The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

* * *

Glen Fisher unfolded the first slip of paper he’d brought with him from the prison and punched in the telephone number on his burn phone.

“Yeah?” a voice at the other end answered.

“Eddie Weber told me to call you,” Glen said. “I need a car with a full tank of gas. Tomorrow night.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Jersey.”

“Then do you want swapped plates?”

“Swapped plates?” Glen’s brows knit. “Eddie didn’t say anything about that.”

“These days, there are cameras all over the place that read license plates, looking for people like you. If you’re going to use the car for more than a quick hit, I’d swap plates with another car—same year, make, model and color. That way, the license-plate reader won’t spot you. And it usually takes the owner a day or two to notice the different plates and report them to the cops.”

“Good idea. Do that.”

“You’ve got the money?”

“Twenty. In cash.”

“Make it twenty-two. I charge extra for the plate-swapping. Finding two matching cars is a lot more work.”

“I get it. Fine. Twenty-two. I’ll have it.”

A grunt of approval. “Be at Ninth Avenue at West 39th Street, southwest corner. Ten o’clock.”

“That works. It’ll give me a direct shot to the Lincoln Tunnel,” Glen said, thinking aloud. “Who am I looking for?”

“A guy who leaves an old black Honda Civic double-parked at the corner with the engine running and asks you for Eddie’s duffel bag.”

“I’ll be there.”

“So will he.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next afternoon, Hutch broke away from the task force to go over to Forensic Instincts. They all gathered around the conference room table, where he filled the team in on his interview with Suzanne Fisher, and the ongoing search for her husband.

“She was with him,” Hutch announced without hesitation. “And the bastard did a real number on her. She could barely walk without wincing and there were red welts on her neck.”

“He obviously uses the poor woman as a punching bag to act out his sick fantasies,” Patrick muttered.

“She’s afraid of him.” Casey was pacing, unable to sit still. “Battered wife syndrome at its worst. The question is how much is she helping him with his plan? Is she just his eyes and ears, or is she an active participant in all this?”

“At the very least,

she’s subsidizing Jack—and she’s doing it under the radar.” Ryan finally had the chance to report his findings to the team—findings that had gotten buried beneath the events of the past few days. He explained the money transfer Suzanne had made at the meat store, and how he and Marc had tried, and failed, to catch Jack at the pickup site.

“Do I want to know the details of how you got this information?” Hutch asked.

“No.” Ryan didn’t miss a beat. “What you want to know is that it’s all being compiled and an anonymous document will be delivered to the FBI’s New York field office. Everything that’s needed will be in there.”

“That’s gratifying.”

“So the butcher shop is a front for a hawala broker,” Patrick mused aloud, his forehead creased in concentration. “That explains why Suzanne uses cash to pay for everything. She withdraws eight thousand dollars a month, uses six thousand for expenses and sends the remaining two thousand to Jack. No credit card receipts, no bank entries, nothing.”