His adrenaline pumping, Ryan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, his sharp eyes and even sharper mind taking in every piece of information that surfaced.
He happened to get lucky. Based on his calculations, one of the first names on his list popped up with something shockingly powerful.
Ryan stared at the screen in surprise. Then, he went into hypermode, digging and digging until he had a good chunk of the story in place. There were still pieces missing, like where the money had come from and how much it had been. Also, what psychiatric prognosis had resulted from the treatment, and exactly what people had been part of the support network. Any one of them could have been the connection to the mob.
There were lots of questions Ryan didn’t have answers to—yet. But he intended to find them.
In the meantime, he was already punching in Casey’s cell phone number.
Sal Diaz was clipping hedges at a home that was down the street from the Willises’ when Marc’s car pulled up. The gardener stopped what he was doing, although he made no move to run away. He simply watched Marc climb out of the car, leash up his dog and head over. If Marc had to guess, based on Diaz’s body language, it was almost as if he’d been expecting law enforcement to come knocking at his door.
“Hello, Mr. Diaz,” he greeted the short, squat man with the nervous dark eyes. “We spoke a few days ago. Do you remember?”
A terse nod. “You’re that guy who’s not the FBI or the police. You asked me a lot of questions. Rita, too. Everyone else believed me. You didn’t. I could tell. Even though my wife and I both have alibis, you still think we did something wrong.” He shifted uneasily. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
“No you don’t. But you will.” Marc spoke in that tough, no-bullshit tone that made the hair on people’s necks stand up. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to make you very unhappy. And I’ll do it where no one can see us and where there are no witnesses.”
Diaz paled, but he didn’t respond.
Hero had been sniffing the gardener’s work boots. Now, he let out a braying bark.
Marc glanced down at him. “My dog seems to recognize you,” he told Diaz. “That’s interesting. Because he wasn’t with me when I asked you those questions you’re talking about. So how would he know you? Or, more specifically, where would he know you from?”
“I don’t know.” Diaz’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed hard. “I never saw him before.”
“Maybe not. And maybe he didn’t see you either. But he sure as hell smelled you.”
No reply.
“You’re the person who left that note on our doorstep, aren’t you?” Marc was blunt. Now wasn’t the time to mince words. “Why?”
“I…I…” Diaz dragged a sleeve across his forehead.
“Look, Diaz, I don’t have time to play games. A little girl is missing. The time to find her is running out. There are holes in your alibi, and your wife’s. Either one of you could have gotten into the Willises’ house, or driven over to their daughter’s school. Jobs or not, you wouldn’t have been missed. You’re well aware of all this, or you wouldn’t have gotten involved and tried to throw suspicion elsewhere. So you can either willingly tell me what I want to know, or I’ll drag it out of you one painful word at a time. Your choice.” Marc took a menacing step in Diaz’s direction. He didn’t need to. The power of his build and the blazing look in his eyes was enough.
Diaz capitulated without an argument.
“Yes, I left that note. My wife and I are innocent. But I knew the cops would think what you did and come after us. I can’t let that happen. So I pushed you in the right direction.”
Marc’s mind was racing. There was no way Diaz knew about the mob. Not unless he was connected to it, which Marc would be willing to bet that he wasn’t. Which meant that the family he was referring to was the Willises.
“What right direction?” he probed. “What don’t we know?”
“On TV, they said that Judge Willis left the house that morning with her daughter, and didn’t come back until after school. That’s not true. I saw her come home around two o’clock. She went inside while her nanny was outside checking the mail. She only stayed a few minutes. Then, she left.”
Marc went very still. “Are you sure it was Judge Willis?”
The gardener nodded. “I see her all the time. So, yeah, I’m sure. Her car was a little bit down the street and she was in a hurry, but the way she acted…” He paused, remembering. “No, she didn’t want her nanny, or anyone else, to spot her.”
“Why didn’t you tell this to anyone?”
“First of all, I didn’t want attention shifting to us. And second, it didn’t occur to me. Not until I saw that press conference on TV, and I heard what they were saying. That’s when I knew they were lying.”
Dammit. This told Marc nothing of substance. As per the BAU’s instructions, the press had provided only the necessary specs to the public. That the kidnapper was a woman. That she was driving a silver Acadia. That she’d coaxed Krissy into the car during school pickup time.
Not a word had been said about the offender posing as Judge Willis. So Sal Diaz had no idea that the woman he’d seen entering the Willis house was, in fact, the kidnapper.
He had provided them with a time frame, however. And a confirmation of how the kidnapper had gotten into the house—by slipping by Ashley Lawrence when she was outside checking the mail.