The Stranger You Know (16 page)

From that moment on, she’d become the embodiment of all his internal rage. She’d seen it in his stare when he looked at her during his trial.

He blamed her for everything, even the things that went deep into his past and made him the monster he was today.

Yet, in spite of all that, Casey was about to face him.

Swallowing hard, she battled her inner turmoil, dead set on keeping the upper hand in this interview. Hutch had prepped her. She knew what to expect and what to do. And, dammit, she was going to do it, no matter what the cost.

She knew Hutch sensed her reaction. But he didn’t glance her way. He kept a laser gaze on Fisher, hardly blinking as the killer ignored him, his stare locked on Casey. But, in an almost imperceptible motion, Hutch slid his hand over and squeezed Casey’s fingers beneath the table.

Casey felt some of the tension ease from her body. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to have Hutch along for this meeting, after all.

Fisher reached the table and his lips curved into a cocky smile as he took a seat. “Hello, Red. This is quite an honor.”

Red.
That was what the scrambled voice on the phone had called her. Fisher was using it purposely.

“An honor? It’s not meant to be one.” Casey spoke in an even tone. “It’s meant to be a face-to-face meeting. You’re obviously determined to see me. So here I am.”

“I was delighted to get word about your visitation request.” Without averting his eyes, Fisher jerked his thumb in Hutch’s direction. “Is this your ventriloquist?”

“Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson,” Hutch supplied. “FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Of course.” Fisher gave a tight nod. “You disappoint me, Red. I thought you’d be feisty enough to talk to me alone. What’s Agent Hutchinson’s role here—to protect you or to offer his professional take on me?”

“Neither. Protocol.” Casey interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her, her fear receding beneath a wall of resolve. “Frankly? I didn’t want or need an escort. I wanted a one-on-one meeting. My request was denied.”

That explanation seemed to please him. “So the decision wasn’t yours. I’m glad to hear that. It means I was right about you, after all. You are a little hellcat.” He paused. “For now.”

“Let’s skip the veiled threats,” Casey said. “And the cat and mouse game.”

“Fair enough. I’m listening.”

“We’ve linked you to several old, cold murders.”

“Have you? I hope you didn’t drive all this way for confirmation. You know I’m appealing my conviction. I won’t be admitting to anything. I wouldn’t have done so in the first place if you hadn’t used that barbaric navy SEAL to torture me and extract false confessions under duress.”

“Funny, that’s not how I remember it.”

“Then your memory is poor.”

Casey shrugged, calling on her training and Hutch’s prep work. “Either way, it never occurred to me that you’d be making a full confession right now. You’re too smart to offer yourself up. If I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that we underestimated you. We won’t do that again.”

“A wise decision.”

“But you should know we found DNA evidence in both the Jan Olson and Holly Stevens cases.”

“Did you? Fascinating.”

“You were a novice in those days,” Casey continued. “Plus DNA evidence hadn’t come nearly as far as it has now. Which would explain why you left semen on both victims.”

Fisher didn’t respond.

“We aren’t the only ones who knew about the cold cases. My new BFF used his voice scrambler to call me and share the info. He’s been very busy, and very communicative. He’s on a brand-new crime spree, which I’m sure isn’t news to you. He calls me after every one of his brutal murders. And he obviously admires you a great deal. Because his implication’s that he
is
you.”

A fine tension emanated from Fisher. “Why? What did he say?”

“He just gave snippets of information about where we can find the victims and made direct threats to me. It’s as if you trained him—and you did a hell of a good job.”

Again, no answer.

“He’s embellished on your work, you know,” Casey added. “He doesn’t simply leave the bodies as is. He’s very artistic and refined in presenting his work. Clearly a cut above the crude way you worked.”

Anger flashed in Fisher’s eyes. “Artistry is in the eyes of the beholder.”

“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.

“So this should happen quickly,” Casey clarified.

“Yup.”

“I can’t wait for Fisher to hear the news.”

“It’ll probably be tomorrow or the next day. Otherwise, I’d suggest you stick around and see the expression on his face firsthand.”

“I couldn’t stick around, anyway,” Casey reminded him, steeling herself for the reaction she knew she was about to get from Hutch. “I’ve got a full calendar tonight. A six o’clock haircut. Then my class at eight.” She was referring to the biweekly human behavior seminar that she taught to a class of psychology students at NYU. “I’m going to both,” she stressed, trying to avoid a blowout fight with Hutch.

It didn’t work.

“Like hell you are!” Hutch nearly shouted. “Considering what’s going on, you’ll cancel the haircut and the class.”

“No way.” Casey shook her head. “I’ll take one of Patrick’s bodyguards with me. But I’ll repeat what I said when I first started getting these phone calls—I am not changing my life. And I’m not hiding. I’ll be sensible. But I won’t be a prisoner.”

“You two can kill each other on the ride home,” Marc interjected. “I just wanted you to know about Fisher’s impending transfer.”

“He won’t be surprised by that turn of events,” Hutch said, tabling his showdown with Casey for a few minutes. “Casey pretty much shoved the news in his face—and got him agitated enough to slip up. We’ve got what we need to go after Fisher for the past
and
present crimes.”

“Nice work,” Marc commended.

“What about at your end?”

“Like I said, still doing surveillance outside the meat market. It’s tedious. And we’ve got nothing yet except a massive headache. But we’re keeping on it. We’ll check in as soon as we have something.”

* * *

The truth was that it had been eighteen hours since Ryan had set up his surveillance.

He and Marc were bleary-eyed and no closer to the truth. All morning long, they’d watched as customers—mostly female—had entered the meat market, then exited with their purchases. A handful of times, customers had left without making a purchase. Interestingly, all of those customers had been men.

But that was the one, unimpressive, concrete observation the day had brought.

“Goddammit,” Ryan said, sitting back in disgust. “Technology did shit for us this time. Outside video surveillance isn’t enough. We’ve got to find a way to see what’s going on between the customers and the owner.”

“You want me to break in to the store?” Marc asked, still squatting in front of the computer screen. “You could install Gecko inside the ventilation system.”

Gecko was Ryan’s small robotic invention—a little R2D2 that traveled through tight spaces and provided both audio and video feed.

Ryan didn’t seem too enthusiastic. “Gecko could do the job—if we knew exactly what we were looking for and if one of us spoke Arabic. And even if we could manage both, I’d have to eyeball the ventilation system first and figure out the best location for Gecko.”

“All of which takes time,” Marc agreed. “Not to mention the fact that we’d have to plan the break-in.”

“I don’t like it.” Ryan fell silent, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “There has to be another way,” he muttered.

Abruptly, he raised his head. “I just came up with a great idea. If it works, we could have our answers immediately.”

“I’m listening.”

“Listen while I tell Casey.” Ryan reached for his iPhone. “I need her approval on this one.”

* * *

The call from Ryan interrupted Casey and Hutch’s verbal battle.

“Hey, Ryan.” She was grateful for the interruption. “Marc told me you’d be calling. What’s up?”

“I have an idea. I need to run it by you and get your okay.”

“Shoot.”

* * *

Leilah Milani was a struggling actress Ryan had met at a bar several years ago. She was a dark-haired Persian beauty—a free spirit, with a thirst for life, and a body that was so hot, it sizzled. She and Ryan had had an on-again, off-again thing that was ten percent conversation and ninety percent sex. Leilah’s acting career had started to take off about eight months ago, and Ryan’s career at Forensic Instincts was thriving. So they hadn’t touched base in a while.

That didn’t stop Ryan from picking up the phone now.

He gave Leilah a call right after he hung up with Casey, and met her at the Forensic Instincts brownstone a few hours later. She was the same exquisitely beautiful woman he remembered, and she was dying to hear the acting job Ryan’s company wanted to hire her for.

Ryan led her into a first-floor interview room. “You look great,” he said.

Leilah’s smile was radiant. She walked up to Ryan, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a long, lingering kiss on his mouth. “So do you,” she murmured.

“Oh...excuse me, I didn’t know this room was occupied.”

Claire’s tone was as startled as it was cold.

Ryan glanced past Leilah to see Claire leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across her chest as she observed the overfriendly exchange between Ryan and the exotically stunning woman with him.

“Hey, Claire-voyant, come on in.” Reflexively, Ryan released Leilah, dropping his arms to his sides. This was a new and unwelcome situation for him. He’d never before given a damn if two women he was involved with at the same time ran into each other. No strings meant no strings. But with Claire...this was weird.

“This is Leilah Milani,” he introduced, waving Claire in. “She’s an old friend who’s going to be helping us out with this case. Leilah, this is Claire Hedgleigh. She’s the Forensic Instincts—” he paused, cautioning himself not to use the dreaded word
psychic
“—intuitive. She’s a core team member.”

“Nice to meet you, Claire.” Leilah walked over and extended her hand, shook Claire’s. “An intuitive? Is that like a medium?”

“We have different sensitivities. We operate through different communication channels,” Claire replied. Having gotten past that first awkward moment, she reverted to her usual gentle, even-tempered self. “What about you? What’s your profession? How are you helping us with this case?”

“I’m an actress,” Leilah informed her. “And I don’t know the details of my assignment yet, but apparently Ryan is giving me an exciting opportunity to assist you.”

“I’m sure he is. Ryan is all about excitement.” Claire couldn’t resist that one barb. “In any case, I won’t keep you.” She turned her gaze on Ryan, her demeanor one hundred percent professional. “I just wanted to tell you that I spoke with Casey, that her outing yielded some success, and she’ll be back by dinnertime.”

“I know. I spoke with her.” Ryan had the absurd desire to grab Claire, shake her and explain. At the same time, he was inexplicably angry at himself for even thinking he owed her an explanation.

Reading the warring emotions on his face, Claire opted to extricate herself. “Talk to you later,” she said. “And good luck with your assignment, Leilah. I’ll get back to what I was doing and give you two some privacy.”

She shut the door behind her.

“She’s lovely,” Leilah commented, eyeing the closed door for a minute. Then she turned to face Ryan. “And you’re sleeping with her,” she added. “Is it serious? I’d hate to think you’re off the market.”

Ryan kept his expression nondescript. “We’re not here to discuss my sex life, Leilah. We’re here to set up a sting. Are you game?”

Another one of those radiant smiles. “As I said, I’m game for just about anything with you.”

“Good.” Ryan ignored the double entendre. “This isn’t going to require an Oscar-worthy performance. But it
is
going to be an integral part of solving this case.”

“I’m honored,” she said teasingly. “I’ve never been asked to capture a criminal.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Let me start by saying that this has to be conducted with the utmost discretion. It’s not a role you can publicize or put on your résumé.”

“Got it.” Leilah nodded.

“It also has to be done ASAP—as in tomorrow. Can you swing it?”

Another nod. “I’m in between roles. Give me the details. Then, I’m all yours.” She winked. “In any way you want me.”

* * *

Violent porn.

It was just the charge he needed. He’d been operating in hyperdrive all week, his adrenaline pumping as he raped and tortured the bitches one by one, then choked the life out of them. His mind was still revving, but his body was depleted from expending all that energy. He needed to jack himself up, get ready for the next step. And this was the night to do it—the only free night he’d have for a while.

He turned the key in his apartment door and let himself in, making sure to lock the door behind him. He went through his customary room-by-room check, just to ensure that nothing had been disturbed. You could never be too careful.

Everything was exactly as he’d left it.

He tossed his duffel bag in the bedroom, walked into the kitchen and popped a microwave meal in to heat. When the timer beeped, he took out the dish and carried it into the living room where his big-screen TV was.

He set his dinner on the coffee table. Then he went back to the bedroom, opened his closet and squatted down over the brown cardboard box that was brimming with DVDs. He took each of them out, scrutinizing them as he made his selection.

He chose one of his favorites,
Scream If You Can,
in which women were choked almost to the point of asphyxiation during violent intercourse. Their pain, their gasps for air—it all really juiced him up.

He replaced the other DVDs and put away the box.

Returning to the living room, he turned on the electronic equipment and slid the DVD into the player.

His dinner was still warm. He picked it up and settled himself on the secondhand couch.

It didn’t take long to accomplish his goal. Soon, his heart was thumping in his chest, his breath was coming faster and his erection was throbbing.

Dinner was forgotten.

He could visualize his next victim, pleading as she lay beneath him, trying to escape the brutal pounding of his body as it tore hers to shreds. He could feel his hands around her throat, hear her choked cries of pain, revel in the power that was his as he— The ringing of his cell phone was a shrill, intolerable interruption.

At first he ignored it. He was too far gone, lost in the surges of his own release. His head fell back against the sofa cushion, and he gasped in air as the warm aftermath of triumph flowed through him.

The damned phone wouldn’t shut up.

It began ringing again, an insistent discord violating his peace.

He turned his head and looked down at the phone, recognizing the familiar number—a number he never dared to ignore.

“Yeah,” he said, having punched on the phone and brought it to his ear. He listened for a few minutes, his annoyance transforming to puzzlement. “A clump of her hair? How the hell do you expect me to pull that off?” He listened again. “Okay, yeah, I guess I can do that. I’ll start figuring it out tomorrow...
Now?
” His eyes snapped open. “You mean as in right now? I can’t possibly—” Another bout of listening, this one longer and more intense. “Fine, I get it—you know where she is every fucking minute, and now is when she’s there,” he snapped, kissing his plans goodbye for the rest of the evening. “I’ll take care of it....Yeah, half and half. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”