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“I’m so glad you’re here.” Hope’s face flooded with relief when she saw Casey. Her reaction came as no surprise. It was very common for Forensic Instincts’ clients to develop a personal attachment and to cling to them as a lifeline.
“What happened?” Hutch demanded.
Dugan filled him in on the events of the evening. “ERT found no fingerprints on the jewelry box, or on any of the remaining jewelry inside. Also, none were found on the surfaces we know the intruder touched when he removed the locket and the perfume. None on the dresser. None on the makeup table. Whoever broke in here must have worn gloves. ERT double-checked everything. They took the jewelry box with them for a more extensive examination. But I doubt they’ll find anything. This kidnapper knew what he wanted, maybe even the exact locations of the items in question. He came prepared. He went straight for what he needed, snatched the locket and perfume, and left.”
“A bottle of perfume, and a locket,” Casey murmured. “Interesting.”
“What does it mean?” Hope was shaking from head to toe. “He didn’t touch any of my expensive jewelry or anything else of value.”
“Tell me about the locket,” Hutch instructed. “Did it open? Was there a photograph inside?”
“The locket was heart shaped. There were two photos inside. One of Krissy and one of me.”
“And the perfume?”
“It’s my regular scent—Joy,” Hope supplied. “I almost always wear it. I kept the bottle in plain sight.”
Hutch leaned his head back and drew a sharp breath. “He was right here under our noses while we were all at the police station.”
“Quite a risk he took,” Grace added thoughtfully. “A pretty daring—and desperate—act.” She turned to Hope. “I know you’re badly thrown by this. But there’s a big upside. It tells us that Krissy is probably alive.”
“I agree.” Hutch nodded. “The kidnapper took personal things—things that would remind Krissy of you. That suggests he’s trying to put her at ease, to soothe her. Which not only means she’s alive, it means he’s struggling to make her happy. That’s not the act of a killer, not when you combine it with the risk he took coming here, knowing full well that the task force is all over this case.”
“He waited until we all cleared out,” Don said. “That means he’s watching the house.”
“We expected as much.”
A nod. “He caught Will Dugan alone and on the phone. It was the only time in the past two days that he could get in and out without running into an entourage of law enforcement. Once again, it emphasizes that we’re not dealing with an amateur. Every step he takes is well thought out and painstakingly executed.”
Casey turned to Sergeant Bennett of the North Castle P.D. “Can I give Claire Hedgleigh a call? I know she’s working for you on this case. Maybe she can pick up on something from the scene.”
“Good idea.” Bennett nodded. “But I’ll take care of contacting her.”
Claire arrived a short time later. She was still bothered by all the loose, unconnected threads of her visions, none of which she could weave into a cohesive braid. Now, she was stunned by the brazen act of the kidnapper, breaking into the Willises’ house—again. But she was eager to get to the master bedroom to see if anything came to her—anything that would integrate her flashes of insight.
“How’s Ashley?” she asked as soon as she entered the room. “Is she badly hurt?”
“No. Just a concussion,” Hope supplied, visibly relieved by that aspect of the equation. “No internal injuries. Some deep cuts and a nasty lump on the back of her head, though. The doctors are keeping her overnight for monitoring, just to be on the safe side. But we’ll be able to pick her up tomorrow so she can recoup at home.”
“Guilt,” Claire pronounced abruptly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. But I’m picking up on an overwhelming sense of guilt in this room.”
“That would be mine,” Hope said grimly. “I should have been here to prevent this.”
“None of this was your fault,” Casey responded at once. “Nor was it Ashley’s. It’s too bad that Agent Dugan was on the phone. But no one could anticipate this.”
“I’m pretty pissed off at myself, as well,” S.A. Dugan responded. “I can’t believe someone got by me.”
“This is a big house and there are back stairs,” Claire murmured, still half inside her own head. “But there’s another energy here. A new one. The kidnapper’s.”
“A kidnapper with a conscience,” Hutch muttered. “More personal traits.”
“Not just personal—feminine,” Claire amended. “My sense is that the intruder was a woman. She came specifically to get the special items that would ease Krissy’s separation anxiety.” A furrowed brow. “It’s a female’s energy—not dense or heavy like a man’s would be. More light and airy.”
“So you think the alpha male who’s running the show sent his female accomplice to do the dirty work.” Casey pursed her lips and nodded. “It makes sense. He’d get his desired results, and he wouldn’t be the one taking the risk.”
Hutch was scowling. “None of this feels right. A mobster with a grudge. One who demanded, and got, ransom money, but is still not satisfied. He also doesn’t seem to want an eye for an eye. He wants Krissy alive, but is showing no signs of returning her—just as Felicity Akerman was never returned or recovered. What’s this man’s end goal? Just to make Sidney Akerman’s family suffer?”
There were no ready answers.
