“And?”
“And, given the circumstances and the fact that all roads lead to my district, this case is now officially under my jurisdiction. However, between what I’m about to tell you and the call I got from the Hoboken P.D., my next phone call will be to the FBI. They need to be involved. This is way bigger and more complicated than anything I expected.”
“Please explain.” Casey was starting to get that ominous knot in her stomach. “Was the body Jan Olson?”
“Yes. Dental records confirmed that. The victim’s father has been notified.” There was a long, pensive pause. “But there’s more. The police lab was able to apply heat to the brass locket. It’s a complicated process—some chemical reaction I don’t understand—but the result was that they were able to lift prints from it. They enhanced the prints by applying an electrostatic charge and dusted with a black fingerprint powder. The results were good enough to run through NCIC.” He was referring to the National Crime Information Center, where all criminal offender data was electronically stored.
“Does that mean you found a match?” Marc asked, leaning forward with intense interest.
“Yes. The prints belong to a felon you’ve recently aided the NYPD in arresting. Glen Fisher.”
“Glen Fisher?” Claire literally jumped up in her seat.
“Shit,” Ryan muttered. “I don’t believe this.”
Casey said nothing. Her thoughts were racing too quickly to speak. She could still vividly remember that night last year when the FI team—who’d been approached at the final hour to assist the NYPD—had set up and apprehended Glen Fisher. His M.O. had been to rape and strangle redheaded college girls. Casey had posed as the ideal victim—a shy, vulnerable college kid hanging out alone at the bar near Tompkins Square Park where Fisher found his marks. She’d made sure she was the last patron to leave the bar, and walked right by the alley where Fisher was lying in wait.
The setup had paid off. Fisher had grabbed Casey at knifepoint, dragged her into the alley and was yanking off her jeans when Marc exploded into the alley and slammed Fisher against the concrete wall, nearly breaking his neck until he exacted a confession.
The bastard had given up the locations of more than half a dozen bodies to the cops, and had been tried and sentenced to thirty-to-life. The FI team had pushed for life without parole, but Fisher’s lawyer had played it well. He’d stressed the coercion Marc had used to get the confession, and the fact that the body locations Fisher had provided were pure hearsay and could have been information he’d blurted out under duress after having overheard them anywhere.
The jury didn’t buy his innocence for a minute. The guilty verdict had come in fast and furious. But the judge didn’t feel he had enough to render life without parole. So Fisher had gotten thirty to life and was sent to Auburn State—a maximum security prison.
Of course, he’d been a model prisoner there, the only noise he made being the appeals he continually filed on his own behalf.
Casey refused to entertain the possibility of his getting released—ever. She’d looked into those terrifying, empty eyes. She recognized a psychopath when she saw one. And she shuddered at the thought of him ever being allowed to walk freely in the outside world again.
“That means Fisher was committing his crimes long before last year’s killing spree,” Marc was saying. “We knew he was a sexual homicide offender. We knew he targeted college-age redheads. But we had no idea he was doing this over such a long interval.”
“Exactly,” Captain Sharp responded. “But he was. How many other victims he killed between then and when he was apprehended last year, I have no idea. That’s what we have to determine.”
That statement made Casey speak up. “I want to reexamine the Holly Stevens case,” she stated. “Dig out whatever DNA evidence is stored in the evidence locker and have it tested. I’m willing to bet Glen Fisher killed her, too.” A weighty pause. “And, Captain, with all due respect, please don’t tell me there’s no reason to believe Holly’s was anything but an isolated crime. That reasoning doesn’t fly—not anymore.”
“I agree,” he surprised her by saying. “I’ll make sure the lab runs the necessary tests.”
“Thank you.” It was time to move on to the next, equally pressing issue. “One major aspect of this crime spree doesn’t fit,” Casey said. “The threatening calls I’m getting. The current crimes that are taking place, all of which my caller’s taking credit for—how can those be committed by Fisher? He’s in prison.”
“That’s the puzzle I was referring to. Obviously, they can’t be. I called the prison myself and verified that Fisher is still there serving his sentence. Moreover, he has limited access to phone calls and every call he makes is on record.”
“None of his calls was to me,” Casey surmised.
“Right. So whoever’s calling you and whoever killed the recent two victims isn’t Glen Fisher—whether or not Fisher wants to take credit for them.”
“The present-day killer probably knows Fisher,” Marc said. “Maybe the two of them served time together. Or a dozen other maybes. But the current offender got his information from Fisher somehow.”
“And he’s likely carrying out a vendetta of Fisher’s against Casey, whether by choice or via instructions from Fisher.” For the first time, Hutch spoke. “He’s also adding his own personal touch—the red ribbons wrapped around the victims’ throats. Captain Sharp, this is Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson. I’m with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’ve worked cases alongside Forensic Instincts in the past. Once you’ve called and made your formal request to the Bureau, I’m going to ask to be assigned to this case.”
“That would be very much appreciated.” Sharp sounded more than a little relieved. “Is it a coincidence that you’re in New York? Or did you come up here to consult with Forensic Instincts on this case?”
“I actually drove up for a visit,” Hutch replied easily. “But since I happened to walk right into this hornet’s nest, I’m up-to-date on the details. My supervisor will send up another BAU agent to partner with me.”
“Good. And I’ll contact the Bureau’s New York field office to get the Violent Crimes Squad involved.” Sharp paused. “I don’t have a good feeling about this new offender. His crimes are becoming more frequent and closer together.”
“And, despite what Hollywood tells us, we all know there’s no such thing as a copycat killer,” Hutch said. “There are only new killers who capitalize on their predecessors’ crimes, for various reasons. This guy is going for bigger and better than Glen Fisher’s kills. And he’s not choosing random victims. He’s circling around Casey. She was the redhead who brought Fisher down. That means something—not only to Fisher, but to the new offender. He’s not being subtle about her representing some sort of grand prize for him.”
“I realize that.” Casey had grown quiet again. She was thinking. “Captain Sharp, please, let’s get Holly’s personal items tested for a DNA match. You go ahead and make your FBI calls. Also, let’s combine everything we have on Glen Fisher—his job, family, friends, anything. Maybe we can find someone in his life, however tangential, who’s as warped as he is.”
“One other thing,” Claire inserted quietly.