The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

  “Ah, Ryan. More obnoxious than usual, I see. What happened? Did you forget your Batman lunch box?”

  “Ignore him,” Casey advised. “He hasn’t slept in a few days.”

  “Well, that explains it.” Claire looked more amused than bothered—which pissed Ryan off even more. “Thanks for the news flash. I’ll consider myself forewarned.”

  With that, she headed into the house. “Time to commune with inanimate objects,” she called over her shoulder. “You’d be surprised how much talking they do—in a world that’s realer than cyberspace.”

  Ryan definitely had an answer for that one, but he pressed his lips together and refrained from spouting it, as he, Casey and Marc reached the CARD team.

  “So, the Willises hired you already.” Special Agent Guy Adams looked even more unhappy than Ryan about the prospect of working together. Adams was a trained hostage negotiator, in his mid-thirties, sharp, and as competitive as Ryan and Marc. And he had little regard for approaches other than those he’d learned through the Bureau—least of all Forensic Instincts and their out-of-the-box methods.

  “Is that a problem?” Marc asked in a cool, probing tone.

  “Not as long as you don’t overstep.”

  “We’re here to work with you, Guy. You and C-20.” Casey nipped the tension in the bud. “We all want the same thing—to bring Krissy Willis home, safe and with as little trauma as possible. So let’s not turn this into a pissing match.”

  “Our special agents are already inside,” Guy informed her, purposely sidestepping her attempt at detente. “The New York Field Office sent Harrington and Barkley. They’re with the parents now, working on the Child Victim Background Questionnaire. The rest of the New York team is at Krissy’s school, along with a couple of agents from the White Plains RA. Harrington and Barkley are about to debrief us. Harrington is lead case agent on this one.”

  “Good choices,” Casey replied.

  “Glad you approve.”

  “I do.” Casey ignored his sarcasm. She was mulling over the agents she was about to deal with in the Willis home. Peg Harrington and Ken Barkley were both seasoned agents who’d been working CAC cases for over a decade. They were intelligent, and they were self-assured—which meant they didn’t trip over fragile egos. That made working with them tenable. And having Peg at the helm would be great. She was cool under pressure and effective as hell.

  “Did your clients supply you with all the facts?” Guy was asking Casey.

  She wiggled her hand in an ambivalent gesture. “I checked in with Hope Willis from my car. I got the basics. Anyone happen to catch the license plate on the Acadia the kidnapper was driving?”

  “Just a letter or two. Nothing solid to go on. The cops put out an APB. So far, nothing’s turned up. They also notified the Westchester hotline, issued an Amber Alert and entered the case into the NCIC. Officers are at both scenes—here and at the child’s school, along with the county police and CSI.”

  It dawned on Casey that Guy was being unusually chatty and informative, given his preliminary hostility. She glanced past him, and spotted McHale and Dugan head into the house. So that was Guy’s plan. To keep her talking while the rest of the CARD team agents joined their C-20 counterparts and got a jump start on the case.

  She had to admire their tenacious attempt to outmaneuver her, even if it had been feeble. She also had to admit she’d have done the same thing in their place. The fact was, C-20 had every right to run the show. They were law enforcement; she and her team weren’t.

  Nonetheless, she was getting into the house and meeting the Willises. The FBI couldn’t deny her that—they were her clients. The truth was, she didn’t just want to meet them, she wanted to study them. She needed to know what Hope Willis was holding back. And she needed to get a firsthand look at how Hope and Edward Willis were coping—both individually and as a couple—with these initial hours after their five-year-old child’s abduction.

  Body language was a powerful revealer.

  The FBI and the police had already conducted official interviews with the Willises, and were about to turn their efforts toward debriefing the CARD team. The usual procedure. Eliciting the usual response from Forensic Instincts. While the doors were firmly shut in their faces, they’d take full advantage of the opportunity to get information from their surroundings and the people in them. Each of Casey’s team members would accomplish this in his or her unique way.

  “Playtime’s over, Guy,” Casey stated bluntly. “You can shut us out of your debriefing sessions, but you can’t shut us out of the house. Hope Willis hired us. We’re going in to meet her and her husband. We’ll be discreet. And we won’t interfere with your investigation.”

  “That’s fine,” Don said, though with a bit of a sigh. “Any insights you glean would be a welcome addition to our efforts. We’re talking about the life of a five-year-old little girl. I’ve got a granddaughter that age. Let’s pool our resources and solve this one—successfully.”

  “Agreed.” Casey gestured for her group to follow Don and Guy inside. This was great. They’d made peace with the CARD team supervisor. Barkley and Harrington had worked with them a lot, and they respected them. Ditto for the Violent Crimes squad in White Plains, and the Westchester County Police.

  “Sweet,” Marc murmured quietly. “Now we just have the locals to convince. Unfortunately, that’s the hardest part.”

  There was no argument from his coworkers. The locals, especially the smaller precincts, were often skeptical of what and who they didn’t know. Some were also determined to prove themselves, which made them territorial and leery of Forensic Instincts’ independent status.

  “We might get resistance, but we won’t get beginners,” Ryan said. He’d done a brief computer search on the North Castle P.D. “They’re pretty solid.”

  Marc edged him an inquisitive look. “What did you find out?”

  “They’re got a retention rate that’s sky-high. Their cops and detectives just stay on. They like their jobs. They’re well trained and dedicated. There’s not a lot of major criminal activity for them to deal with—mostly car and house break-ins. But they’re ready for big stuff, too. They’ve got an impressive Emergency Service Unit. It’s been around for over a dozen years. They’ve also got a strong community spirit. They take care of their own.”

  “Sounds good,” Marc responded. “Unless they’re insular and uncooperative.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Casey nodded. Best possible scenario. Best investigators. Best police support.

  Now if she only knew what Hope Willis was hiding.

  Hope was in the living room of her sprawling house, pacing around and tucking strands of blond hair behind her ears in erratic, repetitive motions, when Casey first laid eyes on her.

  It took about ten seconds for Casey to feel convinced. The woman with the haunted eyes and the inability to sit still had had nothing to do with her daughter’s disappearance.

  Edward Willis was a little tougher to read. Stiff by nature, Willis was a polished attorney who was accustomed to hiding behind a well-established veneer. But beneath that veneer a fine tension rippled the surface. Just as there was obvious tension between him and his wife. Physical and emotional distance. Separate entities instead of one frantic unit. Edward was edgy, and way too knowledgeable about the law not to know he was a suspect.

  Casey walked directly over to the couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Willis? I’m Casey Woods.”

  Instantly, Hope stopped pacing. She closed the gap between herself and Casey. “There’s been no word,” she blurted out. “No ransom note. No phone call. Not even a threatening email.” Hope looked helplessly from Casey to the FBI agents she’d just spoken to, to the CARD team now moving in. “Does that mean he’s hurting her? Worse? If he doesn’t want money, what else could he want besides…oh God.” Hope drew a few sharp breaths, her features contorting with fear.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Judge Willis.” Don stepped
in front of Casey and introduced himself, keeping his voice quiet and calm. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens. These are Special Agents Will Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. We’re part of a specially trained child recovery team. We’re here to help find your daughter. Have you given Special Agents Barkley and Harrington, as well as the police, a full description and photos of Krissy, along with clothing samples…?”

  “Yes.” Edward Willis moved to his wife’s side. “Thank you for coming, Agent Owens. I’m Edward Willis, Krissy’s father. In answer to your question, we filled out a background questionnaire. We gave the police and the FBI a preliminary list of neighbors, friends, relatives, Krissy’s friends, classmates and teachers—and we’re working on a list of all of Hope’s and my potential enemies. We also provided the photo and clothing you just mentioned, along with Krissy’s comb and toothbrush, and all the details of the abduction that we have—which aren’t many. What else can we do?”

  “Make yourselves available for whatever’s necessary,” Don replied. “Media broadcasts. Following our lead when we ask you to prolong any phone calls we’re recording. Working with us to separate what’s real from what’s bogus as the public starts to communicate potential leads. Which they will. Some through our hotlines. Some through the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Some through tips to law enforcement. You’ll both be required to submit to polygraph tests. I assure you, it’s routine. Don’t be insulted—just do it. Eliminating suspects can be as important as pursuing them. And, most of all, have faith.”

  “Pursuit,” Hope echoed, reminded for the umpteenth time of the potential flight risk involved. “What about roadblocks?”

  “Taken care of county-wide and beyond,” Don assured her. “And highway patrols are combing the area. Trust me, Judge Willis. We all know what we’re doing.”

  Hope nodded, lowering her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.

  It was clear from the expression on Don’s face that he empathized with Hope’s fears. It was also clear that he knew there was only one way to alleviate them.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my team needs to be debriefed,” he informed her. “The quicker the better. That way we won’t lose a minute. What room can we use?”

  “My home office,” Hope said at once. She pointed. “It’s down the hall, second door to your right. The other FBI agents are in there with the police. There’s a conference table and more than enough chairs.”

  With a brief nod of thanks, Don and his CARD team disappeared in that direction.

  Hope turned back to Casey.

  “I picked up on a certain evasiveness in your voice,” Casey stated without preamble. “You’re hiding something. Before we go any further, I want to know what that something is.”

  Inhaling sharply, Hope responded to the obvious first. “Do you honestly believe I could harm my child? Is that why you think I was being evasive?”

  “Initially, it was one of the explanations I considered.” Casey continued to be frank. Simultaneously, she was watching an interesting scene taking place diagonally across from them, in the kitchen. But the answer she provided Hope was definite and direct. “But after seeing you in person, my suspicions are gone. However, that doesn’t answer my question. You are holding something back. What? And why?”

  “Because it has no bearing on our daughter’s disappearance,” Edward Willis inserted abruptly.

  With a quick glance over her shoulder, Casey signaled for Marc and Ryan to go do their thing. Once they’d complied, she leveled a direct stare at Edward.

  “Tell me if I’m wrong, Mr. Willis, but I get the feeling you’re not much in favor of your wife’s decision to hire us.”

  “You’re not wrong. I’m a firm believer in the legal system.”

  “As an attorney, I’m sure you are.” Casey kept her tone respectful. But she didn’t like this man. He was judgmental and controlling. And it was no surprise that he believed in the legal system—his legal system. He specialized in putting violent criminals back on the street in exchange for high visibility, a rush of self-importance and a hefty fee.

  Aloud, all she said was, “I understand where you’re coming from. Rest assured, my group won’t be abusing law enforcement or whatever decisions you make with them. We’re here to follow their lead—if our discussion with you now results in a mutual decision for us to work together.”

  “If?” Now Edward was taken aback. It was clear the man was used to getting his own way—even if, like this time, it meant Casey and her group vanishing into thin air.

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand, Ms. Woods. My wife hired you.”

  “True. But there’s a stipulation. I need my answer. What is it I’m not being told?”

  Hope stared at the floor for a minute. The hard swallow that she gave, the way she steeled herself, and the way she shifted into autopilot told Casey that she’d relayed this story countless times, but that it never ceased to hurt.

  “My sister Felicity was kidnapped thirty-two years ago,” she said quietly, her voice quavering from emotional strain. “We were six. She was sleeping next to me when it happened. I was chloroformed. So was she. Only it was Felicity the kidnapper chose to take. I’ve never understood why. We are—” a painful pause “—were identical twins. Very few people could tell us apart—unless they were familiar with our personalities. Which, to me, says the kidnapper was someone who knew us at least fairly well. And before you ask, Felicity’s body was never recovered. The case was labeled cold, and closed two years after the abduction. Now, history is repeating itself…with my baby.” Choking up, Hope pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  “Now you see why I didn’t want you to pursue this line of questioning,” Edward snapped, once again putting an arm around his wife. The gesture seemed oddly stiff, even staged. “Dredging up a painful incident from Hope’s past is pointless.”

  “I disagree.” Casey quickly processed the implications of what she was being told, even as her gaze flickered once again to the kitchen doorway. “It explains that this terrifying crime is even more terrifying for your wife than it might be for another woman. Two treasured loved ones kidnapped in a lifetime—the first unsolved, and occurring when your wife was an impressionable, young child? Scars like that don’t heal, Mr. Willis. Especially when the victim is an identical twin, who most people claim is