The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

It’s so precious the way you change your voice when Ruby is speaking, and then when Oreo answers. A high tweet with words intermingled, and a low but friendly growl mixed with more words.

Until today, I watched your playtime from outside the room, through the glass pane in the door. Those were my instructions. This time, everything changed. I was allowed inside. I couldn’t share your game, not yet. But I could see it up close, feel as if I were a part of it.

I came in and sat down quietly. You stiffened when I walked in, and you got that flicker of uncertain fear in your eyes. But that dissipated. And you didn’t cringe or wriggle away. You took the milk and cookies I brought, and you drank and ate them without hesitation. After you got that adorable milk mustache, you went into your favorite corner and started playing with your pretend friends.

You act as if I’m not here, but I know you know that I am.

Sweet Krissy. This is just the beginning. Soon you’ll let me into your pretend world. Soon you’ll include me. Then I’ll give you the surprise pretend world I developed for you. You’re smart. You’re creative. You’ll love it.

You need me. You don’t know it yet, but you do. No one understands that better than I do. I need what you need. But my needs were, and will be, met. And so will yours.

We just need a little more time.

Business at the rustic Armonk pub was starting to pick up as Marc and Hutch relaxed in one of the booths, drinking their pints of Sam Adams.

“I could ask to what do I owe this honor. But we both know the answer.” A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted. “Casey sent her Navy SEAL out to do rec

onnaissance.”

Marc took a deep swallow of beer, then lowered his glass to the table. “Actually, she wanted to give you and me some catch-up time and for me to do reconnaissance. So it wasn’t entirely divisive. Besides, she knows damn well we wouldn’t be putting anything over on you by playing games. Nope. In your case, I wear my motives on my sleeve.”

“Fair enough.” Hutch was totally comfortable with Marc. They’d known each other for years, ever since Marc’s days at the BAU, where they’d become not only colleagues but friends. Marc had worked BAU-2, which covered crimes involving adults. Hutch was thinking of putting in for a transfer to that unit. Investigating the sexual violations, kidnapping and murder of children was beginning to get to him. He’d been a cop, he was a pro, but that didn’t mean he regarded life as any less precious. And kids—well, that was watching the utter decimation of innocence right before his eyes.

“Whatever you can tell me about the Sidney Akerman investigation would be appreciated.” Marc didn’t waste time mincing words.

“Technically, that’s nothing. It’s an ongoing investigation. And you’re not Bureau anymore.” Hutch shot Marc a wry grin. “Which is why I got my marching orders from Peg about precisely what I could and couldn’t say. She’s more interested in finding Krissy Willis than playing cat and mouse with Forensic Instincts. So tell me what you know, what you want to know, and I’ll fill in whatever blanks I can.”

“Okay,” Marc agreed. “Let’s start out with the biggest question. Do you know what crime family Tony Bennato works for?”

“Between what we found out from the soldier who flipped and what we got from our own informants, the Vizzini family.”

“So you’ve got the Vizzini squad at the New York Field Office working on it.”

“Yup. They’re pounding the pavement right along with us. They’ve got their long-term goals, which will include interviewing members of the family still serving time, those on the street, even those in the witness protection program, which they’ll work through the U.S. Marshals. But for now, they know what we need. We’re all about finding Krissy Willis. They’ll use their informants, and whatever Carl George—the seniormost member of the Vizzini case squad—can come up with. He was around in the late seventies. He may know one or more of the guys Sidney Akerman comes up with.”

“In other words, who might or might not be with the Bennato Construction Company.”

“Right.”

“I spoke to Joe Deale’s foreman earlier. Frankly, I think that he and Deale are both dead ends—unless they know something they don’t realize. What they do for Bennato is small potatoes. They’re sure as hell not privy to the big-league stuff.”

“You’re right,” Hutch replied. “We’ve got Deale on dealing and working as an enforcer, squeezing some dirtbags who are behind on their weekly installments. But he never heard of Sidney Akerman, and he’s too dumb to handle the job of kidnapping Krissy Willis in some far-fetched attempt to satisfy a thirty-two-year-old vendetta. He’s clueless. Ditto for that obnoxious foreman of his. We questioned him, too. He has no idea what we’re talking about. So, if Bennato is behind the kidnapping, he didn’t use those two. But, like you said, there’s always the chance they overheard or saw something. So we’re keeping them on our radar and we’re keeping Deale in custody.”

“Still, this leaves the whole Bennato angle as a big question mark.”

“Afraid so.”

“Then what do you have?”

“According to Akerman, there were four guys from what he now knows was the Vizzini family who ran the original kick-back scheme. Since Henry Kenyon had most of the one-on-one contacts, Akerman’s names and descriptions are limited. One of the offenders was a quick match for us, because the New York squad knew him. Unfortunately, he fell off the map eleven years ago, and his body was never recovered. We might have another match, and, if that pans out, we’ll have Akerman take a look at him in a lineup. We can’t afford to take our time on this, not with the clock ticking on that poor little kid.”

“Yeah, but thirty-two years is a long time,” Marc conceded with a frown. “There are deaths. Gaps. Changes in gang structure.”

“Yeah, it’s a long shot, but some loyalties run deep. Sons. Nephews. We’re digging as hard and as fast as we can.” Hutch polished off his beer and set down his glass with a thud. “Tell Casey that’s all I have for her now.”

“All you have or all you can say?”

“Both.”