Andrea Kane - The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

Casey’s lips quirked. “Then I won’t disappoint. Let’s just say the door was open and we heard crying from inside. It turned out to be the cats.”

“Of course it did.”

Gesturing at Marc, Casey made the audio introduction. “Patrick Lynch, meet my passenger and associate, Marc Deveraux.”

“Hey,” Marc said. He looked more amused than surprised by Patrick’s insightful analysis of the evening’s events.

“Nice to meet you,” Patrick replied. “Even by phone.”

“How about in person?” Casey’s mind was racing. “We’re heading back to Manhattan. Ryan’s in the office. Since you’re keeping such great tabs on us, can you swing by and meet the rest of the team? You know-the team you’ll be working closely with to solve this crime by sharing all the reasons why you think the past and the present kidnappings are connected. The team you won’t be holding back any details or information from.”

“That’s doable.” Patrick sounded as if he’d expected the invite. “I’ve got your address. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Hope’s heart was pounding in her chest as she opened the safe in Edward’s home office.

She was taking a huge risk doing this during evening hours. But Edward was still at work, and the task force was scattered, performing their various assignments. This was as good a time as any to check out the contents of the safe.

She wasn’t planning on removing the cash now. She couldn’t. If Edward had reason to look inside during the next twenty-four hours, and he found the safe cleaned out, her entire plan to recover Krissy would blow apart. And there was no way she was taking that chance.

No, now wasn’t for confiscating. Now was for counting. She had to see if she had enough to add to the $128,000 she had accumulated from today’s bank visits.

She’d had to go to two separate banks, and pull cash from two separate safe-deposit boxes, to avoid suspicion. She’d never realized how heavy and bulky large sums of money in small bills could be. She couldn’t walk into the bank with Krissy’s gigantic duffel bag-not without looking out of place. Nor could she leave the house in the middle of the day lugging it along. So she’d taken her roomiest laptop case and removed all she had from each box.

Now, she peered into her husband’s open safe, grimacing in disgust at the sight. Piles of cash Edward had accumulated in ways that turned her stomach, but that right now might be her lifeline to Krissy. Quickly, she unloaded stacks of money and counted.

She stopped when she reached the magic number of $122,000. There was more than enough in this safe to cover what she needed.

Replacing everything the way she’d found it, Hope locked the safe and slipped out of Edward’s office.

Ryan was glued to his computer screen, pounding away at his keyboard and eating trail mix out of a bag, when Casey and Marc walked in. Hero was glued to Ryan’s feet, crunching on the pieces of granola that were being inadvertently-and not so inadvertently-dropped.

“Well, I see that you two have developed a rapport,” Casey noted aloud.

“Huh?” Ryan looked up, then glanced down at Hero as he realized what Casey had said. “Yeah, we had a talk after that peeing episode. It’s been smooth sailing ever since. While we were walking to the park, he got a whiff of something and took off. We were half a block away. He nearly yanked the leash out of my hand, he was sniffing so frantically. Turns out it was the manager of that dog hotel he stayed at. She must have been great to him, because he shoved me out of the way and jumped all over her like they were supertight. Not that I blame him. She was hot. I got her phone number. But Hero got all the attention. You have to admire that kind of strategic intent.”

“I do.” Casey perched at the edge of Ryan’s desk and filled him in on what she and Marc had found at Claudia’s. “The laptop’s taken care of. But I need you to find a way to track Joe Deale’s movements.”

“Not a problem. He’s working on a bridge repair project in the Bronx. I’ll arrange for a diversion at the site tomorrow morning, during which I’ll plant a GPS in his car, and a tracking chip in his cell phone. I’ll monitor them on my PC.”

Casey nodded, folding her arms across her breasts. “Good. Now, what did you find on Sidney Akerman?”

Ryan stared at his computer screen. “He lived like a vagabond after his marriage broke up. Different towns, odd jobs-all over the Tri-State Area. He couldn’t hold down any of the jobs because of his drinking. It seems he finally got it together enough to go to rehab a good decade later, somewhere in the Northwest. He got out, joined AA-according to an Arizona newspaper article on the group-and started working as a bookkeeper for a small office supply chain in upstate New York. That didn’t last long. He went back to the bottle, and vanished off the screen. I’m still trying to fill in the blanks. I get snatches of what he’s been up to, and then nothing. Suffice it to say, he hasn’t exactly lived a productive life.”

“Where is he now?”

“The most recent address I have is in Ithaca. But it’s eight years old. The one interesting thing is what his job was, and maybe still is-custodian in an elementary school.”

Marc let out a low whistle. “Any indication of off-color behavior during that time? Approaching kids, talking or acting inappropriately around kids-even watching kids at the bus stop?”

Ryan shook his head, double-checking by inputting a slew of data into the computer. “Nothing documented,” he reaffirmed. He called up a page, entered the print command and waited for the single sheet of paper that he snatched off the laser printer. “But here’s the address of the school, and a list of the faculty. The principal’s been there for ten years, so he’s bound to know Sidney Akerman. And some of the faculty predate the principal. I’d say this is our best starting point.” A questioning look at Casey. “Do you want me to drive upstate and check it out?”

Before Casey could respond, there was a knock at the front door.

“Hold that thought,” she said, heading for the hall.

She returned a minute later, Patrick at her side.

“Marc, Ryan, this is former Special Agent Patrick Lynch, our new consultant on the Krissy Willis abduction.” Casey made the introductions. “As I told you, he was the lead case agent on the Felicity Akerman investigation.”

The three men shook hands.

“Good timing. We were just discussing Sidney Akerman,” Casey informed Patrick, bringing him up to speed. “Ryan tracked him to upstate New York.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “And I was just asking Casey if she wanted me to drive up there and check it out.”

“I’ll do that,” Patrick intervened. “If you picked up on Sidney Akerman’s trail, I want to follow it. He was always one of my missing pieces. There was never any doubt that he was a genuine wreck when Felicity was kidnapped. But there was also no doubt that he became an angry drunk afterwards. Plus, the fact that he’s been MIA for decades is a huge loose end. It’s my responsibility to see it through. I’ll head up to Ithaca early tomorrow.”

No one argued. Patrick had supplied them with all the background on the Akerman cold case. It was his right to pursue this lead.

But Casey wanted to know a lot more about the Felicity Akerman abduction than where Sidney Akerman fit into the puzzle. After her conversation with his ex-wife earlier today, she had other people of interest to ask about.

“Patrick, let’s all go upstairs to our conference room,” she suggested. “That’s our think tank, the place where we do our best brainstorming. Appropriate, since you and the group of us have a mountain of information to share.”