The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (12 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sidney Akerman parked his car in a grassy area just three blocks from Plainview Elementary School. He slumped down in his seat, shutting his eyes and wondering if he’d ever escape the pain and consequences of his past. The agony and fear were excruciating.

A quick sidelong glance at his glove compartment. There was a flask of whiskey in there. He could almost taste it, feel its effects as it numbed him up. So far he’d resisted opening the top and taking that first purging gulp. The flask had sat in the same spot for the past eight days.

He didn’t want to become a drunk again. He’d kept his job for almost ten years now. He liked it. He liked being around the kids. He knew all the reasons why. And he knew he’d lose it all if he took that first drink.

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.”

“Saving your family, or your own ass?”

“At this point? Both.” Sidney’s forehead was drenched with sweat. “The mob must have thought I gave the Feds something. So they pulled a repeat performance, this time with my granddaughter.” He grabbed the front of Patrick’s shirt. “You’ve got to stop them before they hurt her. Please. Do something.”

“I plan to.” Patrick whipped out his cell phone. “I’m calling the task force working on Krissy’s case and filling them in. I need the name of the agent who came to see you and any immediate details on the mob guys you dealt with—names, descriptions—anything. After I pass all that along, I’m getting back into my own car, following you to your apartment, and waiting while you throw a few things in a bag. You’re coming back to Armonk with me.”

The news about her father reached Hope via the task force right before she packed up Krissy’s duffel bag and prepared the drop for the kidnappers.

Her shock and rage at this unexpected development and the part her father had played in it were secondary now, eclipsed by the white terror of what was happening to Krissy. The realization that the mob might be involved in Krissy’s abduction only strengthened Hope’s resolve to follow through with her plan. Time was of the essence. Action was of the essence.

She couldn’t think about her father’s betrayal. She couldn’t allow herself to think about the fact that, if history was repeating itself, her baby could be dead. All she could think about—blindly, frantically—was that she
had
to do everything in her power to bring Krissy home, alive and safe.

So when the agreed-upon time drew near, when the whole task force was caught up in tracking down known organized crime members, getting sketch artists, and contacting other Bureau members for further information while awaiting Sidney Akerman’s arrival, Hope hauled the cash-filled duffel bag into the garage, heaved it into the trunk of her SUV and drove off.

No one noticed.

No one but Casey.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Casey had done her ongoing review of Ryan’s documentation at Hope’s house all afternoon. She didn’t want to leave because she was still bugged by her suspicions that something was up. Once Hope had finally emerged from her mother’s bedroom, only to be given the news about her father, Casey had watched her carefully, paying close attention to her actions and reactions.

Her reaction had been odd. Yes, she’d been genuinely stunned and devastated. But then her shock had transformed into something else. A grim determination. A panicky impatience. She kept glancing at her watch, clearly waiting for something to happen.

Or to make something happen.

The hell with Ashley’s lack of cooperation, and Hope’s morning-long absence. Casey could sense that something was going down. And she had a pretty good idea what that something was.

Her theory was confirmed when she spotted Hope slipping down the back stairs and out of the house with a duffel bag that looked suspiciously heavy, and with a frantic pulse throbbing at the side of her neck.

Casey didn’t say a word to anyone, although she felt Hutch’s probing stare as she slipped out the door. To avoid potential problems, she turned in the doorway and mouthed the words to him,
I’m just getting some air,
before she sprinted to her car. She knew he didn’t buy her staged exit. He obviously assumed she’d gotten some clandestine lead. But his hands were tied. He had no way of knowing if her lead was valid, or even if she’d truly gotten one. He was deep in his investigation, with no concrete reason to follow a private consultant wherever the hell she was going. So Casey was safe, and on her own—for now.

Jumping in her car just as Hope’s garage door went up, Casey ducked down behind the wheel to avoid being spotted. From her crouched position, she made a quick call to Marc, instructing him to find and follow Edward Willis, no matter where he went. Simultaneously, she watched Hope back out of the driveway and speed up the street.

That was her cue.

Easing back up, Casey turned on her own ignition and shifted into Drive, waiting until Hope’s Acadia was halfway up the block before following her.

Wherever Hope was taking that stash of money, and whether she was acting alone or with Edward, Casey was about to find out.

The mall’s second-floor food court was every bit as crowded as Hope had expected. Five o’clock was prime shoppers’ dinner hour. Her shoulder throbbed from the weight of the duffel bag, but she made her way among the throngs of people, not stopping until she reached the trash can that was tucked inside a little alcove across from the pretzel kiosk.

Her heart was pounding like a drum. Her insides were twisted into knots. She resisted the urge to look around. Krissy’s life depended on her following instructions to a tee.

She lowered the duffel bag to the tiled floor right behind the trash can, where it was half-hidden and out of the path of the main flow of traffic. Keeping her head conspicuously down, she squeezed her eyes shut for one moment, fighting a wave of sickness. Then she sucked in her breath and walked away, heading directly for the door leading to the second-floor parking lot.

Please God,
she prayed.
Please let things go as planned. Please let Krissy come home to me.

It was going to be the longest hour of her life.

Casey stood in the middle of the food court, impatiently scanning the area for Hope. There were scores of people crammed into the various tables and chairs, endless lines in front of each restaurant station, and still more shoppers milling around the kiosks. Finding Hope was going to be a major challenge.

It was a good five minutes before Casey spotted her. Wearing her generic brown trench coat, she was halfway down the corridor, moving purposefully toward her destination, despite being weighed down by the duffel bag.

Casey elbowed her way through the crowd, losing sight of Hope twice before spotting her nearing the exit door. This time there was no duffel bag on her shoulder.

Dammit.

Following her target, Casey scrutinized the passersby in the thin hope of seeing someone with the heavy duffel bag in tow.

No such luck.

She reached the exit, pushed her way out, and headed for the garage where she’d seen Hope park her Acadia not thirty minutes earlier.

The SUV was still in the same parking space. Hope was inside, sitting in the driver’s seat. Her arms were folded across the steering wheel, and her face was buried in her arms. Even from a distance, Casey could see that her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

The damage had already been done. The payoff had been made. Hope was obviously waiting for her daughter’s appearance—an appearance Casey knew would not be forthcoming.

But Hope had to realize that for herself. If Casey went over there now, Hope would always blame that interference as the cause for Krissy not being returned.

Casey retreated to her car, which was parked diagonally across the way, slid inside and waited.

Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

Hope got out of her SUV and began pacing around, looking from her watch to the pillars at the exit door.

No one appeared.

A good hour and a half passed before Hope sagged against her car, raking her fingers through her hair and breaking down completely. She sank to the concrete floor, her knees raised as she curled forward and wept.

Casey jumped out of her car. She crossed over until she was standing beside Hope.

Hope’s head jerked up, and, for one split second, there was a wealth of hope in her eyes. It was replaced by bleak realization when she saw who it was.

“You knew?” she asked in a watery voice.

“I guessed.” Casey hated this part of her job. On the other hand, she was far from ready to give up. “I came alone,” she explained, putting Hope’s mind at ease about the thought of a posse scaring off the kidnapper. “I didn’t tell a soul. But, Hope, they’re not delivering Krissy to you, no matter what they said. That’s way too amateurish for such a sophisticated kidnapping. That doesn’t mean they’ve harmed Krissy. It just means they want something more than they’ve gotten.”

“More than a quarter of a million dollars?”

Casey winced at the large sum Hope had gambled away on nothing.

“Yes,” she responded honestly. “It might be more money, although I doubt it. I’m sure they realize that, at this point, you’re going to fill the authorities in on the ransom scheme. And that the FBI task force will be all over any future ransom attempts. More likely, they want to see you suffer. Especially since we know this crime is personal. The whole ransom thing gave them a ton of cash, plus the opportunity of twisting a knife in your heart.” Casey paused. “It’s also possible that this entire plan was orchestrated by some news junkie who conned you into supplying him or her with some quick and hefty cash.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Hope managed. “But they had so much personal information…I just don’t think so.”

“Tell me the details leading up to the drop—how they reached you, what they said—everything. Then, we’ll go back to the house and tell the FBI what happened.”

The FBI task force was deep into their investigation of Henry Kenyon and his construction company, when Casey and Hope walked into the house.

Hutch nearly mowed down Ashley as she sprinted toward her employer.

“Where did you two disappear to?” he demanded.

Hope glanced at Casey, who nodded, urging her to tell the truth as they’d discussed.

“I got a call from the kidnappers,” Hope said quietly. “I paid the ransom they asked for. They didn’t return Krissy. The whole thing was a reckless dead end.”

“She wasn’t with them?” Ashley asked, her voice trembling.

“No. They took the duffel bag of cash. But Krissy never showed up.”

Casey could see Hutch visibly controlling himself. “When did you get this call, and who knew about it?” he asked.

“I got the call yesterday.” Hope wasn’t hiding anything at this point. “It came in on Ashley’s cell phone, so the FBI couldn’t trace it. I was the only one who knew the details. Ashley just handed me the phone. I swore her to secrecy. And Casey spotted me as I was leaving the house, and followed me on a hunch. I didn’t even tell Edward. I was afraid to. The kidnappers said they’d kill Krissy if I…” Hope’s voice broke, and fresh tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Have I pushed them over the edge? Is this what they wanted? Now that they have the two hundred fifty thousand dollars they asked for, will they—”

“I don’t think so,” Hutch interrupted her. “It doesn’t fit the profile of these kidnappers. If they wanted money, and money alone, why would they wait until the FBI and the police were so heavily involved before asking for it? They’d have better luck dealing with you alone, and right away, when the first horrible realization punched you in the gut.” He signaled to Grace, as well as to Peg Harrington, who both strode right over.

Hutch filled them in with a few terse sentences.

“Tell us everything you remember,” Peg instructed Hope.

Once again, Hope repeated the scenario verbatim, from the details of the phone call to the specifics of the drop.

“This plan is way amateur,” Grace murmured. “It doesn’t fit the sophistication of the crime.”

“Neither does the amount of ransom money they demanded,” Hutch added. “They know that you and your husband are good for a lot more than a quarter of a million dollars. And playing you Krissy’s voice on tape? That’s weak. They could have recorded her anywhere and spliced her words together. Again, an amateurish move. For all we know, it was all a hoax, and whoever called you doesn’t even have Krissy. Instead, they freaked you out and made themselves a nice chunk of cash.”

Casey was well aware that Hutch was intentionally softening some components and leaving out some biggies. Like the fact that, if Sidney Akerman’s ties to organized crime had incited Krissy’s abduction, this whole extortion scheme was either a dead end or the horrific tip of the iceberg. Scoring some quick cash wouldn’t cut it. The mob would want major payback, just like they had when they kidnapped Felicity—
if
they’d kidnapped Felicity. And if they had…the mob didn’t deal in idle kidnapping. They dealt in human trafficking, torture and murder.

Before Casey’s thought process could continue, Edward emerged from the kitchen. Spotting his wife, he went over and caught her arm. “Where were you?”

He was livid at the answer.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped. “That’s why we have the FBI here. Do you realize you could have gotten Krissy killed?”

“We don’t believe that’s the case, Mr. Willis.” Casey stepped in, seeing the white fear return to Hope’s eyes. “Not in such a well-planned, cleverly executed abduction. We think this was just step one, or even an unrelated act.”

Edward’s gaze shot to Casey, suspicion clouding his stare. “You knew about this.”

“No, sir, I most certainly did not.” Casey spoke as respectfully as she could. But she
really
didn’t like this man. “If I had, I would have told you and the task force about it immediately. I followed Hope. I’d planned to try to stop her. I was too late. I realize how upset you are, and that emotions are running high. But, the bottom line is that Hope wasn’t intentionally undermining you or the FBI. She was behaving like a terrified mother. She wasn’t thinking clearly. And now she’s beating herself up enough for everyone. So I suggest we not waste time with accusations, but move on to finding your daughter. I know that’s what you want. Please, Mr. Willis, let’s just find Krissy as quickly as possible.”

Her words seemed to placate Edward a little, because his jaw snapped shut and he nodded. “Fine.”

The tension was still crackling, when there was a brief knock at the open door, and Patrick stepped inside. Behind him was a nervous, weathered-looking man who had to be Sidney Akerman.

“We’re here,” Patrick announced. “Ready to get started.”

“Sidney?” Vera Akerman rose from the living room sofa and made her way out into the hall. “My God, it
is
you.” She looked torn between relief and disgust.

Hope harbored no such torn loyalties. She whirled around, facing her father with blazing eyes. “How could you?” she demanded. “How could you compromise your family like that? Felicity and I were innocent children—
your
children. And now Krissy—she barely knows of your existence, yet she’s become part of your collateral damage. How can you live with yourself?”

“I can’t,” her father replied without flinching. “That’s why I’ve spent my life inside a bottle. And that’s why I’m here now, even knowing you hate my guts. If I can help bring Krissy home safely, I’ll do
anything,
sacrifice
anything,
to make it happen.”

“How valiant. Unfortunately, it’s thirty-two years too late for my sister, and my daughter…my baby…” Hope’s voice quavered, and she turned away.

“Hope.” Vera went to her daughter, put her arms around her. “I feel what you feel. But put it aside. We have to find Krissy.”

Sidney met his ex-wife’s gaze, and he was clearly speaking to both her and Hope. “To tell you that I was a stupid, naive pawn would be the truth, but meaningless. It changes nothing. Please—I’m not asking you for forgiveness. I’m just asking you to accept my help. Let me look at mug shots. Let me work with a sketch artist. Let me
try
to aid this investigation.”

Hope stepped away from her mother and dashed the tears off her cheeks. “That’s why you’re here,” she informed Sidney. She gestured toward the group of waiting professionals. “It certainly isn’t for a family reunion. So go see what you can do.”

Sidney was entrenched in mug shots and recaps when Casey’s cell phone rang.

“Hey,” Ryan greeted her. “Marc called and told me what’s going on. Sidney Akerman there yet?”

“He got here about an hour ago,” Casey replied quietly. “I’m not sure what’s going on. The FBI’s not in a sharing mood. They’re pissed at me about the ransom drop. By their rules, I should have shared my suspicions with them before I took off to follow Hope.”