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“Almost every Sunday. I don’t teach on Sundays. So I drive up to Auburn on Saturday night and visit Glen the next morning.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m sure your visits are the highlight of his week.”
“I hope so.”
The woman looked completely unstrung. Casey’s verdict was that she was afraid of her husband, but that, at the same time, she needed and admired him. It was classic battered-wife syndrome—pretty much the assessment Casey had expected to come away with.
Marc slanted a sideways glance at Claire, who had picked up a handsome silver ballpoint pen and was rolling it between her fingers, studying it. Abruptly, she dropped it onto the desk, pulled away her hand as if she’d been burned and took a step back from the desk. “I’m very sorry for what you’ve had to go through, Mrs. Fisher,” Marc said, speaking up for the first time and trying to stall so Claire could compose herself. “First the trial and conviction, and now a bunch of detectives rummaging through your home. I’m sure it’s upsetting to have to go through all this again.”
“It is.” Suzanne was visibly puzzled. She clearly felt she should be hating the FI team, but was finding it exceedingly difficult to do so.
Which meant they were doing their job. The more ambivalent Suzanne Fisher was about Forensic Instincts, the more likely they were to get her cooperation later, should they need it.
“I appreciate your consideration,” she said. “It’s...unexpected.”
Marc shot another swift glance at Claire, who had pulled herself together. She met his gaze and nodded, telling him that she was okay and that she was finished.
He took her cue and stood up. “On that note, I think we’ve kept you long enough.”
“I agree.” Casey—having picked up on all the same signs Marc had—rose to her feet, as well.
Abruptly, Suzanne turned to Claire. “Did you sense anything?”
Claire was in the hot seat and she knew it. She also knew it was time to put on her game face and to give Suzanne something the woman could live with. Otherwise, the tentative connection she’d so painstakingly established would be severed, and FI would be written off as the enemy.
Claire wasn’t about to undo all the progress that Casey and Marc had just made.
Stick to the truth. There’s less to remember.
“You’re right that your husband is a very complex man,” she replied. “He’s also a very pensive man. He did a great deal of planning in this room. I can feel the intense level of concentration.” Claire gave one of those gentle smiles that lowered the defenses of even the shrewdest subjects. “You understand your husband well. He knows that. He counts on that. And he appreciates that.”
Her declaration had the desired effect, although, unsurprisingly, Suzanne looked more relieved than she did happy. “Thank you. That’s good to hear.”
She was a lot more relaxed saying goodbye than she’d been saying hello.
* * *
“She’s scared shitless of him,” Marc said as soon as they were outside the building, heading for the subway.
Casey nodded as she strode, New York City–style, down the street. “I can’t make up my mind how deep the abuse goes. Does he strike her or just manipulate her emotionally?”
“My guess?” Marc responded, keeping pace with Casey. “He manipulates her emotionally. He’s highly intelligent and shrewd. He can get what he wants through mind games. That would challenge and please him a lot more than physical abuse. She’s malleable. She loves him and fears him in equal proportions. He has a powerful hold on her, even while he’s in prison.”
“She’s malleable, but she’s not stupid,” Casey said. “She’s found a way to justify her husband’s actions—at least the actions she knows about. It’s the only way she could find to live with herself, or with him. Which leads to the next question—how much of who he is and what he does is she aware of, and how much is she totally oblivious to?”
“You know how we get that answer, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Casey replied. “We follow her. Patrick is the best one of us for the job. He’s great at tailing people and staying inconspicuous. Plus, Suzanne Fisher has never met him. So even if she does spot him in the crowd, she’ll have no idea who he is or what he’s doing.”
“We can’t forget the nephew, Jack.”
“We aren’t. I have Ryan digging into his
background and trying to find his whereabouts. It stands to reason that he was fine for money, assuming that Clark’s inheritance and trust fund filtered down to him after his father’s death.”
“Yeah, but after seven or eight years, money has a way of running out,” Marc said dryly. “Who knows how Jack’s living now.”
“Or why he was so eager to get away from his uncle.”
