She’d told Hope and Vera the basics before taking off. Edward had been at the office. Hope had come alive at the prospect of a real lead. Vera, on the other hand, had refused to believe that Linda was involved. She was stunned to learn about Anna, since she hadn’t even known of her existence. But she insisted that Linda’s daughter’s death must have made her all the more compassionate about Felicity’s abduction. Nobody should have to bear the loss of a child, she’d told Vera repeatedly. And she’d attended every one of the prayer vigils after Felicity’s disappearance. How could she have faked that level of concern?
Casey viewed Linda’s actions and statements in a far different light. But she’d seen reactions like Vera’s before. She was in denial. Even so, Casey could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. Somewhere inside her, Vera was afraid that what she was being told was true. And that would mean she’d befriended the very woman who’d stolen her daughter, destroyed her life and now kidnapped her granddaughter.
Having heard Casey’s request for a photograph, Vera had disappeared to her room, returning to present Casey with a photo from Felicity’s soccer camp. The staff was in the back row. Vera pointed at a slender, dark-haired woman with a gracious smile that didn’t quite match the sober look in her eyes and told Casey that that was Linda.
Casey couldn’t help but notice that Linda’s height and build could easily have passed for Hope’s. She didn’t say that aloud. She merely thanked Vera and gave the photo to Ryan.
Vera looked ill. This potential truth was almost unbearable.
But not nearly as unbearable as it would be to hear Casey’s theory about Felicity being replaced by a series of other children, all of whom would have been disposed of when they hit a certain age. A mad cycle that Krissy could very well be taking her place in.
The very thought made Casey’s stomach turn.
The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts.
She answered ASAP. “Yes, Ryan?”
“Obviously, no hospital’s computer records date back thirty years,” he began without preamble. “But the hospital Linda Turner worked at does have archived records in storage. So I drove there, made a few friends.”
“Female, no doubt,” Casey inserted drily.
“Yeah, well, they just finished digging around for me. It’s bizarre, Casey. There are no records of Felicity at all. Not of her E.R. visit, not of her follow-ups—nothing. There are, however, records of a girl matching Felicity’s description arriving in the E.R. that day with a broken arm. All the dates and procedures match the ones Vera Akerman gave us of Felicity.”
“So the hospital screwed up.”
“I’d say no to that one.” Ryan had that voice again, the one that said he was about to deliver a bombshell. “According to the file, the girl with the broken arm was Anna Turner.”
Casey started. “Oh my God.”
“It’s like Felicity’s existence there was wiped clean, and replaced by Linda’s daughter.”
Linda’s house was barren. Her clothing and toiletries were gone. Her fridge was cleaned out. The evidence suggested that she hadn’t been living here for some time now. Which meant she was probably living in the place she’d set up for Krissy.
They had to find her. She was the key to everything.
The key to finding Krissy.
The FBI task force canvassed the neighborhood. Using the photos Ryan had created, they showed Linda’s picture to neighbors, local business owners, anyone and everyone they could think of. Clearly the woman had been a total recluse. A few neighbors who were longtime residents of the area recognized her, but none of them had seen her in as long as they could recall. The local pharmacy had never done business with her. Nor had any of the local merchants. And if she had any doctors, they weren’t in this area.
A core team, including Peg and Don, continued combing the house. Casey and Marc stayed with them. So did Patrick and Claire. And, of course, Hero. Marc covered the entire house with him, letting him sniff every nook and cranny, along with the scent samples ERT had collected. Even with her personal items gone, Linda had lived here. Which meant her scent was the one thing she’d left behind.
“She didn’t want to be recognized.” Peg stated the obvious. “So whatever supermarkets, drugstores, or health care professionals she dealt with, they’re located elsewhere.”
“What about employment?” Casey asked. “She’d need a stream of income—assuming she wasn’t the one who got Hope to part with the ransom money. Do we widen the search?”
“Yes.” Don nodded. “We need to check neighboring towns. She wouldn’t go far, not given how reclusive she is. But we have to act fast.”
“I’ll get more manpower up here.” Peg whipped out her phone. “We’ll expand the search area. Meanwhile, let’s keep exploring the house with a fine-tooth comb. There has to be something—a receipt, a paycheck stub, something—that she left behind that would give us a clue as to what she did, where she shopped, what places she frequented.”
Claire was standing at the top of the basement stairs. “I need to go down there,” she murmured. “I know you swept the place and found nothing. But I still need to go down there. I’m not sure why—not yet.”
With that, she descended the staircase.
“I’ll bet that’s where Linda kept Felicity,” Casey said. “People repeat patterns they’re comfortable with, and Claire keeps referring to a basement. If Linda’s holding Krissy in the basement of wherever she is, she must have done the same here with Felicity.” Turning and speaking to Peg and Sergeant Bennett simultaneously, she asked, “May I go down with Claire?”
Neither of them had a problem with that.
So Casey hurriedly descended the steps.
Claire was standing in the middle of the room, looking around as if she were seeing something more than an empty basement with a concrete floor and cinder-block walls. From the distant expression in her eyes, she wasn’t even aware of Casey’s presence.
Slowly, she crossed over to the far wall, pressing her palm against the surface, then sliding it up and down.
“A bed,” she said in a soft, faraway voice. “With a canopy. The bedspread has roses on it. Roses, for Briar Rose. Princess Aurora. The bed is for her. And the canopy is embroidered with pictures of Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.”
Sleeping Beauty, Casey thought. Claire was describing Sleeping Beauty.
“She doesn’t feel like a princess,” Claire continued in that same dreamlike tone. “She’s scared. She wants her mommy, her daddy and her sister. She doesn’t understand why she’s here. And she doesn’t understand her new name. It’s not hers. She’s not who she’s supposed to be. She just wants it to go away. She just wants to go home.”
Casey stayed frozen in place, determined not to interrupt Claire’s musings. Clearly, she was talking about Felicity. This was the room in which she’d been held captive.
Claire’s words were heartbreaking. There were tears on her cheeks. “She’s curled close to this wall. As far away as she can get. But she knows it’s not far enough. Her legs are tucked under her. She’s afraid of the dark. And it’s always dark down here. Except for the night-light and the little lamp on her nightstand.” Claire pressed her palm hard against the wall. “It’s not a fairy tale. It’s a nightmare. Why did this happen to her? She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t want to.”
An odd expression crossed Claire’s face. “Pain. Resignation. Acceptance.” Her eyes flickered open. “She’s gone,” she whispered. “Gone for good.” For a long moment, she stared at her hand. Then, she let it drop to her side. She looked exhausted and utterly defeated.
“Claire?” Casey said tentatively.
Claire glanced over at her. “Felicity was here.”
“I know. I could tell by what you were saying.”
“This wall,” Claire murmured. “She spent hours pressed against it, trying to emotionally escape. That’s how I could still pick up on her presence after all these years. A residue of her
energy was left behind. It’s gone now.” A shaky sigh. “So we know Linda Turner was the kidnapper. Or at least one of them. She kept Felicity in this basement. That’s why she’s repeating herself with Krissy. Another basement, another princess room.”
“Do you feel Krissy’s energy here, as well?” Casey asked quickly.
“No.” Claire shook her head. “Krissy was never here. Either Linda moved beforehand, or she chose a different location to make sure she didn’t get caught. Either way, she never brought Krissy to this house.”
Casey walked over and looped an arm around Claire’s shoulders. The poor woman was shaking. This experience had taken a lot out of her.
“Let’s go upstairs.” Casey spoke in a gentle voice. “We’ll tell the task force what you felt and saw.”
“Assuming they believe me,” Claire replied with sad resignation.
Casey couldn’t argue that one. “We’ll just have to hope ERT turns up some evidence from this room.”
For the first time, Casey understood the crippling frustration Claire endured in situations like this. It was bad enough to see the dubious expressions on the faces of the task force. What was worse was the utter helplessness of knowing there wasn’t a damned thing they could do to utilize Claire’s information. Casey didn’t care about the inadmissibility of what Claire had seen and felt. She would have jumped on this anyway, unencumbered by the limitations of law enforcement. What she cared about was the fact that she had nothing concrete that could lead them to Linda Turner.
Only the confirmation that they were looking for the right person.
“Did you find anything in the house?” Casey asked Peg.
“Nothing of significance.” Peg looked as frustrated as Casey felt. “A couple of take-out menus. A broken plate in the garbage. And a roll of red string in a corner of the master bedroom. We don’t need any of it. ERT had more than enough to establish that Linda Turner lived here. And they dusted for prints everywhere—including the basement—for proof that Felicity Akerman had been here. But, when push comes to shove, even if all the fingerprints match up and everything Claire said was true, it means nothing. Not in the here and now. Felicity Akerman is gone. We need to find Krissy Willis.”
Casey nodded. “Nothing else?”
“Scraps of paper with nothing written on them, an empty journal and an equally empty calendar. Obviously, Linda Turner wasn’t keeping track of things, at least not in a place she left for us to find.”
With that, Peg’s phone rang.
She snatched it and answered. “Harrington.”
A minute of silence, as Peg listened.
“Good. I want it analyzed yesterday. Call me back with specifics.”
Casey waited, staring at Peg. Judging from the special agent’s reaction, this call had yielded something that mattered.
“That was ERT,” Peg said in answer to Casey’s questioning look. “Evidently, when they swept the medicine cabinet in the master bath, they retrieved a pill. Turns out it’s definitely a prescription med. They’re having it analyzed ASAP.”
“If it was a prescription, that will tell us, not only what Linda Turner was taking, but perhaps what medical condition she was being treated for. With that info as a starting point, we’ll canvass all the pharmacies. Even if she used an assumed name, this will help.”
“I want the pharmacy and the doctor,” Peg replied. “Let’s just hope it’s a less common drug, and not something for insomnia or depression. If we can narrow things down, this could be the break we’ve been hoping for.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It didn’t take long for the FBI lab to analyze the pill.
Casey, Marc, Claire, Patrick and the entourage of law enforcement had just returned to the Willises’—leaving behind a massive manhunt that spread over two counties—when Peg got the call.
The confiscated pill was a ten-milligram tablet of Memantine—a drug used to treat moderate to severe Alzheimer’s disease.
“Alzheimer’s?” Casey blinked. That one had come out of left field. “I don’t understand. How could Linda have orchestrated all this if she were suffering from such a debilitating disease?”
“Maybe it was moderate. The beginnings of dementia,” Patrick suggested.
“Nope.” Peg shook her head. “According to my medical experts, ten milligrams is not an initial dosage. On the other hand, every patient is different. Linda could be lucid most of the time. She also could have a visiting nurse who stops by, drops off prescriptions and stays for brief enough periods of time that she has no clue there’s a child being held captive in the basement. We won’t know any of these answers until we find Linda.”
“That explains the red string we found,” Casey mused aloud. “Linda probably ties it around her finger to remember things. It’s a pretty common thing to do. And a necessary one, in her case.”
“So we know what we’re looking for,” Bennett said. “We’ve already got law enforcement pounding the pavement, flashing pictures of Linda Turner at every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius. Now we’ve got more than her face to go on. It’s time to get the necessary warrants to match the drug with the patient.”
Marc pulled Casey aside the minute he could speak to her in private.
“Can’t Ryan hack into some drug company database or something—bypass all that crap? Especially with the new HIPAA laws. We’ve got to speed things up.”
“Ryan can hack into anything,” Casey replied, visibly distracted as she spoke. “The problem is, he’d still have a gazillion pharmacies to check out. And even then, we’d have to hope Linda Turner used her real name. It’s very possible she didn’t, since she doesn’t want to be found. Which means we’d be right back where Sergeant Bennett just described—taking our list of pharmacies and flashing photos of Linda to every one of them that filled a Memantine prescription, hoping that a pharmacist or employee recognizes her. That would take almost as long as circumnavigating HIPAA.”
“You have another idea?” Marc recognized the look on Casey’s face.
“Actually, yes. I have a possible theory. And if it’s got merit, we can skip a whole bunch of steps and go to the head of the class.” She glanced around the room, eyeing the large number of law enforcement agents. “I can’t get out of here without the entourage noticing. And Peg will have my hide if she thinks I’m up to something. Can you slip away and text Ryan? Tell him to drive up here and bring his laptop—we’ll meet in his van.”
“Just give me three minutes. I’ll be gone and back.”
Ryan made it to Armonk in record time.
But it was long enough for Casey to separate herself from the pack, many of whom had disbanded to join the manhunt.
She, Marc and Ryan clustered together in the van, Hero stretched out beside them.
“Marc filled me in on where things stand,” Ryan began. “So tell us what you’re thinking.”
Casey blew out her breath. “My grandfather had Alzheimer’s. It’s a horrible, debilitating disease. If Linda Turner is taking ten milligrams of Memantine at a time, it’s very likely she’s taking twenty milligrams a day. And that means she’s not in a good place. Also, these drugs only go so far in slowing the progression of the disease. I just can’t imagine her being clearheaded and cunning enough to pull off this whole kidnapping scheme alone.”
“You’re saying you think she had an accomplice,” Ryan said. “Are you reverting to the mob theory?”
“I don’t think so,” Marc interjected. “This is personal. It’s got to be Linda’s idea—she’d just need help with the execution.”
“Agreed.” Casey picked up where she’d left off. “I don’t buy the whole visiting nurse idea. I think that whoever’s getting Linda’s medicine, making her medical arrangements and assisting in her overall health issues, is also assisting in Krissy’s captivity.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that.” Ryan inclined his head, studying Casey intently. She had more on her mind than what she’d already said. “Are you thinking
of someone in particular?”
“I have no idea. But I do have an avenue I want to pursue. It could be a far-fetched dead end.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No.” Casey raised her chin, glanced from Ryan to Marc and back. “I think we need to revisit Claudia Mitchell’s murder. We’ve all been operating under the assumption that it was mob related. But if the mob wasn’t involved in Krissy’s kidnapping, then that eliminates any motive they might have had to silence Claudia.”
“Which means someone else wanted or needed Claudia Mitchell dead,” Marc continued for her. “Someone she surprised, rather than the premeditated murder we originally suspected. And the place where she surprised them is at the health care facility where she had her interview. Sunny Gardens. A facility that treats patients with everything from physical illnesses to dementia and Alzheimer’s.”
“You think Linda Turner is a patient there?” Ryan asked.
“More likely, a recent one,” Casey qualified. “Which means she’d need her accomplice to come to her.”
“It also means her accomplice probably did the actual kidnapping. And that would mean we’re dealing with a female accomplice.” Marc deduced what Casey already had. “Do you think it’s someone in Hope Willis’s circle? Someone Claudia would have recognized?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Casey’s reply was more a statement than a question.
Ryan let out a low whistle. “It’s quite a theory. But we’d be crazy not to check it out. The question is, how? Sunny Gardens isn’t going to give us squat. Law enforcement would have a hard enough time getting privileged information, and we’re not law enforcement. We have zero leverage.”
“We have Marc.” With absolute confidence, Casey eyed her colleague. “I’d be willing to bet that, on a dime, you can come up with a plan that will get us what we need.”
Marc looked thoughtful. “We need to verify that Linda Turner is actually a patient at Sunny Gardens. I’ll have to scale the gates and bypass the security cameras. Get around without being noticed. Blend in and disappear…not a problem.”