The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

“I’ll check in later.” Marc shot a quick wave at Claire and headed out the door, where Hero was waiting in the car.

The man-to-man stuff was underway. Time for a little woman-to-woman action.

Hope and Vera were seated in the Florida room, sipping on cups of chamomile tea, when Casey and Claire found them.

Hope jumped to her feet in a heartbeat. “Is there news?”

“Not yet,” Casey replied. “But we’d like to talk. I’ll fill you in on the names we’ve crossed off the list, and then I’d like to ask you both some questions. The questions may seem trite, but I assure you, they’re anything but.”

“All right.” Hope resettled herself on the couch. “Whose names did you delete from our suspect list? And how?”

Quickly, Casey ran through their house-buying charade.

“That’s very creative,” Hope commented when Casey was through. “But the FBI and the police have already interviewed all our neighbors. So that territory has been covered.”

“Yes and no. The task force did their job—very thoroughly. But police badges and FBI ID tend to intimidate people. So the interviewees automatically supply factual answers, rather than more detailed, personal ones. We took every iota of negative feedback, however small, and turned the information over to Ryan McKay, my techno-genius. He’ll do detailed searches on those people—so detailed that anything even remotely out of whack will pop up. That’ll support the law enforcement investigations, and eliminate a neighborhood of suspects altogether.”

Hope gave a wan smile. “I appreciate that. But it doesn’t bring me much comfort.”

“I agree. That’s why we want to talk.” Casey sat down and opened her notepad, gesturing for Claire to take a seat beside her. “I still believe that your sister and your daughter’s kidnappings are related. I think you do, too. The cops are digging into your father’s connection to the mob, however limited. I want to look at the past, too, but through a different route.”

“Which is?”

“You. I want you to think back thirty-two years. To rack your brains to remember every single detail, person or conversation associated with the time right before and after Felicity’s kidnapping. You’d be surprised how much each of us stores away in our memory that we don’t even realize is there. Events, snatches of conversation, and flashes of visual images. I’m asking you to trust me, and to try this. Claire can help us. If anything you touch on triggers a feeling or insight, she’ll pick up on it. Together, maybe—just maybe—we can zero in on something that can help find Krissy.”

“I was six years old,” Hope reminded her.

“I realize that. Were you in kindergarten? First grade? Focus on that, on the friends you remember coming over to play. That’s a good place to start to initiate memories.” Casey turned to Vera. “And you were Sidney’s wife. You must remember the last months you were together. Things he said. The way he acted. How he reacted to Felicity’s abduction—and not just the drinking. The things he harped on. What set him off. Which parts of the FBI investigation threw him the most. Any people who came by to offer their support that elicited a notable response from him. Things like that.”

Vera drew a slow, painful breath. “That was a horrible time in our lives and in our marriage. I can’t overlook the drinking—it consumed us. And, yes, Sidney was obsessed with the FBI investigation. Now I realize why. He felt responsible. He was responsible.”

“Did he have any friends who supported him? Anyone who came by frequently to offer words of encouragement?”

“I understand where you’re going with this,” Vera replied. “But Sidney wasn’t interested in support. He was a man with a mission. I’m the one who craved the support. I didn’t get it from my husband. I was fortunate that my friends, and the mothers of Hope’s and Felicity’s friends, were there for me. They came by every day, bringing food and words of encouragement.” She swallowed, hard. “We had a prayer vigil each evening, the entire first week that Felicity was gone.”

“I remember that,” Hope murmured. “Mrs. Matthews, Mrs. Tatem, all our neighbors, and a lot of other mothers I didn’t know. Felicity and I had different friends. I do remember all the mothers from the camp soccer team coming over.”

“Daily,” Vera confirmed. “They were kind, loving…and scared to death. They were afraid the kidnapper was targeting the girls from the team. I think they felt better being close to the investigation, so they could feel reassured. I don’t blame them.”

“Was there any justification for their fear?” Casey asked. “Were there any seedy characters hanging around watching the girls?”

Vera shook her head. “Not that any of us knew. Of course, now that I know the mob was involved, I can’t be sure. They’re good at staying hidden. But even if they were watching, there’d be no reason to scrutinize anyone but Felicity. None of the other fathers was involved with Sidney’s business.”

“Have you stayed in touch with any of these mothers?”

“Of course. Some of them still live in New Rochelle. Some moved, but we kept up by phone, and now, by email. Tragedy is a funny thing—it binds people together for life.”

“I understand.” Casey was jotting down some notes. “Are the names of all those women—from school, camp and the neighborhood—listed in the original file along with your current friends at the time? I haven’t had the chance to sink my teeth into the file yet. Agent Lynch just got it to us.”

“I believe all the names are in there, yes.” Vera thought about it and nodded. “Special Agent Lynch was very thorough. He collected every detail. The only ones you won’t find in his file are those attached to the mob connection you’ve only now just uncovered. Henry Kenyon’s name will be in there, of course. He was Sidney’s employer and friend. The FBI questioned him—evidently not thoroughly enough.”

Casey lowered her pad and gazed steadily at Vera. The last thing she wanted was for the older woman to get the wrong idea about the Bureau’s competence. “As you noted, Mrs. Akerman, the mob is adept at hiding. Organized Crime is very good at staying under the radar. They keep operations like the one they were running through Henry Kenyon’s company small and unobtrusive.” As she spoke the truth, she still knew in her gut that Patrick was undoubtedly beating himself up for missing the connection. “The FBI would have no reason to have their antennae raised about any mob involvement. Plus, technology then was a lot more limited than it is now. Computers were a new phenomenon, and certainly not standard Federal issue. So there were no internet searches, or in-depth profiles.”

“We know that,” Hope assured her. “I remember hearing my parents talking. They said the FBI was all but living at our house. I’m sure Special Agent Lynch did everything he could to find Felicity. He’s obviously still distraught over the case. Pointing fingers would be absurd.”

“I’d never do that,” Vera clarified hastily. “Hope is right. Special Agent Lynch was a godsend. He led the investigation, and he dealt with Sidney. I don’t know which was more of a challenge. I’m sorry if I sounded accusatory.”

“You didn’t,” Casey reassured her. “You sounded tormented. Which you were, and now are again.”