The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

Casey studied his expression, thinking that that was probably the first completely honest statement he’d ever made to her.

“So your phone call sounded important,” she began. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

“This.” Edward slid a check across the desk until it was right in front of Casey, so she could easily view it.

She didn’t look down but, instead, continued watching him expectantly.

He gave her the explanation she was seeking. “When my wife hired you, I thought of you as a fledgling company with a very light proven track record. I had no idea you’d be as committed, or insightful, as you are. I’m afraid I treated you rather brusquely, and without the respect you deserve. I know that Hope is paying you well. Still, I’d like to add a bonus to that fee right now. And another if you bring my daughter home safely.”

At this point, Casey glanced down at the check. It was made out to Forensic Instincts LLC, and it was in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars.

A lovely, generous bribe.

Keeping her expression carefully blank, Casey met Edward’s gaze.

“Let me tell you a few things about myself and my company, Mr. Willis. We’re everything you just described and more. Someday, we’re going to be known as the foremost profilers in the Tri-state Area, with the most out-of-the-box, creative approaches to solving crimes—successfully. None of those approaches is going to include gossiping or inciting family breakups. So while I appreciate your offer, I’m not too crazy about its basis. So let me put your mind at ease. Frankly, I don’t care if you sleep with Ashley Lawrence and half of Manhattan. It has no bearing on Krissy’s kidnapping. I’m convinced that neither you nor Ashley had anything to do with her abduction. And that’s all that interests me.”

Casey slid the check back across the desk. “Consequently, there’s no need to buy me off. Like you said, your wife is paying us twice our normal rates. That’s more than enough. On the other hand, don’t tear up the check. I’ll be happy to take it as a bonus, once we bring Krissy home.”

Edward startled, and then, for a split second, he actually looked as if he might smile. “Very well,” he agreed, picking up the check and putting it in his desk drawer. “It’s clear we understand each other.”

“Crystal clear.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From Edward Willis’s office, Casey drove up to Armonk to carry out the house-hunting charade she’d arranged with Claire and Marc.

After several hours of pounding the pavement and ringing doorbells, they collapsed on the Willises’ sofa, worn-out as they discussed their findings. One thing was for sure: it was amazing the trivia you learned in a suburban neighborhood just by asking the right questions.

By the time the “happy couple,” escorted by their “Realtor,” had visited a ton of local residences in the Willises’ community, they knew more about the negligent parents and more from the overprotective parents than any official call could ever yield. They knew the number of kids in each household, as well as their ages and genders. They knew who the career moms were, who the stay-at-home moms were, and who the moms were who constantly had housefuls of kids over. They knew which dads worked at home, which were frequently around, and which were away on perpetual business trips. And they knew which families were tight with each other, which ones were the neighborhood leaders and which ones were loners who kept to themselves.

While there were definite families who didn’t make the popular list, that list was, nonetheless, devoid of people demonstrating creepy behavior or questionable actions. Everyone described the neighborhood as warm, friendly and overwhelmingly safe. The recent abduction of Krissy Willis had sent shock waves through the community. The home owners all assured Claire and Marc that nothing like this had ever happened before, nor, given the extensive neighborhood watch that had been set up, did they intend to ever let it happen again.

Most of them were certain the crime had been a personal one, given the type of people the Willises dealt with in their work, and the high-profile nature of their careers. But not even one neighbor so much as hinted at a suspicion involving someone in the community.

Casey was unsurprised by the results, as were Marc and Claire.

“I didn’t pick up significant negative energy from any of our visits,” Claire pronounced. “And Hero didn’t pick up Krissy’s scent.”

“Agreed. It was just the usual affluent suburban competitiveness,” Marc clarified drily. “Whose landscaping was more elaborate, who had the latest and greatest model of Mercedes SUV, and whose built-in pool was larger. Nothing unexpected. Just another reason I’m glad I’m not a ric

h suburbanite.”

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.”