The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (18 page)

Ryan walked over and switched off the battery pack. The little critter needed more work. But that would have to wait.

He returned to his electronics bench, soldered the last connection and inspected his work. Pleased with the result, he walked over and reinstalled the modified hard drive assembly into the floor-standing copying machine, set the countdown timer for ten seconds, then walked back to the bench. A message flashed on the monitor: “E.T. phone home.” A mosaic of images began to appear. Each image was a thumbnail of the pages copied by the photocopier and temporarily stored on the hard drive—all transmitted via the cell phone that Ryan had just hard-wired to the copier hard drive.

“Test successful,” Yoda announced.

“Yeah, thanks, Yoda.” Still, Ryan had to iron out a few bugs. Once the copying machine was in place, it would have to be one hundred percent reliable.

So right now, fun was the last thing on Ryan’s mind. He had a job to do, a job that—between his own project and the one Casey had given him—was going to take all night.

So an all-nighter meant canceling his evening plans. There was no choice to be made. A five-year-old child’s life depended on him.

And the sands of the hourglass continued to trickle down to empty.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Day Five

Claudia Mitchell was in panic mode.

Joe was being held in custody for having connections to the mob. She was pretty sure the FBI suspected him of kidnapping Krissy Willis. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

She was alone, she was unemployed and she was devastated—again. She’d just gotten Joe back. She didn’t care
who
he worked for. He wasn’t a bad man—he was Joe. Plus, everything else aside, they were just beginning to put the pieces back together, to make a life together.

And now this.

Damn Judge Willis.

Claudia understood that her anger at Judge Willis was irrational. But that woman had taken everything from her: her career, her income and now her man. She wanted to strike out, to make Judge Willis pay.

But, in her heart, Claudia knew that the judge was already paying—in the most heinous way possible. Her little girl was gone. She’d been taken from her, maybe forever.

Given those circumstances, it was cruel to harbor resentment. Still, Claudia couldn’t squelch hers. It continued to boil inside her, like a volcano about to erupt.

Her life was in shambles.

The phone call she’d received from the employment agency was the closest thing to good news she’d had since this turmoil began. A nursing home north of Westchester County was looking for a bookkeeper and an office manager. It was a far cry, both in content and in salary, from her position as a court clerk, but it would help pay the bills. And the commute would be long, but it was doable.

Her interview was today.

She rose early, dressing in her most serious business suit, and mentally ran through prospective interview questions in her head. It had been a while, and she had to make the transition back to professional woman.

With a modicum of confidence, Claudia left the house and climbed into her car, beginning the hour-and-a-half drive up to the facility. She left herself plenty of time, since she was unfamiliar with the area and the winding, mountain roads. As it turned out, she made good time, and arrived at Sunny Gardens fifteen minutes early.

That gave her a short interval to scan the grounds from the vantage point of the administration building. From what she could see, the acreage was lovely—well manicured, serene, just the atmosphere a patient would need to enjoy the final stages of his or her life. The facility was set on rolling hills with expansive gardens. Aside from the main complex and the administration building, there was a modern clubhouse and a sprawling patio with a view of the sunrise. Claudia would have loved to stroll down to the lake, but the distance would make her arrival at the interview tight. Maybe afterward—
if
she had a shot at the job.

Which she did. The interview went beautifully. Claudia was direct and honest about her qualifications and experience. And, Ms. Babick, the human resources executive Claudia met with, was clearly aware that Claudia was overqualified. But she was also aware of the high unemployment rate, and the scarcity of good jobs. So, rather than being put off by Claudia’s years clerking for a judge, she was pleased by her organizational skills and her ability to take charge.

A half hour later they shook hands, and Claudia was on her way, with the guarantee of a prompt phone call to the employment agency.

Feeling good about herself for the first time in ages, Claudia decided to take that stroll down to the lake.

The stroll turned out to be a lot more than she bargained for.

Rounding the corner of the administration building, Claudia got a full panoramic view of the facility. The first thing that stood out was that a new wing was being constructed at the farthest end of the main building. The second thing was the large sign on the fenced-in construction area.

It read: Bennato Construction Company.

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared in confused disbelief. Then, she pulled herself together. She reminded herself that Bennato was involved in construction projects all over New York State. Any connection between Joe and them had nothing to do with her, or today’s job interview.

She was overreacting. She had to be.

She turned away. That’s when she was hit with her second surprise of the day.

This was no coincidence.

She considered retracing her steps and forgetting she’d ever seen what she did. But she couldn’t. She was too unstrung. So she didn’t think. She just marched straight into the eye of the storm. And she had the confrontation before she could chicken out and walk away.

She left the nursing home with a sense of awareness and dread that far eclipsed the positive impact of her upbeat job interview.

Hurrying to her car, she jumped in and turned over the engine. She couldn’t get home fast enough. What she’d learned in her face-off could change everything.

So stunned was Claudia with her newfound, overwhelming knowledge, that she failed to spot the dark sedan following a short distance behind her.

It waited until she was a quarter mile from the sharp hairpin turn atop the mountain to pick up speed. Then, the driver floored the gas. The car flew up to Claudia’s in seconds. Just as quickly, it moved to the left and astride hers. The driver lost no time, slamming the sedan’s passenger side directly into Claudia’s driver’s side.

She screamed and clutched the wheel, swerving from side to side and trying to get out of the way. But there was nowhere to go—not with the steel divider to her right, separating her from the steep decline that plunged down from the mountaintop.

The sedan wouldn’t let her go. It struck her car over again and again—hard, purposefully—nudging it closer and closer to the railing. Claudia veered wildly, trying to escape the inevitable.

She lost the fight.

With the sickening sound of tearing metal, Claudia’s car tore through the divider and plummeted over the side of the mountain. It flipped over four or five times before crashing into a tree.

Seconds later, the car burst into flames.

Ryan was still at his desk when Casey came down late that morning, Hero at her heels. Ryan’s five-o’clock shadow told her he’d been at it all night. The dark circles under Casey’s eyes told him the same.

“Where do things stand?” she asked.

Ryan leaned back in his chair. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Rough night?”

Casey shrugged. “I’ve been buried in the Felicity Akerman case file.”

“Hutch must be pissed.”

“Nope. He pulled an all-nighter of his own. The BAU is busy modifying their profile in light of the potential Vizzini connection.” Casey put a lid on the chitchat about her private life and changed the subject. “What have you got for me?”

Ryan took the hint and reverted to business. “I’ve aged the images of all the kids you gave me to work with—Felicity’s friends, the neighborhood kids she played with, the girls she went to soccer camp with. I’m in the process of tracking them down. So far, there’s nothing impressive to report. No parents with mob connections. No sleazy backgrounds. Just normal middle-class families. And the kids, now men and women, are scattered around the country—different careers, different marital statuses, different lives.”

He handed Casey some printed pages. “Those are the adult images I came up with. Each page has a small corner photo of that person as a child. That gives us the continuity we need when we show the pictures to Vera Akerman and Hope Willis. See if either of them recognizes a familiar face. Particularly Hope. Have her rack her brain for anyone who’s been hanging around, maybe visiting as an alleged repairman or someone canvassing for a religious organization or political candidate. That would have given them access to the house and to the Willises—maybe even to Krissy. And if Hope does recognize someone, and if Vera recalls them from childhood, we might have a lead.”

Casey glanced toward the center of the room, taking in the copying machine. “It looks like you’ve been busy working more than one lead.”

“Yeah. I know we haven’t gotten anything incriminating off Joe Deale’s computer. And I know the guy’s low on the Vizzini totem pole. So I figured we’d step up our investigation, take it to the next level—the Bennato Construction Company.” Ryan walked over, patted the copier. “As of four this morning, this baby’s ready to go.”

Marc was in his office at the Forensic Instincts brownstone, getting ready for the visit he and Ryan had planned, when his BlackBerry rang. The call was short. But it was a shocker.

He made his way to Casey’s office, calling down to Ryan to join them.

“Get this—” he said the instant the three of them were together. “Claudia Mitchell is dead. Her car went off a cliff forty miles north of here, a couple of hours ago. There were two sets of tire treads at the crime scene. This definitely wasn’t an accident.”

“Wow.” Casey blew out a breath and sank down on the edge of her desk. “Who told you this—Hutch?”

“Yeah. He gave me a courtesy call, just so we’d have a heads-up. This sure as hell supports the mob theory. And it suggests that either Claudia knew something, or, more likely, that Joe is being delivered a message to keep his mouth shut. Which means he knows something, whether or not he realizes it.”

“All the more reason for today’s mission.” Ryan was already dressed and ready. “Casey, you go ahead up to the Willises’ place and deal with this new development. Marc and I will do our thing.”

Casey was already punching a phone number into her cell. “I’m calling Patrick. The FBI might already have alerted him, but, if not, he should be a part of this. It’s another indication that Sidney Akerman’s illegal dealings are at the heart of Krissy’s disappearance—and Felicity’s.”

An hour later, Marc—clad in a gray uniform with the word “Superior” printed on his shirt—pushed open the door of the Bennato Construction Company.

The reception area was cramped, filled with piles of building materials, with peeling walls, a dusty floor and a steel desk, behind which sat a young, attractive secretary. She was cracking gum, talking on the phone and reading
Cosmo
at the same time. Based on the conversation, and the juvenile notes she’d written on Post-its that were stuck to her desk, Marc knew he was not dealing with a brain trust.

All the better.

She looked up when Marc walked over. Her gaze traveled from his broad, well-built physique to his brooding, sexy stare.

“Suze?” she said into the phone. “I gotta go. There’s a workman here. I’ll call you back.” She hung up, folding her hands and leaning forward. It was no accident that she was providing Marc with a spectacular view of her cleavage. “Can I help you?”

“Now
that’s
a loaded question.” Marc gave her a slow, crooked smile and a wink, making sure to scrutinize her breasts appreciatively as he spoke. “I’m sure you can—in lots of ways.”

“Name them.”

Oh, this was too easy.

“You got it—” Marc waited for her to introduce herself. “Sonya.”

“You got it, Sonya.” Her name was a caress, as he turned his charms on full force. “But first, let’s get work out of the way. My name is Danger. John Danger.”

“Really.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “Is that your pickup name or your real one?”

“Both.” A twinkle. “I just got lucky, I guess.”

“I’m sure you get lucky a lot.”

“I never kiss and tell,” Marc replied in a teasing tone. “Anyway, back to business—for now. I’m from Superior Office, and your copying machine has been sending intermittent alerts to our office.”

“Really?” She was barely listening to him. But she
was
eyeing his crotch. “I didn’t know copying machines could do that.”

“They can, Sonya. Do you know the Check Engine light on your car? Same idea, except that the light is in our office instead of on your keypad. That way, we can be of best service to you.” Another smile. “Is it okay if I take a look?”

That question elicited a furrow between her eyebrows. “How much is this going to cost? I have to get my boss’s okay before I spend any money.”

“Won’t be necessary. It’s free. Service is included at no charge along with your machine.”

“Free is perfect.” She pointed to her left. “The copier’s in the storage room. Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m making a fresh pot.”

“Only if you join me.”

“Just what I had in mind.” She crossed the room, giving him a clear view of her tight pants and curvy ass as she did. “It’ll be ready when you are.”

“I can’t wait.”

When Sonya was at the sink, Marc strode into the storage room and opened up the copying machine as if to service it. He then slid the special piece of paper Ryan had given him into the main paper tray.

Hearing the coffee machine sputter its last drops of water, Marc called out, “I’m not seeing any error codes. Can you make a few copies for me?”

“Be right there,” Sonya called back. “How do you take your coffee?”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Hot,” he informed her, his voice filled with promise. “Just like my women.”

Sonya sashayed into the storage room and handed Marc a cup of steaming hot coffee. Marc moved closer to her, brushing up against her.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sonya asked, “What did you ask me to do?”

“I’d like to test the machine. Can you make a couple of copies?”

“Oh. Sure. I need some timesheets anyway.”

Reluctantly, she walked back to her desk, got the original and returned. Placing the page on the copier glass, she closed the cover, punched in ten copies and pressed the button that said Copy.

The machine whirred to life for a brief second, until Ryan’s sheet of paper reached the hot imaging area. Instantly, the copier seized, and a vile smell permeated the office.

Sonya’s head snapped around, and her eyes filled with dread. “What did I do?”

“Don’t freak out,” Marc soothed. “Let me see what’s going on.”

He slid out the imager, scowling as he pointed to the smoking drum. “Not good. It’s fried.”

Sonya was practically in tears. “My boss will kill me. Anytime something goes wrong in the office, he blames me.”