The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

by Andrea Kane

  As Marc and Casey exited the car, Hero’s leash wrapped around Casey’s hand, the large diesel engine of a construction crane roared to life. The noise was deafening. Hero made a braying sound.

  “Not now, boy,” Casey told him. “I know the noise hurts your ears. Let’s get into Ryan’s van.”

  They hurried over, and Marc pounded on the back of the van. “It’s us,” he yelled over the tumult.

  Ryan opened the double doors. “Come on in.”

  Hero needed no second invitation. He sniffed the air once, scanned the woods and then sprang into the van and away from construction hell. Casey released his leash to give him the freedom he needed, and followed suit, with Marc right behind her. By the time Marc slammed the doors and plunked down next to Casey, Hero was sprawled out on Ryan’s sweatshirt, panting and waiting for some water. He got it ASAP, from the Hero “supplies” Ryan had started keeping in the van.

  “Big Macs and fries?” Marc couldn’t help ribbing him. “That’s more fat and calories than a full day at the gym could burn. And you skipped this morning’s workout. Careful. Lose your six-pack and you’ll lose your women.”

  “It’s a one-shot deal,” Ryan retorted, taking the McDonald’s bag from Casey. “And I’ve seen you scarf down two or three chili dogs when you’re desperate enough. So cram it.”

  “Cut it out, you two,” Casey said impatiently. “We’re not here to discuss your high-protein diets. Linda’s guest isn’t here yet, is she?”

  “Nope.” Ryan shook his head. “The patients just finished lunch. Linda will be on her way out to the garden within the hour. Her daughter should be showing up soon after. Apparently, they try to avoid the construction chaos. And, since the crew breaks up between three and four o’clock, I’m expecting our accomplice around then.”

  Marc arched a brow. “You found all this out from the nurses you charmed at the front desk?”

  “Some of it, yes. The rest, I found out from Linda herself.”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “Yup.” Ryan munched on a Big Mac while he spoke. “She was right there when I planted Gecko. She’s pretty out of it. And the only thing on her mind was seeing her daughter and getting us workmen out of the way in time for her visit.”

  Hero was eyeing Ryan’s burger and smacking his lips.

  Casey gave him a chew toy to distract him and thoughtfully scratched his ears. “If she’s that out of touch with the world around her, it means her accomplice is actively running the show—just as we suspected. And she’s keeping Krissy around for a reason. I’m just not sure what it is.”

  “Unless Linda has cash reserves we don’t know about,” Marc proposed. “If that’s the case, it would be a sweet deal for this woman. All she has to do is feed and house a five-year-old in some secret location, probably bring Linda some photos here and there, and, at the same time, masquerade as her older daughter. Maybe she got Linda to give her power of attorney, in which case, she can do whatever she wants with Linda’s assets.”

  “I did a pretty thorough job of checking out Linda Turner’s bank records—both her real and assumed names,” Ryan replied. “Nothing impressive there. But that doesn’t account for jewelry, antiques or anything else of value she might have. So, yeah, Marc, your theory is definitely possible.” With that, he switched Gecko out of sleep mode and into active mode. “We’re about to find out.”

  Ten minutes ticked by.

  Abruptly, Casey peered over Ryan’s shoulder at the laptop monitor. “Here she comes.”

  A nurse was wheeling Linda Turner over to her usual spot, chatting pleasantly with her as they went. She settled her patient comfortably, promising “Lorna” that she’d send her daughter over the instant she arrived. Then, she turned and retraced her steps back to the main building.

  Linda gazed peacefully around, and began to murmur the names of the various flowers surrounding her. Some she got right, some were so far-off that she might as well be speaking a foreign language. But she was happy and very excited.

  Casey’s cell phone rang. She frowned, staring down at it. The caller ID said “Private.”

  “I’d better see who this is,” she said reluctantly. “If it’s Peg, and I ignore her again, I’ll be in deep shit.” She put the phone to her ear. “Casey Woods.”

  “It’s me,” Patrick said without preamble. “Just a heads-up. Peg is pissed as hell that you’re nowhere to be found, since she knows very well what that means. Meanwhile, she put the pieces together. She spoke to the woman in human resources who interviewed Claudia Mitchell. She explained the urgency of the situation and Sunny Gardens is willing to cooperate without a warrant, and with only Peg’s promise to keep the information they share with her in the strictest of confidence. So it looks like your time is up.”

  “Dammit.” Casey dragged a hand through her hair. “Is the task force on their way to Sunny Gardens?”

  “Not yet. Getting the information is one thing. Questioning the suspect is another. The North Castle cops are going for a warrant. The FBI is going to the U.S. Attorney’s Office. But between Krissy Willis’s kidnapping and Claudia Mitchell’s murder, I doubt they’ll have trouble getting what they need. Not with time being of the essence. So whatever you’re doing, do it fast.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.” Casey was truly grateful for his cooperation. “I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than that,” he retorted. “Peg asked me where you were. I told her you were pursuing a lead, but that you’d refused to give me the details.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Yeah, but I left out a hell of a lot.”

  “You won’t be sorry. We’re a few steps ahead of the task force—and closer to finding Krissy Willis.”

  “That better be true. Oh, and by the way, your boyfriend is ripping mad. I wouldn’t count on a candlelight dinner anytime soon.”

  Casey winced. She knew exactly how pissed Hutch must be. And she wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation.

  “No surprise,” she told Patrick. “But I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll be sure to polish up my suit of armor for the firing squad. In the meantime, I have to go now. Thanks again.”

  She disconnected the call, her gaze glued to the computer screen as she waited for the telltale moment.

  Abruptly, the video feed from Gecko began to stutter. On its heels, the audio started to break up. Like an attack dog, Ryan leaped into action, promptly checking the wireless connection.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “The connection speed has dropped by seventy percent.”

  “What does that mean?” Casey asked.

  “It means that, at that rate, audio and video streaming is impossible.” He was already moving toward the door, crouched down so he didn’t whack his head. “I’ve got to find out what the problem is or we’re screwed.”

  He pushed open the van doors and climbed out, peering in the direction of the Sunny Gardens grounds.

  “Shit,” he exclaimed, seeing that the huge crane had moved directly between his van and Gecko, its large steel boom interfering with his wireless signal.

  Without a clear line of sight, there was no way to accomplish their goal. The crane was showing no signs of moving and they couldn’t risk revealing their presence in any way.

  He’d have to improvise.

  “Bad news,” he told Casey and Marc as he boosted himself back into the van. He filled them in on the problem.

  “What’s the solution?” Marc asked. “We’ve come way too far to give up. And the FBI task force is climbing up our asses.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about the timing. But I can do something about the problem. I have to turn off the streaming and have Gecko internally record the audio and video, which we can play back at a later time.” As Ryan explained, he sent the instructions to Gecko. Gecko acknowledged, and the streaming video went blank, the audio silent.

  “Later when?” Marc demanded.

  “When you come back here tonight and retrieve my
little critter. At that point, we can watch and listen to the events of the afternoon. And, with any luck, we’ll have what we need.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Getting onto the grounds of Sunny Gardens this time was going to be a little trickier.

  Marc cruised slowly by the main entrance, scanning the front lawn and pinpointing the garden where Ryan’s little critter was stashed.

  There was no way he could use the same section of fence as last time to gain entry. It was too far down. Last night, he’d been headed around back, to a deserted section of grounds that was shielded by the construction site. Tonight, he was aiming for dead center, the most open area of the front grounds. If he went back to the remote section of fence he’d scaled last time, it would require his making his way across the entire front lawn. The floodlights would pick him up in any one of a dozen spots.

  Not feasible.

  So that left the area near the front gates.

  Marc’s gaze shifted, focusing on the small security booth at the entranceway. There was one guard inside. Fortunately, there was also one TV. And the guard was lounging in a chair, drinking a can of soda and staring at the screen. Judging from his reactions—an occasional display of annoyance and a few fist-clenching punches of joy in the air—Marc determined he was watching a game. The Yanks were playing the White Sox tonight. The first pitch had been thrown out by the Yankees at eight o’clock. It was nine-fifteen now.

  Just to be sure, Marc pulled over in a section of trees where he could see the guard but the guard couldn’t see him. Marc turned on the radio, locating the station that broadcasted Yankee baseball. He listened—and watched the guard.

  Sure enough, the Yanks pulled off an expert double play that finished off the bottom of the third inning. Simultaneously, the security guard leaned forward in his chair, his smile broad, his lips forming the emphatic word yes!

  Clearly, it was the same game.

  Marc drove a short distance and made a U-turn, pulling off the road into a cluster of bushes on the same side of the street as the facility. Approximately two hundred yards before the main gate, the space was facing the direction Marc needed to go to head for home.

  Last night, he’d planned on spending a block of time inside the building. Consequently, leaving his vehicle across the road and far away where it wouldn’t be spotted was imperative. Tonight was a grab and go. He needed his car as close to him as possible without being visible. His only task was to find and snatch Gecko, and get the hell out of there.

  Bearing that in mind, he grabbed the small backpack he’d brought along, and quietly left his car. He crept down the grassy side of the road, pausing just to the right of the security booth, where the guard’s back was to him.

  He waited for the next visibly exciting play of the game. The guard was at the edge of his seat, gripping his soda can tightly and staring at the screen.

  Marc seized the opportunity.

  He scaled the fence in a few smooth moves and dropped onto the grass inside. He squatted low, watching and waiting.

  The guard was oblivious to anything but his evening entertainment.

  Swiftly, without so much as a rustle, Marc sprinted across the lawn, moving between the gaps in the floodlight beams, until he reached the eastern garden. He squatted down and whipped out the penlight flashlight he kept in the pocket of his jeans. Flicking it on, he anchored it between his teeth and aimed it downward.

  It took about two minutes to find the spot in the shrubbery that Ryan had described in detail. It took less time than that to retrieve Gecko, stick him in the backpack and retrace his steps to the fence.

  Again, Marc remained crouched, waiting, sizing up the situation inside the security booth.

  The guard was stretching. He scratched his head and looked idly around, using commercial time to do a perfunctory check of the area.

  The game resumed. The guard’s scrutiny of his surroundings ended, and his attention shifted back to whichever Yankee was at bat.

  Marc was up and over the fence, and on his way to his car before the ump could call strike one.

  It was after eleven when Marc strode into the brownstone.

  Casey and Ryan were pacing the floors. They jumped on Marc the instant he stepped inside.

  “Did you find Gecko?” Ryan demanded.

  “Yup.” Marc whipped the little critter out of his backpack and turned him over to Ryan. “Nice directions. He was right where you said he would be.”

  “And no one saw you?” Casey asked, already knowing the answer.

  Marc arched a brow. “A half-assed guard watching a Yankee game is not exactly a major challenge. And the positions of the floodlights were predictable as hell. Let’s face it, Casey, it’s a medical facility, not a terrorist compound.”

  “I know. I wasn’t worried about the employees. I was worried about the task force.”

  “No sign of them.”

  “And I haven’t heard from Patrick. So, hopefully, we’re still ahead of the game.” Casey turned to Ryan. “What next?”

  “Next we go to the conference room.” Ryan was already leading the way up the stairs.

  Once inside, Ryan went straight over and plugged Gecko into a specially designed connector, where he began to recharge his battery and retrieve the information stored inside the little critter’s memory.

  It didn’t take long for the first sights and sounds to come through.

  Linda, sitting in the garden. Time passing as she gazed placidly around. Then impatience, followed by eagerness.

  Abruptly, her eyes lit up and she began to wave her entire arm. “I’m here, baby. Right here.”

  “Hi, Mama.” An eerily familiar voice reached their ears. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Linda’s visitor came into view. She walked over, leaned down and hugged the older woman. Then, she straightened, and the camera got a full frontal view of her.

  And all three of the Forensic Instincts team’s jaws dropped.

  The person visiting Linda was Hope Willis.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Day Eight

  Casey called Peg first thing the next morning, as she, Marc, Ryan and Hero headed up to Armonk in Ryan’s van.

  “Nice of you to call,” Peg said in a chilly voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”

  “Peg, where are you?” Casey asked.

  “At the Willises. We’ll be leaving to interview a person of interest in a few minutes—with a warrant.”

  “Are the Willises with you?”

  “Yes. But they won’t be traveling with us.”

  “I know who your person of interest is. Don’t go to Sunny Gardens,” Casey asked fervently. “Please. Not until we get to you. It’s urgent that you wait—with Hope and Edward. What we have for you is explosive.”

  “Casey, I’m not playing games with you anymore. We have a job to do.”

  “And you’ll do it perfectly once you have the missing pieces. If not, you’ll blow it all. Please stay put.”

  A long pause. “How far away are you?”

  “We can be there in forty-five minutes. Ryan’s flooring the gas.”

  “Fine. Forty-five minutes is all you’ve got. Then we’re leaving.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll be there.”

  Patrick was pacing on the Willises’ front lawn when the van screeched up to the curb. He strode across the lawn and met Casey as she jumped out.

  “What did you find?” he demanded.

  “Something that will help solve both cases.” Casey was already hurrying toward the house. “I don’t know where Krissy is—yet. But I will. We will. Till then, I don’t believe she’s in danger.”

  “You’d better be right. And your information had better be good.”

  “I am and it is. What does the task force know?”

  “Everything about Linda Turner. First of all, they drew the same conclusion we did. But they needed grounds to descend on Sunny Gardens. So they got them. Since Linda was clearly
trying to keep her condition a secret, the task force got a list of doctors she’d worked with when she was employed by the hospital. In no time, they found the private practice of the semiretired doctor who was treating her. The pharmacy she used was two blocks away from his office.”

  “Who gave them what they needed—the doctor or the pharmacist?”

  “Both. All her medical records were confidential, but Peg spoke to one pharmacist who recognized Linda, and who said they hadn’t been supplying her with prescription meds for over a month. The pharmacist’s impression was that Linda was moving to an on-site facility. When the task force took that information to the doctor, and impressed upon him the urgency of the situation, the doctor confirmed that he’d recommended Sunny Gardens to Linda. Between that, and the fact that Claudia Mitchell was murdered right after interviewing at that facility…”

  “The task force got the warrants they needed. So they were on their way to Sunny Gardens when I called.”

  “Oh, yeah. They were furious about waiting. Peg put her neck on the line for you, amid lots of dissent. So, like I said, you’d better have some hard, solid evidence to give them.”

  “And, like I said, I do.” Casey paused outside the front door. “Thank you, Patrick. I know how hard this was for you, not only because of how badly you want to solve the Felicity Akerman case, but because you strayed a hair from the straight and narrow.”

  His jaw tightened. “I did it for one reason—I think you’re good enough to crack this without being bogged down by bullshit. That doesn’t mean I approve of your methods. It means I’m desperate enough to tolerate them.”

  “Let’s get inside.” Marc had come up behind them, along with Ryan, who was carrying his laptop and the shocking video—if Peg chose to see it.

  The whole group went inside, converging in the media room, where most of the task force, including Hutch and Grace, along with Claire, the Willises, and Vera and Sidney Akerman were waiting.

  Hope practically raced forward, grabbing Casey’s arm with sheer desperation. “Did you find Linda? Was she at that place Sunny Gardens?”