“No fingerprints at all?”
“Oh, yeah, there were fingerprints, but they were smudged. Nothing the lab could match to an entry in CODIS. So we have no way of knowing if the DNA was that of a previous offender.”
“Meaning we’ve got nothing.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The fingerprints didn’t give us a name, but they did tell a story. They were lightly covered with dirt.”
“Dirt?” Casey straightened. “What kind of dirt? The kind you find on a lawn or in a garden, or the kind you find at a construction site?”
“Hard to tell. It could have been any of the above.”
“Dammit.” Casey set down her coffee cup with a thud. “So we’re back to square one. What family are we discussing-the Vizzini family or the Willis family?”
Hutch was quiet for a minute as he poured himself some coffee. “It’s a little unusual for a mob soldier to be stupid enough not to wear gloves.”
Casey’s eyebrows drew together. “So you think it sounds more like a layperson than a seasoned criminal who left me that note.”
“Not sure. But my gut tells me yes.”
“So does mine. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t sleep all night. We’ve investigated the Willises and the Akermans from every possible angle. Yet I can’t help but wonder if we’re missing something. Plus, another thing occurred to me. I know that Claire isn’t a scientific source of information, but not one of the visions she’s had has included anything beyond Krissy and Hope. Why isn’t she picking up on the mob? She got the same feeling from Deale as I did-that he was a pawn who knew nothing more than he was saying. Should we be showing her the sketches of DeMassi and his son? Would that spawn some kind of reaction?”
Hutch drew a slow breath. “I can’t comment on that, Casey. You know I’m not big on the whole idea of psychics. But if you think otherwise, fine. It can’t hurt to show the sketches to Claire. In my opinion, however, our best tie-in to either family is Sidney Akerman.”
“The rest of the FBI team agrees with you. Peg and Don are reinterviewing Sidney this morning. Patrick’s joining them.” Casey inclined her head quizzically. “Want to be there? Because I sure do.”
“Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Peg, Don and Patrick were reinterviewing Sidney behind the closed doors of the first-floor den when Casey and Hutch arrived. Hutch’s presence was more than welcome. Any light he could shed on what they learned would be greatly appreciated. And Peg had no issue with Casey being there. To her, the time for protocol was over. All that mattered was finding Krissy Willis.
Sidney was perched nervously in a chair, his fingers working feverishly as he addressed the questions being flung his way. He’d been ready and waiting when the others marched in. He was staying here with Hope, despite her ambivalence about having him live under her roof, however temporary. On the one hand, he was her father. On the other hand, he was probably at the heart of everything tragic that had happened to her sister, and now to her daughter. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, but for expediting the investigation, it was a no-brainer.
Casey and Hutch settled themselves on the leather couch, while Peg and Don stood formidably in front of Sidney, and Patrick paced the floor, listening and occasionally firing an additional question Sidney’s way. “You have
“Of course not.” Sidney’s reply was filled with resignation. “If I did, I’d tell all of you faster than you could ask. Krissy is my granddaughter. After the way I screwed up, I’d put my life on the line to find her.”
“DeMassi’s in jail, and his son’s in Sicily,” Peg stated aloud. “So if they’re responsible for the delivery of the note, they got one of their soldiers to do it.”
Don nodded, pursing his lips. “The traces of dirt suggest that it could be someone from Bennato Construction. Mr. Akerman, are you sure you didn’t recognize any of the names or photos I showed you of their workers? Or, particularly, of Tony Bennato himself?”
Sidney linked his fingers behind his neck and lowered his head in frustration. “For the tenth time, I never heard of or saw any of them before. But why would I? My connection to these bastards ended three decades ago. And, even then, I barely saw anyone, and I didn’t interact with any of them. Only Henry did.”
“Henry’s dead. You’re here. Keep thinking.” Patrick was at the end of his rope.
Casey’s chin came up, and she made eye contact with Patrick, silently requesting that he give her a few minutes of leeway.
At his nod, she turned to Peg. “May I?” she asked respectfully.
“Please do.” A sweep of the case leader’s arm.
“Thanks.” Casey straightened her spine and leaned forward, intentionally conveying a power stance to Sidney. “Let’s tackle this from another angle, Mr. Akerman. We’ve explored all your direct contacts and your knowledge of what went on with your friend Henry Kenyon. Maybe we should flip this around, and start at the personal end. Rather than dissect the mob, let’s discuss you and Felicity, and maybe we can get a handle on who had access to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your ex-wife told us that Felicity was the apple of your eye, that she was very much daddy’s little girl.”
Pain twisted Sidney’s features. “That’s true. I loved both my girls, but Felicity and I had a special rapport. We both loved all kinds of sports. And we were both crazy about arcade games. Our local pizzeria was one of the first places to get Pong. We went there together every weekend and played. And Felicity was crazy about old-fashioned Skee-Ball. She beat me every time.”
“So you went to the same pizzeria each time?”
“Uh-huh. But we knew the owners. They were decent, family-loving people, not mobsters.”
“I checked them out,” Patrick inserted. “They came up clean.” A self-deprecating pause. “Then again, I missed Kenyon’s mob connections. So we can check them out again. They’re in the case file.”
Casey nodded. “What about sports?” She continued questioning Sidney, covering all the bases. “I know Felicity was an athlete. Were you involved with that, or was it just spectator sports you shared?”
A hint of a smile, filled with nostalgia. “Both. We watched hours of sports on TV. But we shared the hands-on stuff, too. I’m sure Vera told you what an amazing soccer player Felicity was. She had daily team practices, but we practiced together on top of that. We kicked the ball around at her school, on the front lawn, every place we could set up a goal cage. And she went to soccer camp in the summer, even at her age. It was day camp, of course. She came home every afternoon. But I took off from work whenever I could, just to watch her compete. She was great. She would have gone far if…” His voice trailed off.
Casey glanced down at her case file. “Special Agent Lynch spoke to all the families on Felicity’s school and camp soccer teams.”
“Yes, he was very thorough. He covered the kids, the parents, the counselors and the coaches. And I’ll tell you what I told him, then and now. Everyone loved Felicity. She was kind, bubbly and happy. I can’t think of a single soul who’d want to hurt her. And I certainly can’t imagine any of the people you just mentioned having mob affiliations.”
“Your friend, Henry, was a regular guy, too,” Casey pointed out. “He just got himself into a hole and chose the wrong way out. Not everyone with ties to the mob are sinister, evil people. Some are just plain desperate, and they have no concept of the potential consequences of their actions.”
Hutch, who’d been silent up until now, spoke up. “Speaking of Kenyon, here’s a reach. Your daughter might have been a kid, Akerman, but she was obviously a talented kid. And I know how competitive those sports camps can be. What other camps did they play against? Was there any friendly betting that went on about the games?”
Sidney blinked. “Betting? On six-year-olds?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
Peg’s eyes narrowed, and she gazed intently at Hutch. “Go on.”
“Following Casey’s line of reasoning, Felicity broke her arm the summer she was kidnapped. She’d just been given the go-ahead to play by her doctor. The cast was removed. Then she was abducted. Was her playing a threat to anyone’s pocketbook?”
