Riley's apprehension mounted as she entered the BAU building. When she walked into Brent Meredith's office, the chief was at his desk waiting for her. A big man with angular, African-American features, Meredith was always an imposing presence. Right now he also looked worried.
Bill was there as well. Riley could see by his expression that he didn't yet know what the meeting was about.
"Have a seat, Agent Paige," Meredith said.
Riley sat down in a free chair.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your holidays," Meredith said to Riley. "It's been a while since we've talked. How are you doing?"
Riley was taken aback. It wasn't Meredith's style to start a meeting this way-with an apology and a query about her well-being. He normally got right to the point. Of course, he knew that she'd been on leave because of the crisis with April. Riley understood that Meredith was genuinely concerned. Even so, this struck her as odd.
"I'm doing better, thanks," she said.
"And your daughter?" Meredith asked.
"She's recovering well, thank you," Riley said.
Meredith fixed his gaze on her in silence for a moment.
"I hope you're ready to come back to work," Meredith said. "Because if we've ever needed you on a case, it's this one."
Riley's imagination boggled as she waited for him to explain.
Finally, Meredith said, "Shane Hatcher has escaped from the Sing Sing Correctional Facility."
His words hit her like a ton of bricks. Riley was glad she was sitting down.
"My God," Bill said, looking equally stunned.
Riley knew Shane Hatcher well-too well for her own liking. He had been serving life without possibility of parole for decades now. During his time in prison, he'd become an expert in criminology. He'd published articles in scholarly magazines and had actually taught classes in the prison's academic programs. Several times now, Riley had visited him in Sing Sing, seeking advice on current cases.
The visits had always been disturbing. Hatcher seemed to feel a special affinity for her. And Riley knew that, deep down, she was more fascinated with him than she ought to be. She thought that he was probably the most intelligent man that she had ever met-and also probably the most dangerous.
She'd sworn after every visit never to see him again. Now she remembered all too well the last time she'd left the Sing Sing visiting room.
"I won't come back here to see you again," she'd told him.
"You might not have to come back here to see me," he'd replied.
Now those words seemed disturbingly prescient.
"How did he escape?" Riley asked Meredith.
"I don't have many details," Meredith said. "But as you probably know, he spent a lot of time in the prison library, and he often worked there as an assistant. Yesterday he was there when a book delivery came in. He must have slipped away on the truck that brought the books. Late last night, about the time guards noticed that he was missing, the truck was found abandoned a few miles outside of Ossining. There was no sign of the driver."
Meredith fell silent again. Riley could easily believe that Hatcher had staged such a daring escape. As for the driver, Riley hated to think of what might have become of him.
Meredith leaned across his desk toward Riley.
"Agent Paige, you know Hatcher better than maybe anybody else. What can you tell us about him?"
Still reeling from the news, Riley took a deep breath.
She said, "In his youth, Hatcher was a gangbanger in Syracuse. He was unusually vicious even for a hardened criminal. People called him 'Shane the Chain' because he liked to beat gang rivals to death with chains."
Riley paused, remembering what Shane had told her.
"A certain beat cop made it his personal mission to bring Hatcher down. Hatcher retaliated by pulverizing him to an unrecognizable pulp with tire chains. He left his mangled body on his front porch for his family to find. That's when Hatcher got caught. He's been in prison now for thirty years. He was never supposed to get out."
Another silence fell.
"He's fifty-five years old now," Meredith said. "I'd think that after thirty years in prison, he wouldn't be as dangerous as he was when he was young."
Riley shook her head.
"You'd be thinking wrong," she said. "Back then, he was just an ignorant punk. He had no idea of his own potential. But over the years he's acquired a vast store of knowledge. He knows he's a genius. And he's never shown any real remorse. Oh, he's developed a polished persona over the years. And he's behaved himself in prison-it gets him privileges even if it won't shorten his sentence. But I'm sure he's more vicious and dangerous than ever."
Riley thought for a moment. Something was bothering her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"Does anybody know why?" she asked.
"Why what?" Bill said.
"Why he escaped."
Bill and Meredith exchanged puzzled looks.
"Why does anybody escape from prison?" Bill asked.
Riley understood how strange her question sounded. She remembered one time when Bill went with her to talk with Hatcher.
"Bill, you met him," she said. "Did he strike you as-well, dissatisfied? Restless?"
Bill knitted his brow in thought.
"No, actually he seemed…"
His voice trailed off.
"Almost contented, maybe?" Riley said, finishing his thought. "Prison seems to suit him. I've never gotten the feeling that he even wants freedom. There's something almost Zen-like about him, his non-attachment to anything in life. He's got no desires that I know of. Freedom has nothing to offer him that he wants. And now he's on the run, a wanted man. So why did he decide to escape? And why now?"
Meredith drummed his fingers on his desk.
"How did you leave things the last time you saw him?" he asked. "Did you part on good terms?"
Riley barely suppressed a wry smile.
"We never part on good terms," she said.
Then after a pause, she added, "I understand what you're getting at. You're wondering if I'm his target."
"Is it possible?" Bill asked.
Riley didn't reply. Again, she remembered what Hatcher had said to her.
"You might not have to come back here to see me."
Had it been a threat? Riley didn't know.
Meredith said, "Agent Paige, I don't need to tell you that this is going to be a high-pressure, high-profile case. Even as we speak, news is getting out to the media. Prison escapes are always big news. They can even cause public panic. Whatever it is he's up to, we've got to stop him fast. I wish you didn't have to come back to a case this dangerous and hard. Do you feel ready? Do you feel up to it?"
Riley felt a strange tingling as she thought about the question. It was a feeling that she'd seldom if ever felt before taking on a case. It took her a moment to realize that the feeling was fear, pure and simple.
But it wasn't fear for her own safety. It was something else. It was something unnamable and irrational. Perhaps it was the fact that Hatcher knew her so well. In her experience, all prisoners wanted something in return for information. But Hatcher hadn't been interested in the usual little offerings of whiskey or cigarettes. His own quid pro quo had been both simple and deeply unsettling.
He'd wanted her to tell him things about her.
"Something that you don't want people to know," he'd said. "Something you wouldn't want anybody to know."
Riley had complied, maybe too readily. Now Hatcher knew all sorts of things about her-that she was a flawed mother, that she hated her father and didn't go to his funeral, that there was sexual tension between her and Bill, and that sometimes-like Hatcher himself-she took great pleasure in violence and killing.
She remembered what he'd said during their last visit.
"I know you. In some ways, I know you better than you know yourself."
Could she really match wits with such a man? Meredith was sitting there, patiently awaiting an answer to his question.
"I'm as ready as I can be," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
"Good," Meredith said. "How do you think we should proceed?"
Riley thought for a moment.
"Bill and I need to look at all the information on Shane Hatcher that the Agency has on hand," she said.
Meredith nodded and said, "I've already got Sam Flores setting things up."
*
A few minutes later, Riley, Bill, and Meredith were in the BAU conference room looking at the huge multimedia display that Sam Flores had put together. Flores was a lab technician with black-rimmed glasses.
"I think I've got everything you could possibly want to see," Flores said. "Birth certificate, arrest records, court transcripts, the works."
Riley saw that it was an impressive display. And it certainly didn't leave much to the imagination. There were several gruesome photos of Shane Hatcher's murdered victims, including the mangled cop lying on his own front porch.
"What information do we have about the cop Hatcher killed?" Bill asked.
Flores brought up a batch of photos of a hearty-looking police officer.
"We're talking about Officer Lucien Wayles, forty-six years old when he died in 1986," Flores said. "He was married with three kids, awarded a Medal of Valor, well-liked and respected. The FBI teamed up with local cops and nailed Hatcher within days after Wayles was killed. What's amazing is that they didn't beat Hatcher to a pulp right then and there."
Scanning the display, Riley was most struck by the photos of Hatcher himself. She barely recognized him. Although the man she knew could be intimidating, he managed to project a respectable, even bookish demeanor, with a pair of reading glasses always perched on his nose. The young African American in the 1986 mugshots had a lean, hard face and a cruel, empty stare. Riley had a hard time believing that it was the same person.
As detailed and complete as the display was, Riley felt dissatisfied. She had thought that she knew Shane Hatcher as well as anybody alive. But she didn't know this Shane Hatcher-the vicious young gangbanger called "Shane the Chain."
I've got to get to know him, she thought.
Otherwise, she doubted that she could possibly catch him.
Somehow, she felt that the cold, digital feeling of the display was working against her. She needed something more tangible-actual glossy photographs with folds and frayed edges, yellowed and brittle reports and documents.
She asked Flores, "Could I get a look at the originals of these materials?"
Flores let out a slight snort of disbelief.
"Sorry, Agent Paige-but not a chance. The FBI shredded all its paper files in 2014. Now all of it is scanned and digitized. What you see is all we've got."
Riley let out a sigh of disappointment. Yes, she remembered all that shredding of millions of paper files. Other agents had complained, but back then it hadn't seemed like a problem to her. Now she fairly itched for some old-fashioned palpability.
But right now, the important thing was to figure out Hatcher's next move. An idea occurred to her.
"Who was the cop who brought Hatcher in?" she asked. "If he's still alive, Hatcher's liable to target him first."
"It wasn't a local cop," Flores said. "And it wasn't a 'he.'"
He brought up an old photo of a woman agent.
"Her name was Kelsey Sprigge. She was an FBI agent at the Syracuse office-was thirty-five years old at the time. She's seventy now, retired and living in Searcy, a town near Syracuse."
Riley was surprised that Sprigge was a woman.
"She must have joined the bureau-" Riley began.
Flores continued her thought.
"She signed up in 1972, when J. Edgar's corpse was barely cold. That was when women were finally allowed to apply to be agents. She'd been a local cop before then."
Riley was impressed. Kelsey Sprigge had lived a lot of history.
"What can you tell me about her?" Riley asked Flores.
"Well, she's a widow with three children and three grandchildren."
"Call the Syracuse FBI field office and tell them to do whatever they can to keep Sprigge safe," Riley said. "She's in serious danger."
Flores nodded.
Then she turned to Meredith.
"Sir, I'm going to need a plane."
"Why?" he asked, confused.
She took a deep breath.
"Shane may be on his way to kill Sprigge," she said. "And I want to see her first."
