Andrea Kane - The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

Casey gave him a half smile. “I hear you. As for what we did-or didn’t-find out, that comes as no surprise. None of us expected to hit the mother lode from this adventure. But we had to try.” She glanced down at her notes. “Just to tie this inquiry up with a neat little bow, I’ll email Ryan the names that came up most frequently in a negative capacity. He can check them out. If they’ve had so much as a run-in at a Little League game, he’ll find it.”

She began typing names into her BlackBerry.

“The FBI has been with Sidney Akerman all day,” Marc reminded her. “Do you think they found out anything?”

“I think Patrick would have let us know if they had.” Casey bit her lip thoughtfully. “I’m not quite sure why, but I trust him. Maybe it’s because he’s not officially on any side. Or maybe it’s because I sense the same maverick spirit in him as I do in us. Whatever the reason, I think he’d let us know if they were onto something. Weaving your way through the members of the mob is no easy task. They’re working with the details given to them by the FBI’s resident agency in upstate New York-details they obtained from the perp who cut a deal by giving them information on Sidney’s run-in with the mob. They’re also dealing with Tony Bennato, who bought that company. And they’re dealing with Joe Deale, who’s a small potato in a much bigger organization. It’s not going to come together in one day. Still…” A pensive pause. “It can’t hurt to be safe. Marc, you and Hutch haven’t had any time to catch up. Why don’t you drop by the North Castle P.D. and see if he wants to grab a drink, or a late lunch.”

Marc’s lips twitched. “I’m flattered. You think I can get more out of a friend and former colleague than you can out of a guy who can’t stay away from you for more than a few weeks at a time.”

“Damn straight, I do. Business is business. You’re former BAU. You worked together. And you’d be talking guy to guy. That’s about as sacred as it gets. Besides, this will give Claire and me a chance to talk to Hope and Vera. I want to get as many seemingly inconsequential details as I can. The more I get, the more Ryan has to run with.”

“True.” Marc rose. “Maybe I could also drop in on Joe Deale’s foreman, and intimidate him a little about those architectural plans. You never know how deep he’s in.”

“Good point. And good luck.”

“I’ll check in later.” Marc shot a quick wave at Claire and headed out the door, where Hero was waiting in the car.

The man-to-man stuff was underway. Time for a little woman-to-woman action.

Hope and Vera were seated in the Florida room, sipping on cups of chamomile tea, when Casey and Claire found them.

Hope jumped to her feet in a heartbeat. “Is there news?”

“Not yet,” Casey replied. “But we’d like to talk. I’ll fill you in on the names we’ve crossed off the list, and then I’d like to ask you both some questions. The questions may seem trite, but I assure you, they’re anything but.”

“All right.” Hope resettled herself on the couch. “Whose names did you delete from our suspect list? And how?”

Quickly, Casey ran through their house-buying charade.

“That’s very creative,” Hope commented when Casey was through. “But the FBI and the police have already interviewed all our neighbors. So that territory has been covered.”

“Yes and no. The task force did their job-very thoroughly. But police badges and FBI ID tend to intimidate people. So the interviewees automatically supply factual answers, rather than more detailed, personal ones. We took every iota of negative feedback, however small, and turned the information over to Ryan McKay, my techno-genius. He’ll do detailed searches on those people-so detailed that anything even remotely out of whack will pop up. That’ll support the law enforcement investigations, and eliminate a neighborhood of suspects altogether.”

Hope gave a wan smile. “I appreciate that. But it doesn’t bring me much comfort.”

“I agree. That’s why we want to talk.” Casey sat down and opened her notepad, gesturing for Claire to take a seat beside her. “I still believe that your sister and your daughter’s kidnappings are related. I think you do, too. The cops are digging into your father’s connection to the mob, however limited. I want to look at the past, too, but through a different route.”

“Which is?”

“You. I want you to think back thirty-two years. To rack your brains to remember every single detail, person or conversation associated with the time right before and after Felicity’s kidnapping. You’d be surprised how much each of us stores away in our memory that we don’t even realize is there. Events, snatches of conversation, and flashes of visual images. I’m asking you to trust me, and to try this. Claire can help us. If anything you touch on triggers a feeling or insight, she’ll pick up on it. Together, maybe-just maybe-we can zero in on something that can help find Krissy.”

“I was six years old,” Hope reminded her.

“I realize that. Were you in kindergarten? First grade? Focus on that, on the friends you remember coming over to play. That’s a good place to start to initiate memories.” Casey turned to Vera. “And you were Sidney’s wife. You must remember the last months you were together. Things he said. The way he acted. How he reacted to Felicity’s abduction-and not just the drinking. The things he harped on. What set him off. Which parts of the FBI investigation threw him the most. Any people who came by to offer their support that elicited a notable response from him. Things like that.”

Vera drew a slow, painful breath. “That was a horrible time in our lives and in our marriage. I can’t overlook the drinking-it consumed us. And, yes, Sidney was obsessed with the FBI investigation. Now I realize why. He felt responsible. He was responsible.”

“Did he have any friends who supported him? Anyone who came by frequently to offer words of encouragement?”

“I understand where you’re going with this,” Vera replied. “But Sidney wasn’t interested in support. He was a man with a mission. I’m the one who craved the support. I didn’t get it from my husband. I was fortunate that my friends, and the mothers of Hope’s and Felicity’s friends, were there for me. They came by every day, bringing food and words of encouragement.” She swallowed, hard. “We had a prayer vigil each evening, the entire first week that Felicity was gone.”

“I remember that,” Hope murmured. “Mrs. Matthews, Mrs. Tatem, all our neighbors, and a lot of other mothers I didn’t know. Felicity and I had different friends. I do remember all the mothers from the camp soccer team coming over.”

“Daily,” Vera confirmed. “They were kind, loving…and scared to death. They were afraid the kidnapper was targeting the girls from the team. I think they felt better being close to the investigation, so they could feel reassured. I don’t blame them.”

“Was there any justification for their fear?” Casey asked. “Were there any seedy characters hanging around watching the girls?”

Vera shook her head. “Not that any of us knew. Of course, now that I know the mob was involved, I can’t be sure. They’re good at staying hidden. But even if they were watching, there’d be no reason to scrutinize anyone but Felicity. None of the other fathers was involved with Sidney’s business.”

“Have you stayed in touch with any of these mothers?”

“Of course. Some of them still live in New Rochelle. Some moved, but we kept up by phone, and now, by email. Tragedy is a funny thing-it binds people together for life.”

“I understand.” Casey was jotting down some notes. “Are the names of all those women-from school, camp and the neighborhood-listed in the original file along with your current friends at the time? I haven’t had the chance to sink my teeth into the file yet. Agent Lynch just got it to us.”