The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

“True.” Casey nodded thoughtfully. “So, theoretically, if you were the one committing those crimes now, you’d opt not to go for the dramatic?”

“I’d opt for saying that the end results are dramatic enough. Embellishments like red ribbons and lipstick? In my mind, that’s overkill.”

“I see your point.” Casey gave herself an internal high five. Getting Fisher to supply those details was a win. But she wasn’t done. “Still, he’s very clever,” she said, pushing the envelope. “He hasn’t left one shred of evidence. He’s pretty remarkable.”

Fisher was tapping his foot on the floor. Clearly, Casey was getting to him.

“Do you disagree?” she asked. “Am I missing something?”

“You’re wrong as usual,” he retorted. “I thought you’d want to live. I thought you’d come here to beg for help.”

Casey jumped all over that. “Would you offer it to me? Would you tell me what kind of danger I’m in? Do you even know?”

A cruel smile—one that said Fisher felt back in control. “I know more than anyone. What I do with that knowledge is another matter entirely.”

“You’re toying with me again.” Casey inserted a touch of nervousness in her voice. “You’re the one who wants me dead.”

“You’re scared, Red. That excites me.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re vulnerable.”

Casey rose, giving the appearance that she’d snapped. “I’m getting out of here,” she said, her eyes huge and frightened. “You’re not telling me anything. All you want is to intimidate me.” She took a few steps toward the door.

“Leaving so soon?” Fisher called after her. “I’m disappointed. I thought you had a greater purpose in coming here today.”

Casey whirled around. “Listen, you sick bastard. You’re so full of yourself. Don’t be. You’re not even a man anymore. The medical examiner concluded that the real reason there was no semen on any of last year’s victims is because you’re impotent. You brutalized those women any way you could. But not in the way that mattered. You failed miserably in that regard. So if I feel like I’m in danger, it’s because your successor can at least perform.”

“Bitch.” Fisher was on his feet in a second, a vein bulging at his temple. “Leaving physical evidence is a choice. Whoever’s after you now is smart enough to make the right one. But never doubt that he’ll do to you exactly what you deserve—violate and torture you before he ends your pathetic life. I’ll make sure you bleed for what you did to me. You’ll suffer unbearably. Sleep on that.”

“This interview is over.” Hutch shoved back his chair and stood up. “Come on, Casey. We’re leaving.” He signaled at the guard.

“I’m ready.” Casey was all composure, triumph glistening in her eyes. “Thank you for the information, Glen. You’ve just linked yourself to the killer. Say goodbye to ever leaving this cesspool.”

Anger blazed in Fisher’s eyes. “And you’ve just made your death a hell of a lot more painful, Red.”

Chapter Sixteen

Casey wasn’t sorry when Hutch drove out of the penitentiary gates. She’d been pushed to her limit during this visit. She felt drained from the interview and as if she needed a bath from being so close to Glen Fisher.

She sank into the passenger seat, staring out the window at the side-view mirror and watching the drab, gray complex disappear into the distance.

“You holding up?” Hutch asked as they pulled onto the highway.

“I’ll live.” Casey’s answer was frank. “But this was tougher than I expected.”

“You did a great job. And you got us just what we needed—an inadvertent admission from Fisher that he’s somehow tied to these new killings. Not because of his bullshit threats, but because of the details about the victims. The ribbons, the lipstick—none of that was released to the public.”

“I know.” Casey massaged her temples. “And the rage he feels toward me came through loud and clear. He’s communicating with the new killer in some way, maybe even running the show.”

A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted. “Nice touch about the impotence. The scumbag almost had a coronary. He’ll stew over that one. And he may even act on it.” Hutch’s smile faded. “The only thing that worries me is figuring out when he’s going to aim that psychopathic rage directly at you. You definitely poked the lion with a sharp stick.”

Casey’s cell phone rang. She glanced down at the caller ID. “Marc,” she announced.

She punched on the phone, hitting the speaker button so Hutch could be part of the conversation. “Hey. We’re on our way back. I’ll fill you in then, okay?”

“Good,” Marc replied. “Ryan and I are doing our surveillance. But I wanted to let you know that I just heard from the Manhattan D.A.’s office. They’ve agreed to file new charges against Glen Fisher for the rapes and murders of Holly Stevens and Jan Olson. Given the circumstances, they’re expediting things. The necessary papers are being filed and arrangements are being made to transfer Fisher from Auburn to the Rock.” The Rock was Rikers Island, New York City’s maximum security prison.