Casey kept her cool. But she wasn’t happy.
“What possibility are we referring to?” she asked.
Patrick’s lips thinned into a narrow line. “In other words, show my hand first. Okay, fine. Normally, I wouldn’t. But we’re playing with a loaded gun here, and we’re racing time. So I’ll start. But no games, Casey. I want the truth.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Fine. You and I are both thinking that Linda Turner is in no condition to kidnap a kid. That she has a very active accomplice—one who actually did the work for her. Am I on track?”
“Yes.” Casey could read Patrick’s expression as if it were a polygraph. He knew. He wasn’t fishing. This was the real deal.
Time for her to give him something in return.
“I think Linda Turner is ill enough to be confined to a facility.”
“And you think that facility is Sunny Gardens, the place Claudia Mitchell interviewed at. You also think that when she was there, she saw someone she shouldn’t have, and was killed because of it.”
“Right. And, if Claudia recognized someone with a connection to Judge Willis, it probably means that our accomplice is someone Judge Willis knows from her time on the bench.” Casey was past wondering what Patrick knew and into worrying about what he planned to do about it. “I don’t care how this person hooked up with Linda Turner, nor does it matter right now. We just have to find her.”
“It has to be a woman,” Patrick agreed. “Based on every description we got from the crime scene and from the gardener.” He stiffened, and Casey could see the FBI agent surface in him. “If we figured this out, what makes you think the task force won’t?”
“I’m sure they will. But they’ll have hoops to jump through to get what they need. We won’t.” Casey let down her guard, and let her emotion come through. “Please, Patrick, just buy me some time. Let me run with this. Let my team run with this. Don’t tell Peg we’re following this lead. You’re not impeding anything, because you don’t know what we have in mind. But it might save Krissy’s life. Let the task force come up with this, and pursue this, on their own. I’m not asking you to stop them. Just don’t fuel the fire by ratting us out. Please. We just need a little time first, to try it our way.”
Patrick watched her from beneath hooded lids. “I’d never say yes,” he admitted flatly. “But I have a personal interest in this case. And I’ve seen how good you are. So do what you have to. Spare me the details. Just get it done, and get it done fast. As for Peg, I won’t tell her we talked. But I can’t stop her from doing what she has to. I’d do the same, if I were her.”
“Fair enough.” Casey paused. “And I’ll find a way to keep you in the loop,” she added quietly. “In a way you can swallow. I know how much this case means to you.”
“Both cases,” he corrected her. “I care what happens to Krissy Willis. And I need to know what happened to Felicity Akerman.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Marc tucked his car discreetly in a clearing surrounded by thick bushes, a good quarter mile from Sunny Gardens. He walked the rest of the way, positioning himself across from an entrance concealed behind a row of trees. He wanted at least two good hours of daylight surveillance before he planned to scale the fence and traverse the grounds. He needed to see when the various staff members came and went. And he wanted to see the staff’s routine of moving the patients from indoors to outdoors and back.
Using his military-issue binoculars, he monitored the scene and took mental notes.
First note. The security cameras. They were positioned at the main gate, and probably at the rear ones, as well. That left long lengths of iron fence that were out of viewing range. Getting in would be no problem.
Second. Bennato Construction’s crew was starting to wind down for the day. The wing they were building was already framed, and the Sheetrock was well under way. Between the slew of men working overtime, and the piles of construction materials in the area, Marc would have an easy place to blend in and hide, should it become necessary.
Marc turned his attention to the section of grounds where patients were situated. A small number of them were interacting with other patients. Most of them were sitting alone, either under the patio canopy or in the neatly manicured gardens. Some were mobile. Most were sedentary. Even the more mobile patients were being supervised by nurses or nurse’s aides. And those who were unable to get around on their own were attended to more closely, many of them being wheeled back to their rooms.
For all Marc knew, Linda Turner could be sitting right across the street from him.
Ryan had done his homework. Marc was up to speed on the number of patients living there, the ratio of staff to patients, and the physical size and layout of the main building itself. Ryan had emailed him both interior and exterior photos of the place. He would have gotten Marc a complete schematic, had there been time.
Despite the urgency of their situation, Marc waited. He’d learned the importance of patience. Just as he instinctively knew the right moment to strike.
The dinner hour came and went. The night shift arrived. The day shift went home. It didn’t surprise Marc that the number of those driving in was leaner than those driving out. Nighttime would be quieter. The patients would be confined to their rooms. The number of staff members would be reduced.
Making Marc’s job a hell of a lot easier—and harder. He’d have less square footage to cover, and more risk of being caught in empty corridors. So he’d made provisions for both his break-in and his presence. He was dressed in black—long-sleeved shirt and jeans, as well as the backpack slung over his shoulders. But in that backpack was an authentic white orderly’s coat—straight from the Forensic Instincts arsenal.
The sun had set, and the stars were coming out, when Marc stowed his night-vision goggles and shoved the case into his backpack. It was time.
Silently, he crossed over to the section of fence he’d chosen, far away from the scope of the security cameras. He was up and over the fence in a few deft motions, landing lightly on his feet. He waited a full minute to make sure he was alone.
The only sound was the crickets.
Avoiding the outside lights, Marc moved quickly until he reached the main building. Then he slipped around to the back. Sure enough, the delivery door had a lock on it that a ten-year-old could pick.