The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

CHAPTER FIVE

Mommy?

Where are you? I’m scared. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.

The picture I finger-painted for you in school is drying. My book bag zipper got stuck. So the bell rang two times before I came out. I was surprised to hear you honk the horn. Surprised but happy. You left work early. You left that bench you always sit on just so we could play. You hadn’t even changed out of the black suit I helped you pick out this morning, so you could get to school before Olivia’s mommy took me home.

Now I remember that smelly scarf. I tried to tell you it was stinky, but you were talking. Not to me. To somebody else. The car kept moving. I woke up a little. You gave me a drink to make the yucky taste go away.

I feel funny. Am I sick? This is not my bed. And these aren’t my pajamas. I don’t like pajamas. I get hot and they stick to me. I like nightgowns. Where’s my nightgown?

I don’t like it here. Was that Daddy’s voice before? Is he still here? Are you?

What if you both left?

What if there’s no one here but me and Oreo?

I keep calling your name, but you don’t come. I called Ashley, too. She didn’t answer. I don’t want her anyway. I don’t want Daddy either. I want you.

Where are you, Mommy?

Please come.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, reflexively recoiling as the little girl’s fear and confusion flowed through her.

The child was becoming more aware. The cobwebs were clearing from her head. And from Claire’s. Afraid. So afraid.

Krissy was crying. Big droplets on her eyelashes, cheeks and chin. She was wiping them away with the backs of her hands. The top of Oreo’s head was wet from the tears she couldn’t catch.

Panic. She was starting to panic. Yelling for her mommy. Sobbing…begging…

“Claire?”

At first the voice didn’t penetrate. Then Claire heard it, realized someone was calling her. She jerked back to her current surroundings, blinking as she glanced behind her and saw Casey.

“Are you okay?” Casey asked.

“No.” Slowly, Claire rose to her feet, unaware of the dampness on her face. “Krissy is terrified. She doesn’t know where she is. And she keeps calling for her mommy.”

Casey didn’t bat a lash. “You could sense what she was feeling. Was she reliving anything that happened? Anything you could pick up on?”

A slight nod. “Whoever took her was wearing a classic black suit similar to the ones her mother wears to work. Her hair was blond and parted on the side, just like Judge Willis’s.”

“Was it real? Or a wig?”

“I don’t know. Krissy didn’t have a feeling about that…” Claire spread her hands wide in an uncertain gesture. “The woman was wearing dark sunglasses. She was clearly disguising her appearance. But, more important, she was doing her best to impersonate Krissy’s mother. Her car. Her hair. A big smile. A welcoming wave.”

“And a kidnapping.” Casey’s mind was racing. “Was Krissy remembering what happened in the car? Was the kidnapper alone? Did she hurt her?”

“I think she chloroformed her, and later drugged her again. And Krissy heard her talking. I didn’t sense anyone else in the car, so I’m guessing she was on the phone.”

“Probably talking to whoever she’s working with-or for.” Casey pushed on. “What else did you sense? Where’s Krissy now? Could you see her surroundings? Who was with her? Anything at all that could help us find her?”

This time Claire hesitated. “Casey, I really should talk to the police first.”

“You probably should. But it’s freshest in your mind now. The cops are in meetings, getting their assignments so they can head out and start interviewing. I’m here. I’ll memorize everything you say. I can be there when you talk to the task force, so that just in case a detail starts to fade, we’ll ensure you give them the clearest and most comprehensive picture possible.” A pause. “Claire, you’ve worked with me before. All I want is for that little girl to be found before it’s too late. So tell me what you remember.”

“She wants her nightgown,” Claire replied quietly. “She doesn’t like pajamas, but she’s wearing flannel ones. She’s in a downstairs bedroom, behind a door with a lock on the outside and a separate one on the inside for when the kidnapper is with her. No one’s there now. She heard voices before, but now it’s silent, and she’s frantic for her mommy.”

“The room-did you see it?”

“Flashes of it, yes. It’s bare. Quiet. There’s a canopied bed with a white bedspread that has little gold crowns on it and pink ruffles all around the sides. There’s enough light in the room, but it’s from a lamp on the nightstand. No sunlight. And no window. Just four pale pink walls and a bare carnation-pink carpet. Like an institutional room, but with a few personal touches.”

“No surprise,” Casey responded. “The main offender is most likely a man. He’ll want to put Krissy in an environment where she feels totally vulnerable, but surrounded by enough personal touches to lower her defenses and convince her that he cares. That’ll provide him with the greatest sense of control. As for the little-girl decor, I’m sure that’s courtesy of his female accomplice. She’ll do it for him, but I’m hoping that a small part of her will also do it for Krissy. That would mean the woman feels a shred of pity or compassion-up to the point where she’d be crossing the line and jeopardizing her own safety. If that’s true, we can use her emotions to our advantage.”

Claire nodded, walking over and picking up the coloring book and crayons. “I’m going to find the North Castle detectives.”

“Assuming they’re still here,” Casey reminded her. “It’s possible that everyone’s out doing their job and that the only law enforcement here are whoever Peg assigned to the Willises and the phones.”

“Then I’ll talk to them.”

“Do you want me to be there?”

“No.” A raw pause. “In this case, my recall is one hundred percent-unfortunately.”

“I can imagine.” Casey didn’t envy Claire’s gift. It had to be enormously painful at times like this. “Whoever you talk to, just don’t do it in front of the Willises. They’re about to give a media statement, and the BAU isn’t here yet to coach them. The last thing they need is to hear that Krissy is terrified and locked up-for God knows what purpose. We can talk to them later. We’ll make sure to emphasize the fact that Krissy is alive.”

Halfway to the door, Claire paused, looking at Casey as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. “You’re very insightful.”

“So’s my whole team,” Casey replied. “It’s something that you and I should discuss-when the time is right.”

Claire’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Okay. We will.”

Just after Claire left the room, Casey’s BlackBerry rang. She glanced down at the caller ID. No surprise at what she saw.

She punched on the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” said a deep, masculine voice. “I wanted you to know that I’m in your neck of the woods. I’ve got a case in Westchester County. I’m not sure when I can break away, but when I do, can we get together? Maybe later tonight?”

“Oh, a lot sooner than that,” Casey assured him. “I’m at the Willises’ house right now. I assume that’s where you’re headed?”

A sharp intake of breath. “They hired you already?”

“What can I say? They’ve got good taste. Just like you.” Casey’s light banter vanished. “I’m glad you’re coming. We’ve got to find Krissy Willis before she’s killed-or worse. Hurry.”

Casey got the Willises alone before the BAU-3 team arrived to prep them.

“After your TV statement, my team and I are going over to Krissy’s school,” Casey told them. “We’ll be interviewing a few specific staff members.”

“Why just a few?” Hope interrupted. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Please, Ms. Woods, don’t skim the surface just because the authorities are pressuring you. I hired you because of your creativity, your track record and your freedom to push the boundaries. Edward and I are both lawyers. We know the drill. Law enforcement is bound by rules that you can circumvent. So circumvent them. Do whatever you have to. Do it thoroughly. And do it fast.”

“I intend to.” Casey spoke as quietly as her client. “Don’t confuse specificity with reticence. If I think someone on your list is a person of interest, I’ll delve into their background, even if our investigation overlaps with the FBI’s. But if my instincts tell me they’re a dead end, it would be a waste of time to pursue them when I could be devoting my attention to more likely suspects, or people who could lead me in the right direction. I especially want to talk to Liza Bock, the car-pool mom who saw Krissy jump into the kidnapper’s car. I also want to talk to her daughter, Olivia, and all Krissy’s other friends. Kids very often know more than they think they do. The FBI task force will cover the gamut.” Particularly the sex offenders, she thought silently and grimly. “Let us cover the probable.”

Hope nodded. “All right.” She handed Casey a stack of papers, including everything she’d given to Peg Harrington: a full list of personal names and each individual’s relationship to Krissy, and pages and pages of professional names that Hope and Edward had come up with as potential enemies, resentful plaintiffs and/or defendants, parents who’d lost custody of their children, and all the other people who might hold a grudge against them.

“I’ll review all this and get started,” Casey said. She thumbed through the pages. “First come the angry parents. An eye for an eye would be strong motivation. Ferreting through that part of the list and interviewing the right candidates will be my job. I’ll have Ryan concentrate on trimming down the list to the most logical thinkers among those. Whoever orchestrated this was sharp, focused and intelligent. And Marc will zero in on those who have the greatest access to you, your home and your day-to-day lives, plus anyone with a criminal record. You have no idea how fast and thorough we are. Have faith.”

“I’m trying.” Tears slid down Hope’s cheeks. “But she’s my baby.”

“I know,” Casey replied gently. “And, on all fronts, you’ve got the best of the best working for her safe return.”

“Hey.” Marc came up behind Casey. “Speaking of which, the BAU’s here. They sent Hutch.”

Casey half-turned. “Yes, I know. He called a little while ago.” She watched as the familiar, commanding presence of SSA Kyle Hutchinson filled the room. For a man who epitomized the word reserved, Hutch managed to take charge without even trying. There was a natural, compelling quality about him that screamed leadership. From the power of his build, the innate confidence he exuded, even the jagged scar across his left temple-a souvenir of his days as a Washington, D.C., police detective-the whole package yanked everyone’s gaze his way and told them he was someone of significant importance.

He never gave credence to those reactions. As always, he had just one purpose in mind. Doing his job.

He pressed forward, his sharp blue eyes focused on the Willises. Right behind Hutch was his partner, SSA Grace Masters, who was every bit as formidable as her partner. Anyone fooled by her slender build or wavy, light brown hair was an ass. She had a steel-trap mind, guts and grit to spare and an unflappable personality. Hutch’s expressions were unreadable. Grace’s were well thought out and executed. The two pros had worked together for years, and now brainstormed with the ease of a long-term partnership, and the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

“Marc. Casey.” Hutch nodded at each of them, then shifted his attention to the Willises. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson and this is my partner, Supervisory Special Agent Grace Masters. We’re from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He and Grace shook the Willises’ hands.

“You’re here to profile the bastard who took my daughter,” Edward stated.

“We’re here to behaviorally analyze the crime to help the investigative team do their job,” Grace replied. “But, yes, we’ll zero in on motivation, personality types, number of offenders-anything that will lead us to your daughter’s kidnapper or kidnappers.”

“Let’s put off the details for now.” Hutch nipped Edward’s questions in the bud. “We’ve got to deal with the immediate. You’re going on TV in ten minutes. So let’s get you prepped and ready.”