The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

Quickly, Casey filled him in, then suggested that he, too, review the photos and see if anyone struck him from three decades ago.

“Consider it done,” he said, perching behind Vera. “If the offender is here, I’ll

spot him.”

Once upstairs in Krissy’s bedroom, Casey put on latex gloves to do her work. She’d covered half the room, scooped up Krissy’s pillowcase—which she let Hero sniff—and had gathered a pair of soccer cleats and a T-shirt, which she’d packed carefully away for later scent-pad collection, when her BlackBerry rang.

A swift glance at the caller ID told her it was the office.

“Ryan?” she asked into the phone.

“Yup. I’ve got something for you, straight from the copying machine at Bennato Construction. And it’s a doozy. Get this. You know that medical facility, Sunny Gardens, that Claudia Mitchell’s calendar said she interviewed at just before her death?”

“Yes.”

“Well, guess who just happens to be constructing the new wing there?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Bingo—Bennato. And it gets better. From the paperwork I’m seeing off their copier, Bennato is screwing them big-time. They’re using substandard materials, cutting corners in construction, you name it. Plus, it looks like they’re paying off the inspectors, ensuring that they look the other way. It’s quite an operation Bennato’s got going there.”

Casey sank down in a chair, Hero beside her. “The illegalities are no surprise. But the fact that Claudia Mitchell was at the place just before she was killed, that’s no coincidence. And it changes everything. I assumed her killer had followed her upstate. Now I’m wondering if this murder was more spontaneous than planned.”

“My thoughts exactly. She went for an interview. She might have inadvertently seen something, or someone, she shouldn’t have. Or maybe that someone saw her, and figured that she and/or Deale might be ratting Bennato out to the Feds.”

“Maybe just doesn’t cut it anymore,” Casey said. “Did any of the paperwork list the foreman or any of the workers who are on this particular construction project?”

“The foreman, yes. His name’s Bill Parsons. He’s been working for Bennato for a dozen years.”

“We need to talk to Parsons.”

“Marc and I are one step ahead of you. Marc’s already on his way to the construction site.”

“So’s the task force, Ryan.”

“We know. But this is Marc we’re talking about. He’ll slither in and out, get what we need, and do it all without being spotted by anyone.”

“True.” Thank God it was Marc handling this. No one else could pull it off. They’d be screwed. Because if the FBI spotted a member of her team on the grounds, they’d demand to know how they got the information on Bennato and Parsons first. They wouldn’t like the answer, and Forensic Instincts wouldn’t like the consequences.

The wisest thing was to stay out of the Bureau’s way on this one. Let them follow protocol. That way, whatever they uncovered would be admissible in court when they went after Bennato. Casey and her team’s job was to find Krissy Willis, not to bury the Vizzini family.

“Marc will get answers out of Parsons any way he has to,” she said, telling Ryan what he already knew. “I almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

“Yeah. A low-level mob soldier up against a Navy SEAL. Not promising for the foreman.”

Krissy. I don’t know what to do.

I’ve followed my instructions to a tee. I’ve eliminated obstacles, kept us well hidden, and done everything in my power to win you over. I thought I was making headway. But nothing works.

Even the special world I created for you didn’t get the reaction I’d hoped for. The software I designed is one-of-a-kind, just like you. It’s better and more original than your all-time-favorite Club Penguin. And yet, even though you obeyed me and went to play with it, you did it without the sparkle in your eyes that I expected. Silently. Listlessly. Not like when you’re playing with Oreo and Ruby. They’re the only ones who make you smile.

At least you’re eating a little better, but you’re not sleeping. The room is still strange. The monsters are still terrifying.

I want to soothe them away. But you won’t let me get near you, not even with the locket and perfume. You start to cry the minute you see and smell them. And you shut down when I mention the word “mommy.”

Yet you call out her name and cry for her every night.

I keep telling myself how short a time it’s been.