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The driver’s side window was shattered, shards of glass everywhere. The corrections officer himself was unconscious. The second CO—the one on the passenger’s side—was pinned in his seat, groaning in pain. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
Jack moved quickly. He removed a pry bar from his knapsack and worked at the driver’s door until it sprang open. He dragged the officer from the vehicle onto the grass and began searching his pockets until he found the keys he was looking for.
Rushing around back, he unlocked the back of the van and flung open the doors.
“Hey,” Glen greeted him from the inside. “Nice job. You did me proud.” He was bruised from being banged around when the van rolled, and he was bleeding from being str
uck in the face by pieces of flying glass. He barely noticed.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“I will be when you get me out of here.” Glen indicated his hands and feet, which were locked to the security bars welded to the van’s interior.
“Give me a minute.” Jack tried one key after the next, until he found the magic one. He released Glen’s hands and feet, and helped steady him as he rose.
“Let’s go,” Glen urged, hearing the banging as the second CO attempted to get free. “We don’t have much time.”
Jack looped an arm around Glen’s shoulders and guided him back up to the southbound lanes of the thruway. Together they crossed the paved highway, walked across the grassy strip between south-and northbound traffic and waited for a break in the light stream of vehicles before traversing the lanes of northbound traffic.
Jack yanked off his ski mask, and motioned toward the hole in the fence he’d cut. The two men made their way through the chain-link fence, and ran to the row of evergreens where Jack had hidden the ATVs. They fired up the vehicles and Jack led his uncle across farms, local roads and parking lots until they reached the mall. There, they left the ATVs running and jumped inside the Ford Fusion that Jack had parked earlier. Quickly, Jack drove south on 9W to Route 55 and the Mid-Hudson Bridge. From there, he headed east on Route 55 until he reached the Taconic State Parkway.
Driving south, he obeyed the speed limit on the winding road as he made his way to New York City and the plan they’d be putting into place.
After all, there was no point in breaking the law.
* * *
Casey and Ryan were in the conference room. Casey was leaning over Ryan’s shoulder, watching as he ran the silver pickup truck—reported by the witness with the dog—through every car dealership and every car rental company’s computer base.
He came up empty.
“It was a long shot,” he said, swiveling his desk chair around to face Casey. “Either a buy or a rental would leave some sort of paper trail. So I’m not surprised. Pissed, but not surprised. The killer doesn’t want us to trace the car to him. My guess is that it was stolen. I’ll call Captain Sharp and have him check out all the police reports that have come in on car thefts in the past week. Hopefully, we’ll find a match.”
The FI office phone rang.
Casey walked over and picked up the receiver. “Forensic Instincts.”
“Hello, Casey.” It was Captain Sharp. And he sounded oddly strained. “I’m glad I reached you.”
Warning bells began screaming in Casey’s head. She perched on the edge of the conference room table, her fingers tightening around the receiver. “What is it? Has something happened?”
She heard a heavy sigh. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just say it. Glen Fisher escaped a few hours ago during his transport from Auburn State prison to Rikers. It was obviously well planned. He had major assistance, both inside and outside the prison.”
Casey had gone deadly quiet. “And the status now?” she asked finally.
“We have no idea where he is. Every branch of law enforcement is combing the area for him—the state police, the NYPD and the FBI’s New York field office. We’ll find him.”
“How could this happen?” Casey was still trying to process what she was hearing.
“As I said, it was meticulously planned.” Captain Sharp relayed whatever information he had on the highway collision. “We found a U-Haul dumped in a field of tall grass near the Hudson Valley Mall, and two all-terrain vehicles abandoned adjacent to the mall. Clearly, that’s where Fisher’s accomplice parked the vehicle they ultimately escaped in. The silver pickup—obviously the one we’ve been trying to locate—was abandoned at the crash site.”
“So we have no clue where he is, what he’s driving or who’s helping him,” Casey summed up. “That’s a whole lot of nothing to go on.”
“I realize that.” Captain Sharp didn’t try to pretend. “But he can’t have gone far, not in a couple of hours. We have police stationed at all the airport, bus and train terminals, in the event he tries to take off. We’ve also got full-time surveillance at Fisher’s apartment, and cops following his wife everywhere she goes. In the meantime, I want you to stay inside and stay safe.”
She started to speak, but Sharp’s tone hardened. “I know how proactive you and your team are. But no heroics. No taking matters into your own hands. We both know that getting to you is one of Fisher’s primary goals. Don’t help him achieve that.”
“I understand.” Casey was rubbing her forehead, as angry as she was fearful. The son of a bitch had bested her. He’d accomplished exactly what he wanted. “Please keep me posted the instant you know anything.”
