“I wasn’t aware,” Kate said. “I guess it’s your call. You’re the boss. I’ll work with whoever you think is best for the position.”
Duncan eyed her before returning her sights to Fisher. “I get that Reid came here under the assumption she would be an apprentice for Quinn. That’s been blown out of the water, but why do we need to fill the spot right now anyway?”
Kate smiled and lowered her head as if embarrassed Duncan was singing her praises.
“We’re a team here,” Fisher said. “And that team needs a strong profiler in the position. Don’t get me wrong, Reid, you are strong, there’s no doubt about that. But I’m not an expert and you need someone who is. Look, I’m just building a candidate list right now. Nothing is final, nothing’s been decided. I’m kicking ideas around and I wanted to get your thoughts.”
“I like him,” Kate said. “I think he would fit in well and I certainly would have no problems working for him. But like I said, it’s your call, Boss.”
Fisher pushed off the chair. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to the business of finding killers. Thanks for the input.”
Duncan waited for him to be out of earshot when she turned back to Kate. “You’re okay with him finding a replacement for Quinn?”
“How can I not be? One thing I’ll never say about Quinn was that he was bad at his job. Look, I am not qualified to do this on my own. Not yet anyway. Fisher has to do what he has to do.”
10
In the backroom of a laundromat, Theo Bishop sat on a stool with a white sheet hanging behind him and a camera on a tripod in front of him. His hair had been dyed to a light brown and was cut shorter. Stubble scattered across his face, though it had come in his natural shade of black. He needed a new look for his new passport.
“Don’t smile.” The man behind the camera wore a dingy grey t-shirt beneath a black plaid button-down. He was a scrawny man whose apparent side-hustle was creating fake travel documents. “You’re done. I’ll be right back.”
Bishop got to his feet and walked to the nearby desk where he waited for the man’s return. With an envelope stuffed with cash, he counted the amount due. His cash reserves were dwindling thanks, in part, to the move to Charlotte. It hadn’t seemed a great concern because he’d gotten a job quickly. However, the lawsuit changed his circumstances. Getting out of town had become his top priority.
The man returned and tossed the newly minted fake US passport onto the desk. “Your name is Eli Parnell. You live in Lexington, Kentucky.”
Bishop studied the document. “Looks good.”
The man scoffed. “Yeah, I know. Five grand, like we talked about.”
Bishop handed over the cash. “How do I know this will pass muster?”
“Because I say so. Look, man, you came to me. I gotta assume you did your research. You’re not happy with the results, feel free to find someone who will do it for less. I guarantee you, you won’t.”
“Fine.” Bishop tucked the passport into his coat pocket and headed to the door.
“Have a safe trip,” the man said.
Bishop pushed through the door of the laundromat and returned to his car. On the passenger seat was a large black duffle bag. He sat down on the driver’s seat and placed the passport in the side pocket of the bag. As he checked the time, his flight to Nassau was due to leave in less than five hours.
Leaving town wasn’t in his initial plans, but he’d screwed up in Baltimore. Actually, he was pretty sure Pete must’ve alluded to a mishap with the old lady to her son. The reports had been meticulously written. Everything documented. T’s crossed and i’s dotted. There should have been no reason to consider the incident had been some sort of wrongdoing on Bishop’s part, but there it was. He knew it had to have been Pete. He saw the look when he told his partner the woman was dead. It was a look he’d seen before.
He arrived at the Charlotte airport and left his car parked in the long-term lot. It would be weeks before anyone would realize it was his. What to do when that time came, however, was something Bishop hadn’t worked out just yet. Although, he needed to remember that his name was Eli Parnell. That was kind of a big one.
The security line was longer than he had expected. Charlotte’s airport wasn’t a particularly large one but maybe it could be a good sign for him. TSA workers would want to keep the lines moving and might just be a little less careful in their screening. Bishop hoped that would be the case. If not, he might find himself spending the night in jail and who knew what after that. “This better be good,” he whispered to himself.
The man who crafted the false passport had come highly recommended by a local immigrant Bishop had come across in his apartment building. The man wouldn’t dare say a word if the cops came knocking because his own documents had been faked.
“Next.” The TSA agent at the podium motioned for Bishop to approach. “Where are you headed to, sir?”
“Nassau. I’m a volunteer….”
“Business or pleasure,” the agent continued while he placed the passport face down on the scanner.
“I’m a medical volunteer for the hurricane clean-up efforts,” he replied.
The agent glanced at the photo and then at Bishop.
Bishop swallowed down the lump in his throat when the comparison took too long.
“Have a safe trip, Mr. Parnell.” The agent handed back the passport.
“Thank you.” Bishop walked past the podium with notable relief. The worst was over. Still, the conveyor belt awaited. He
