The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (8 page)

After a quick phone call to Marc setting up their evening plans, Casey headed back to see Hope and to meet Hope’s mother.

Other than her gray hair, Vera Akerman resembled a small, frail sparrow. She also looked far older than her sixty-four years. It was obvious that the blow life had dealt her thirty-two years ago had taken its toll—a toll from which she’d never recovered.

After Hope had made the necessary introductions, Casey sat down across from Vera. She opened the conversation by expressing her heartfelt regrets over Krissy’s kidnapping. She also explained to Vera a little bit about Forensic Instincts and how they could take a more creative and less regulated approach to solving cases than law enforcement could. She concluded by assuring Hope’s mother that the entire team was working round the clock to find her granddaughter.

Vera thanked her in a tear-filled voice.

Casey was just about to tactfully broach a few questions, when the front doorbell rang. A minute later, a square-jawed man in his early sixties with a solid build and salt-and-pepper hair entered the room.

Hope rose. “Are you with the police or the FBI?”

“I’m former FBI,” was the terse reply.

“Former?” Hope pressed, brow drawn. “I don’t understand.” Before she could continue, she heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath. She turned. “Mother?”

Vera was staring at the man. Her eyes had widened, recognition erupting across her face.

“Special Agent Lynch,” she managed.

CHAPTER NINE

“Hello, Mrs. Akerman. I’m glad you recognize me. And I’m sickened that you’re going through this again.” The former special agent shifted his gaze to Hope. “Judge Willis. My name is Patrick Lynch. I was the lead investigator thirty-two years ago when your sister was kidnapped.”

“I see.” Hope was visibly thrown. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

“I didn’t expect you would. You were six when we met.” He walked over and extended his hand. “I’m sorry to be here under these dire circumstances.” He shook Hope’s hand. “But I’m here to offer my services. Anything I can do to help, just ask.”

Casey had watched the entire exchange with interest. Patrick Lynch was clearly sincere in his offer, and disturbed by Krissy’s kidnapping. But there was something more here. Something personal. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he still felt responsible for Felicity’s kidnapping, for coming up empty. In fact, judging from his pained expression and determined demeanor, Casey was willing to bet that he’d been plagued for years by the case’s lack of resolution.

“Thank you, Agent Lynch,” Hope was saying. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it.” His next words confirmed Casey’s suspicions. “I can’t make up for your sister’s disappearance going cold. But I
can
do everything in my power to assist the Bureau and to make sure this second crime doesn’t go unsolved.”

“Do you have reason to believe the two kidnappings are related?” Casey asked, also coming to her feet.

“This is Casey Woods,” Hope introduced her.

“From Forensic Instincts. Yes, I know. I’ve been following Krissy’s kidnapping since the story broke yesterday. I saw on the news that you’d hired Ms. Woods’s team.” He shook Casey’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Casey met his handshake. “You headed up the investigation into Felicity Akerman’s abduction?”

A nod. “And to answer your question, I have no idea if there’s a connection between the two abductions. The only common denominator is the family. But if it is a coincidence, it’s a horrible one. Mrs. Akerman barely survived the loss of her daughter. Now her granddaughter…” He blew out a slow breath. “I’m an independent consultant now. But I need to be part of this.”

“Anything you can contribute would be a blessing,” Hope said. “I’ll gladly pay you any amount….”

He waved away her offer. “Your sister’s kidnapping has never stopped eating at me. Retirement from the Bureau gave me even more time to dwell on it. Believe me, participating in this investigation is as much for me as it is for you.”

“What type of consulting work do you do?” Casey asked curiously.

“Mostly security, both for private companies and law enforcement. I’ve done a fair amount of work with the NYPD, since New York City is my home base. And I’ve assisted the Bureau on a couple of cases. It works well. I live in New Jersey, and my office is in lower Manhattan.” Lynch met Casey’s gaze, his expression one that said he was totally comfortable in his own skin. “Not to date myself, but when I started working for the Bureau, the White Plains RA was in New Rochelle, and the New York Field Office was on East Sixty-ninth at Third Avenue, not Federal Plaza.”

“Which explains your heading up the investigation into Hope’s twin sister’s abduction.” Casey nodded. “Their home was in New Rochelle.”

“Exactly.” Lynch turned back to Vera and Hope. “I kept my notes from the original kidnapping. Judge Willis, if your mother is up to it, and with your permission, I’d like to speak with Special Agent Harrington about digging up the cold case file. If there’s any crossover in the suspect pool, or any other details that repeat themselves in the two abductions, I want to go after them.”

Hope glanced quickly at her mother, who gave a brief nod. “You have my permission,” she told Lynch. She paused, visibly shaken by this turn of events. “Why would anyone target my family for over thirty years?”

“It’s a long shot,” he told her gently. “More a process of elimination than a viable possibility. But on the off chance that it has merit, we could uncover clues to help find your daughter.”

Casey couldn’t restrain herself any longer. The first question she’d planned to ask Vera Akerman was still on the tip of her tongue. In light of Patrick Lynch’s approach, that question was now more important than ever.

“Mrs. Akerman,” she asked quietly. “When was the last time you saw or spoke to your ex-husband?”

Hope’s mother looked more saddened than she did, taken aback. “At the divorce hearing. He’d been drinking, which was routine for him those days. Once the divorce decree was official and I had full custody of Hope, he vanished into thin air.”

“And you?” Casey asked Hope. “Has there been any contact with your father?”

“None.” Hope shook her head, a flash of pain and nostalgia crossing her face. “All I remember is how broken up he was after Felicity was kidnapped. She was definitely daddy’s little girl, into sports and arcade games, just like him. He couldn’t get over her disappearance. Every day she was gone, things got worse. Eventually, he stopped going to work. He drank all the time. And he and my mom cried and fought.”

“Sidney and I should have grown closer because of the trauma of losing Felicity,” Vera added. “But we never did. I tried. He just wouldn’t let me in. It was as if the loss was entirely his. He withdrew into himself, and gave up on life. Work, family, our marriage—none of it meant anything to him anymore. Ultimately, he lost his job, and drank himself into oblivion. I was overpowered by my own grief. The whole thing became too much. Our marriage just broke into pieces.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Poor Hope got the brunt of it. She never said a word, but I could see it in her eyes. She blamed herself for the breakup. She felt like it was her fault, like she wasn’t enough reason for her father to stay. It’s amazing that she came through it—a testament to her internal strength. She was only six years old, and she was going through her own hell. She and Felicity were so close. Identical twins. Losing her twin and then her father—how could any child come through that unscathed? I should have done more—”

“Stop it, Mom,” Hope interrupted. “You did everything you could. Your child had been kidnapped. That’s every mother’s nightmare. Now it’s become my reality.” Another shaky breath. “As for Dad, all that’s in the past. I don’t think about it anymore. And I don’t think about him.”

“So neither of you knows where he lives?” Casey asked, trying to repress the urge to push harder.

“Not a clue.” Hope wasn’t stupid. Her head came up, and her gaze darted from Casey to Lynch and back. “Why do you ask? Do you think he might know something about Krissy?”

“I think we can’t afford to leave any stone unturned,” Casey responded bluntly. “Sidney Akerman is Krissy’s grandfather, whether or not they’ve met. His whereabouts are unknown. We have to change that.”

“I agree,” Patrick Lynch chimed in. “I remember what a mess he was after Felicity was taken. He was actively involved in every step of the investigation. He might remember something we’re forgetting. We have to track him down and talk to him.”

Casey whipped out her BlackBerry. “I’ll get Ryan on it right away. He can find anyone.” She punched in her office number and swiftly relayed the details of what she needed to Ryan. “He’ll get back to me as soon as he has something,” she reported, punching off her phone.

Lynch reversed his steps, turning and heading for the hall. “I’m going to pull Peg Harrington aside and tell her the situation. Then, we can get started.”

Casey glanced at Hope, who was currently leaning over to soothe her mother. Using the brief window of time to her advantage, Casey walked discreetly over to Patrick Lynch, way-laying him in the doorway with a hand on his forearm.

“Mr. Lynch, before you go, I have a blunt question to ask you. Would you be willing to combine your resources with Forensic Instincts, and work in conjunction with us? The advantage is that you and my team share the same independent status. The FBI task force is inundated with avenues to pursue and potential suspects to interview. I doubt that opening up a cold case that’s three decades old is high on their list.”

A corner of Lynch’s mouth lifted. “In other words, you want access to my notes and to the old case file.”

“Precisely.” Casey saw no point in playing games. “Like I said, the Bureau can’t put their resources into what appears to be a long shot. But we can. Not to mention the fact that we can push the boundaries in ways the police and the FBI can’t.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I agree with your first premise. The task force has to concentrate on the most promising—and current—leads. As for the boundary-pushing, I’m not interested. After thirty-five years with the Bureau, I’m a creature of habit. On the other hand, I don’t miss the paperwork. So I don’t mind cutting a few corners. Just don’t expect me to be a maverick. If you can live with that, I’d be happy to take you up on your offer—
if
the sharing of information is mutual.”

“It will be.”

“Good.” Lynch’s tone said that he was on board. “And, by the way, the name’s Patrick.”

Informal. Direct. No bullshit.

Casey liked this man.

“And I’m Casey,” she replied. “I’ll make sure you meet my other team members, Marc and Ryan, ASAP. In the meantime, can we talk after you get the okay from Peg? That way, you can fill in some blanks for me, and I’ll do the same for you. It’ll eliminate my having to ask too much of Mrs. Akerman. The last thing she and Hope need is to be repeatedly dragged through the worst time of their lives. Especially now. We need to keep their hopes alive, not imply that Krissy’s case will end the same way Felicity’s did.”

“I think that’s wise.” Patrick nodded. “I’ll talk to Peg. Then I’ll meet you outside the house in twenty minutes.”

As requested, Casey gave Ryan a quick call while she was waiting outside.

“Okay, I’m alone now,” she said. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I’ve got the names of four disgruntled fathers who lost custody of their kids in Judge Willis’s courtroom during the last few months,” he replied. “All who were ripping pissed when she took away their custodial rights. All whose background checks show raging tempers and questionable lifestyles. All who fit our main kidnapper’s profile—right down to girlfriends with low self-esteem. And all who openly threatened Judge Willis in her courtroom. I’ll text you the list.”

“Let’s not waste time hanging up and texting.” Casey whipped out a pad and pen. “I’ll write down the info and check into it.” She scribbled all the specifics Ryan provided, including names, addresses, phone numbers and current employment information. “I’ll pay these guys visits as soon as I’ve talked to Patrick Lynch. He’s a real find. You’ll like him.”

“I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll dig up what I can on Sidney Akerman. The guy is either dead or
really
doesn’t want to be found.”

“Interesting.” Casey digested that tidbit. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Your canine vacuum cleaner and gauze pads got here, along with some jars and tongs. And your dog just peed on my shoe.”

Casey laughed. “Then take him out. He could use the exercise. Unlike you, he doesn’t have a gym membership.”

“Maybe he should. He’s already dragged me to the park and sniffed out every square inch.” A sigh. “Fine. I’ll take him out back and tire him out. I hope he’s not getting a salary. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“He will. That’s what that STU-100, canine vacuum cleaner, is for.”

“Good. Then he can use his first paycheck to reimburse us for the rug—and me for my shoes. On the other hand, he’s got a hell of a nose. He’d be a great navigator for adventure racing.”

“You and Hero can coordinate your schedules later. And I’ll explain the STU-100 to you.”

“No need. This is me. Already checked the website. I know the drill. Gauze in place. Personal article on gauze. Vacuum for thirty seconds. Gauze collects smells. Jar stores gauze. Hero has Krissy’s scent. Done deal.”

“Nice. Concise. Now go find Sidney Akerman.”

“All over it like white on rice.”

Sal Diaz stopped pushing his lawn mower, and dragged a sweaty arm across his forehead. He was working at the house across the street from the elementary school. The place was crawling with cops and FBI. It was only a matter of time before they questioned him and Rita, alibis or no alibis. Sal was the Willises’ gardener, and his wife was their housekeeper. They spent hours a week at the huge Willis house. The cops would definitely be asking about them. They’d dig up the facts that Sal had a history of brawling and domestic disturbances, and that he and Rita were in debt up to their asses. If the Muellers and the Kitners hadn’t vouched for their whereabouts, they’d probably be in custody now.

But how long would that safety net last?

Sal had been cutting the Kitners’ lawn between two and four yesterday. And Rita had been cleaning the Muellers’ house.

The Willis kid had been taken by a woman. The Muellers both worked, Mrs. Mueller until three. She’d walked through her door yesterday afternoon right around the time school closed. Technically, Rita could have left the house, grabbed the kid and stashed her somewhere, then pretended to be downstairs in the laundry room if Mrs. Mueller walked in a minute before her. The timing was too damned close. And Sal’s background was too damned sketchy.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He couldn’t risk putting himself and Rita in the hot seat. Not unless—or until—the cops put them there. At that point, he wouldn’t have to go to them. They’d come to him.

And he’d tell them what he knew.