Andrea Kane - The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

But the way things looked right now, he’d lose it all anyway.

He had a couple of hours before he had to get back to the school for his afternoon maintenance work. Maybe he’d get up the guts to call his AA sponsor and get the support he needed. Maybe the story he’d told the Feds would satisfy them. Maybe he could keep his freedom after all.

Not that he’d ever be free.

Abruptly, the passenger door of his car swung open, and a solid man of about his own age hopped in.

“Hello, Akerman,” he greeted him. “It’s been a long time.”

Sidney felt his insides go cold. Yeah, it had been a long time. But this was one face he’d never forget.

“Agent Lynch,” he managed. “What are you doing here?”

“So you do recognize me.”

“Of course I do. But I don’t get it. I thought last week’s visit had taken care of any questions the FBI had for me. And why would they send you, of all people? Just to torture me by conjuring up the worst memories of my life? Besides which, aren’t you retired yet?”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “The Bureau spoke to you?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am. I didn’t even know they’d tracked you down.”

“A guy from the Organized Crime Squad came to my apartment. Come on, Lynch, cut it out. How else would you have found me?”

Organized Crime Squad? That was a new one to Patrick.

“It wasn’t easy,” he replied carefully. “But I assure you, I didn’t use Bureau resources to do it. I am retired, just as you suspected. I’m acting as a consultant on this case.”

“Why would they need a consultant? I told them everything I knew. And you were on the Violent Crime Squad. When did you make the switch?”

Patrick took a second to study Sidney Akerman’s face. The man had aged terribly, thanks to the alcohol. With his stooped shoulders, heavily lined face, and bags under his eyes, he looked as if he were seventy-five, rather than in his early sixties. He also looked frazzled about the FBI hassling him. But he didn’t look frantic, like a man who’d just found out that his granddaughter had been kidnapped-something Patrick would expect regardless of the estrangement between Sidney and his family.

“I never worked Organized Crime,” Patrick informed him. “I’m not here about whatever new trouble you’re in. I’m here about your granddaughter.”

“Krissy?” Sidney jerked around to face Patrick. “What about her?”

“So you do know she exists.”

“I’ve followed every detail of Hope’s life since the day I walked away. Her appointment to the bench, her marriage, the birth of her daughter-everything. Why? What’s happened to Krissy?”

The man looked so stricken that Patrick actually felt sorry for him-and for the news he was about to deliver.

“She’s been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Sidney choked on the word as if it were poison. “Oh God, no.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “When? When was she taken?”

“The day before yesterday. Outside her school. Someone pretending to be Hope picked her up and drove off with her. There’s been no word since. All of law enforcement’s involved, from the locals to the FBI. I’m surprised you didn’t see the media coverage on TV.”

“My TV’s broken. And I’m not much of a news watcher.” Sidney’s robotic answers were that of a man in shock. “I can’t believe this is happening- again. A nightmare, repeating itself. Hope must be a wreck. And Vera…that poor woman has been through hell. First, our daughter. Now our granddaughter. She had a nervous breakdown before. How is she going to survive this?”

“Not well,” Patrick replied flatly. “She’s heavily sedated. And your daughter is sick to death.” A pause as Patrick took in the entirety of Sidney’s reaction. “You really didn’t know a thing about this until now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why is the Bureau interested in talking to you? What’s your connection to Organized Crime?”

Silence.

“Look, Akerman, we can do this any way you want. But I’m thirty-two years and hundreds of sleepless nights invested in this case. I’m not going away. Not until you tell me every goddamned thing you know. Because I happen to think these two kidnappings are connected.” A purposeful pause-and a glint of fear and guilt in Sidney’s eyes. “I can see you think so, too. So we’re going to talk. About then. About now. About everything.”

Patrick pulled out his copy of Krissy’s photo, shoved it in Sidney’s face. “Have you seen a picture of your granddaughter lately? She’s a beautiful, exuberant child. Or she was, until yesterday. God only knows what’s happened to her since then.”

Slowly, Sidney reached out and took the photo. “She has Hope’s eyes,” he managed, tears gliding down his cheeks. “And her smile. The way she’s wrinkling her nose-it’s like seeing Felicity again. Oh Lord, what have I done?”

“What have you done?” Patrick was all over that like white on rice. “Why? Did you have something to do with Krissy’s abduction? Did you do something to precipitate it? Does that tie into why the Bureau’s Organized Crime Squad is grilling you?”

Sidney dragged his arm across his face, wiping away his tears. Then, he shoved the photo of Krissy aside and threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m done. I played Russian roulette last time, and I lost. I’m not risking it again. Do whatever the hell you want to me. Send me to prison and let me rot there. Just find Krissy.” He turned to Patrick. “Ask me what you need to.”

“This Organized Crime investigation-it’s related to the kidnapping. Just Felicity’s, or Krissy’s, too?”

“Both.” A ragged sigh. “Here it is, short and sweet. When you and I first met, I was the accounting and business manager for a construction company.”

“I remember.”

“The owner of the company, Henry Kenyon, was an old college buddy of mine-I told you that, as well. What I didn’t tell you was that Henry had a major gambling problem. He was in the hole for hundreds of thousands of dollars. He paid off his debts and became partners with the wrong people.”

“The mob?”

“Yup. A handful of them invested in Henry’s company. Their involvement was a closely kept secret, known by only a few members of their ‘family.’ They kept it that way so they could fly under the FBI’s radar. It worked, because it never came up in your investigation.”

“So we’re talking money laundering,” Patrick surmised.

“Exactly.” Sidney’s voice quavered. “I didn’t want any part of it. But Henry was close to the edge. I couldn’t turn my back on him. So I did what I had to. I kept my mouth shut for as long as I could stand it. Then I told Henry I was out. He passed that along. A few days later, Felicity was kidnapped. I lost my mind. I was up your ass while you were investigating. I prayed I was wrong. Then, I got a phone call from those bastards. They said they’d killed my kid, and that I had no one but myself to blame. They threatened me, said that if I opened my mouth, Hope would be next, followed by Vera.”

Patrick let out a low whistle. “So that’s why you dived into a bottle and fell off the map.”

“You bet. It was the only way I could think of to keep my family safe.” A bitter laugh. “For all the good that did me. Here it is, over thirty years later, and the FBI just got some mob guy to flip and give them damning info from the seventies-including the lowdown on Henry’s company. Henry’s been dead for fifteen years, so the FBI agent came to me for confirmation. I denied everything, told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, and that if Henry did anything illegal, I didn’t know a thing about it.”