as a kidnapping victim anymore.” Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah. But hopefully not as collateral damage.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With a tight grip on his leash, Casey led Hero into the Willis home. The bloodhound’s nose was everywhere, taking in the smells of the house and the scents of the people in it.
“Great-looking guy, Casey.” Grace greeted her in the living room doorway. “I knew you’d come to your senses and replace Hutch.”
“Given how pissed off at him I am right now, I just might take that advice.” Casey didn’t pull any punches with Hutch’s partner. They were a tight team, and Casey was sure that Grace was aware of the fact that Hutch had called Marc, rather than Casey, with the news about Claudia Mitchell’s murder.
Casey wasn’t sure which was more immature—Hutch’s action, or her own reaction.
She spotted him across the room, and purposely ignored him. She had things to deal with; she’d thrash it out with Hutch later.
“What happened with Akerman and yesterday’s lineup?” Casey asked. “Did Sidney recognize that guy Lou DeMassi?”
“From what Peg told me, I think that Akerman was pretty sure DeMassi was one of the mobsters squeezing Kenyon. Last I heard, Peg and Don were interrogating him. Ken went over to DeMassi’s son’s place, but the guy and his family seem to have magically left on a spontaneous Sicilian vacation. Ken will find him. But we’re back to the same enemy—time.”
“Casey—” Hope interjected, hurrying over, her lashes damp with tears. “This nightmare just keeps getting worse and worse. Why would the mob kill Claudia? Did she know something? Are they warning her boyfriend to keep his mouth shut about my baby?”
“I don’t know,” Casey answered honestly. “But they obviously went to great lengths to pick the right spot to commit the murder. That section of road is all hills and sharp curves. And it’s countrified, so it’s pretty isolated. I’m guessing they followed her up to there, waited for her return trip and did their job.”
Turning back to Grace, Casey asked, “Has someone told Joe Deale about Claudia yet?”
“Yup.” Grace nodded. “Peg stopped at the precinct before she and Don drove up to the medical center to question the staff. From what I heard, Deale is totally freaked out. Not so much about losing his girlfriend, but about what it suggests. He knows that he’s next. He’s like a rat in a maze, not knowing what he might know and not knowing how to get out.”
“I finished our updated profile and released it to the entire task force.” Hutch appeared out of nowhere to convey that information to Grace. “They’re all running with it.” He glanced at Casey. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she returned coolly without meeting his gaze. Instead, she addressed Hope. “I have some photos for you and your mother to look at. Is she up for it now?”
“Yes, of course. Come into the Florida room. She’s resting there. It’s the only place that’s removed from the pandemonium, and she hasn’t gotten any real sleep since Krissy…” A tremor in her voice. “Since they took Krissy. Ashley’s with her.”
“Good. Ashley practically lives here. It’s possible that she might be able to identify someone, too.” Casey began following Hope, then paused. “Is your mother okay with dogs? As I mentioned to you on the phone, I brought Hero to do some more sniffing recon.”
“She’s fine with them.”
“Hero does slobber,” Casey warned.
Hope managed a small smile. “My mother had a cocker spaniel when she was growing up. According to her, ‘Slobber’ was his middle name. So I wouldn’t worry. Going through those photos with a fine-tooth comb is what this is all about.”
“Great. What I’ll do is leave the stack of photos with the three of you, explain what I’m looking for and take Hero up to Krissy’s room. Okay?”
“Fine. Yes. Anything.”
They continued into the Florida room, where Vera was sitting on the couch bleakly sipping a cup of tea and Ashley was pacing around, unable to sit still.
“Hi,” Ashley said, stopping to look at Casey. “Did you hear the horrible news about Claudia Mitchell?”
A nod. “The authorities are all over it. Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon.”
Ashley’s gaze dropped to Hero. “What a beautiful bloodhound. Is he yours?”
“Not only mine, but a newly inducted member of Forensic Instincts,” Casey replied. “He’s a former FBI human scent evidence dog, trained and certified at Quantico. We’re lucky that he went into early retirement. This way, he can work the case with us.”
Casey turned back to Vera and Hope. “I have photos for you to review. Felicity’s friends, aged to what they would currently look like. And their parents, as well. Hope, you study the images carefully and let me know if you’ve seen any of these people hanging around your house or Krissy’s school. And Mrs. Akerman, I’d appreciate if you’d concentrate on seeing if you recognize the kids from childhood, and their parents from younger adulthood.”
“You’re searching for a clue that would tie the two kidnappings together—like the same kidnapper,” Hope concluded aloud.
“Exactly,” Casey said. “Ashley, you join Judge Willis in her scrutiny of the current individuals. You spend so much time here—maybe someone in the pictures will jump out at you.”
“Of course.” Ashley had already settled herself beside Hope, who’d sunk down on the opposite sofa, photos in hand.
“Take your time,” Casey instructed. “Hero and I will go upstairs to Krissy’s bedroom. I want to collect a few more of Krissy’s things that have her smells. Hero’s sense of smell is unbelievable. He could pick up her scent from miles away. That can only help us.”
Casey was just about to head upstairs when Patrick arrived.
“Where do things stand?” he demanded.
Quickly, Casey filled him in, then suggested that he, too, review the photos and see if anyone struck him from three decades ago.
“Consider it done,” he said, perching behind Vera. “If the offender is here, I’ll spot him.”
Once upstairs in Krissy’s bedroom, Casey put on latex gloves to do her work. She’d covered half the room, scooped up Krissy’s pillowcase—which she let Hero sniff—and had gathered a pair of soccer cleats and a T-shirt, which she’d packed carefully away for later scent-pad collection, when her BlackBerry rang.
A swift glance at the caller ID told her it was the office.
“Ryan?” she asked into the phone.
“Yup. I’ve got something for you, strai
ght from the copying machine at Bennato Construction. And it’s a doozy. Get this. You know that medical facility, Sunny Gardens, that Claudia Mitchell’s calendar said she interviewed at just before her death?”
“Yes.”
“Well, guess who just happens to be constructing the new wing there?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Bingo—Bennato. And it gets better. From the paperwork I’m seeing off their copier, Bennato is screwing them big-time. They’re using substandard materials, cutting corners in construction, you name it. Plus, it looks like they’re paying off the inspectors, ensuring that they look the other way. It’s quite an operation Bennato’s got going there.”
Casey sank down in a chair, Hero beside her. “The illegalities are no surprise. But the fact that Claudia Mitchell was at the place just before she was killed, that’s no coincidence. And it changes everything. I assumed her killer had followed her upstate. Now I’m wondering if this murder was more spontaneous than planned.”
“My thoughts exactly. She went for an interview. She might have inadvertently seen something, or someone, she shouldn’t have. Or maybe that someone saw her, and figured that she and/or Deale might be ratting Bennato out to the Feds.”
“Maybe just doesn’t cut it anymore,” Casey said. “Did any of the paperwork list the foreman or any of the workers who are on this particular construction project?”
“The foreman, yes. His name’s Bill Parsons. He’s been working for Bennato for a dozen years.”
“We need to talk to Parsons.”
“Marc and I are one step ahead of you. Marc’s already on his way to the construction site.”