Andrea Kane - The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

“A suburban car in a suburban neighborhood,” Casey mused. “Doesn’t exactly raise any red flags.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right. Not only that, we’ve got two parents who have more than the average number of grudge-holders who’d love to strike them where it hurts. And what’s more powerful than taking their only child?”

Casey grimaced. “Not a thing.” She glanced around and watched the FBI team coordinating plans. “Look, Peg, we’re probably going to overlap in our suspect interviews. So if there’s anyone you want us to talk to, anyone on that list you think we’re well suited to gain insights from, just say the word. Like I said, the list of potential suspects is a mile long. And we all want the same thing-Krissy’s safe return. So use us as you need to.”

“I will.” Peg had seen Casey in action enough times to know that she didn’t give a damn who got credit for the win. On the flip side, she was equally unmotivated by the rules of bureaucracy. And that sometimes ruffled feathers. “Right now, we’re dividing up the list. Once we do, I won’t hesitate to take you up on your offer. Count on it.”

Once Peg had headed back into the tense huddle that was her team, Casey scanned the area for her own people. Marc was in the hallway, talking to a couple of C-20 agents. Ryan was nowhere to be found, but Casey suspected he was upstairs in Krissy’s room, probing things with the agent assigned to analyze Krissy’s computer for forensic evidence.

Hope and Edward were currently being prepped for the statement they’d be issuing within the hour on TV. Ashley was right beside them, listening intently. Her physical positioning and her body language were very telling. Casey made a mental note of both.

She then turned and made her way through the lower level of the house. She planned to wait until she could talk to Hope and Edward before she left. After that, when she and her team were armed with enough details to kick into high gear, she planned to drive over to Krissy’s school and start conducting some in-depth interviews.

Strolling from room to room, she didn’t expect to enter the eerily quiet playroom only to find Claire Hedgleigh sitting cross-legged on the carpet, rolling a crayon between her fingers while her other palm was pressed to a partially finished picture in an open coloring book.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks.

Mommy?

Where are you? I’m scared. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.

The picture I finger-painted for you in school is drying. My book bag zipper got stuck. So the bell rang two times before I came out. I was surprised to hear you honk the horn. Surprised but happy. You left work early. You left that bench you always sit on just so we could play. You hadn’t even changed out of the black suit I helped you pick out this morning, so you could get to school before Olivia’s mommy took me home.

Now I remember that smelly scarf. I tried to tell you it was stinky, but you were talking. Not to me. To somebody else. The car kept moving. I woke up a little. You gave me a drink to make the yucky taste go away.

I feel funny. Am I sick? This is not my bed. And these aren’t my pajamas. I don’t like pajamas. I get hot and they stick to me. I like nightgowns. Where’s my nightgown?

I don’t like it here. Was that Daddy’s voice before? Is he still here? Are you?

What if you both left?

What if there’s no one here but me and Oreo?

I keep calling your name, but you don’t come. I called Ashley, too. She didn’t answer. I don’t want her anyway. I don’t want Daddy either. I want you.

Where are you, Mommy?

Please come.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, reflexively recoiling as the little girl’s fear and confusion flowed through her.

The child was becoming more aware. The cobwebs were clearing from her head. And from Claire’s. Afraid. So afraid.

Krissy was crying. Big droplets on her eyelashes, cheeks and chin. She was wiping them away with the backs of her hands. The top of Oreo’s head was wet from the tears she couldn’t catch.

Panic. She was starting to panic. Yelling for her mommy. Sobbing…begging…

“Claire?”

At first the voice didn’t penetrate. Then Claire heard it, realized someone was calling her. She jerked back to her current surroundings, blinking as she glanced behind her and saw Casey.

“Are you okay?” Casey asked.

“No.” Slowly, Claire rose to her feet, unaware of the dampness on her face. “Krissy is terrified. She doesn’t know where she is. And she keeps calling for her mommy.”

Casey didn’t bat a lash. “You could sense what she was feeling. Was she reliving anything that happened? Anything you could pick up on?”

A slight nod. “Whoever took her was wearing a classic black suit similar to the ones her mother wears to work. Her hair was blond and parted on the side, just like Judge Willis’s.”

“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.”