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On the other hand, it might not.
* * *
It was a long day in the manhunt for Glen Fisher. The killer had done a remarkable job of keeping himself and his nephew, Jack, concealed from the public. None of the toll-free calls from people claiming to have spotted Fisher held any merit. The sands of the hourglass were running out, and there wasn’t a single new lead to go on.
Hutch returned to Forensic Instincts at dinnertime, weary and tense. The team had spent the day much as he had, hunting down leads and waiting for Fisher to fall into their telephone trap.
Nothing.
When Hutch walked into the conference room, the team was sitting around the table, discussing Ryan’s findings. Claire had already confirmed Ryan’s suspicions that Glen was one of Ms. McCoy’s victims, by sharing what she’d picked up on earlier.
“What’s your take?” Ryan asked Hutch.
Hutch read over each of Ryan’s printouts. “Based on what I’m seeing here, it’s not a leap to say that Claire is right, and that Fisher was one of Colleen McCoy’s victims. Nor is it a leap to say that she was the catalyst who triggered his future behavior. The guy was fifteen. Sexually, that’s a vulnerable age for a kid. So she messed with his mind and his body. Combine that with a psychopathic profile, and you’ve got all the components of a ticking bomb, ready to go off.”
Casey nodded, scrutinizing the math teacher’s photo. “The resemblance to the victims is creepy,” she murmured.
“Not just to the victims.” Marc leveled a stare at her. “To you.”
“I know.” Casey let her head rest against the chair cushion. “You don’t need to drive home that point. It freaks me out enough as it is.”
“We still haven’t figured out what to do about it,” Claire said.
“Verifying our theory is a waste of time,” Patrick argued. “At least until we’re building a case against Fisher. Right now, it’s a poor use of our resources. It would take a bunch of man-hours to get the appropriate police report and to get permission to unseal the names of the kids involved. And for what? Just to know we’re right? We need to stop Glen Fisher, not psychoanalyze him.”
“Yes and no.” Hutch looked thoughtful. “It’s definitely not worth our time yet to confirm that Fisher was one of the victims, especially since this happened too long ago for Ryan’s hacking skills to come in handy. We’ll do it the legal way—later. But for now? It’s a great bit of ammunition to hold on to in case Fisher calls and starts playing head games with Casey. She can retaliate, rev him up and maybe get him to say something he’ll wish he hadn’t. I saw her do it when we met with him in prison. She pushed his buttons. He really lost it.”
“You’re thinking he’ll call Casey again?” Claire didn’t seem happy about that.
“It’s a definite possibility. He’s locked and loaded. Whether or not he wants to up the fear factor as part of his game plan for Casey—that’s an unknown.” Hutch’s expression grew grim. “What worries me more is why he seems so confident that he can pull off the grand finale. He knows the level of security we have on Casey, and that she rarely leaves the building. So why is he so damn cocky?”
“That’s my concern, as well,” Marc said. “He’s way too sure of himself. That means he’s devised a specific plan and is ready to carry it out. We’ve got to be extra diligent.”
“With regard to brownstone access, I increased the sensitivity of the alarm system and put Yoda on continuous high alert,” Ryan informed them. “That means no one outside of the team can switch him into sleep mode. He’ll react to every coming and going—from room to room, as well as from entry point to entry point.”
“What about the fourth floor?” Hutch asked, referring to Casey’s apartment. Normally, Yoda didn’t intrude into that personal space.
“The added security extends to the fourth floor, too. Sorry about the lack of privacy. But desperate times and all that.” A corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted. “The good news is that I didn’t plant any video or audio surveillance up there. So you can hook up to your heart’s content.”
Hutch didn’t smile, nor did he look as if sex was on his list of priorities at the moment. “I think we should call it a night. The sooner we lock up and activate all our security, the better. Tomorrow, the task force is going to tap into all its resources to see if Glen Fisher is setting things in motion to leave the U.S. If Casey is his last hurrah, it would make sense for him to get out and get settled in a country with no extradition policy.”
“You don’t have to wait until tomorrow.” Ryan rose. “I’ll do a little digging before I head home, and see if I can come up with some names to add to your list of identity forgers.”
“And I’ll take the combined lists and pay every dirt bag on them a visit tomorrow,” Patrick said. “Fisher could be leaving alone, or he could be taking Jack and Suzanne with him. I’ll find that out, too.”
“Nice.” Marc nodded. “I’ll keep you company—in case a little extra persuasion is in order. Shut your eyes if you have to.”
“Not necessary. Not when it’s Casey we’re protecting. Screw the straight and narrow.”
Marc whistled. “You really are one of us now, Patrick. Impressive.”
“I shouldn’t be hearing this,” Hutch said.
“Hearing what?” Marc shot him an innocent look. “I didn’t say anything. Neither did Ryan. He’s just surfing the web and I’m just visiting some colleagues. Right, Ryan?”
“Right.”
Casey gave them a faint smile. “Thank you all,” she said, coming to her feet. “I’m going to grab something from the kitchen and then go up to bed. I’m exhausted.” As soon as Casey moved, Hero scrambled up, too, staying close to his mistress’s side. She reached down to stroke his head. Hero wasn’t the only one who bolted to his feet. Hutch was right behind them. “I’ll be joining you.”
