The Profiler Read online

  Severo hands me a mug of coffee, complete with cream, and sits down on the edge of my desk. He checks me over, stroking fingers across my forehead, and his eyes grow soft as he asks, “You okay?”

  I slowly nod, but am careful not to move too much. The medic said I’d be fine, but I feel like I’ve been hit by a…well, a very large wooden cross.

  Severo is again confusing me as to who he is. Hot and cold. Cold and hot. I wouldn’t say he’s turning into a softy, but he’s certainly been extra nice today, ensuring I have everything I need to make this pain settle down. I guess I can’t complain about that.

  “Angie, kiddo, I know you’re hurt, but I need you to think real hard for a moment,” Cain says in his common rasp, though admittedly it’s a little gentler right now. “The detective here informed me of what you told him, and I need to know for a fact. Did your attacker address you by name?”

  I turn my attention from the detective and face my mentor. “I think so,” I say, then quickly amend my statement. “Yes, he did. For sure.”

  “Then,” Cain says, pacing to the office wall where our crime scene photos display the past three days’ activities, “you may have just met our man.”

  Even the throbbing in my head can’t stop me from reacting. “You think this guy is our killer?” My eyes shift from Cain to Severo. “Honestly?”

  The detective reaches a hand out to dust my arm. “It’s a possibility.”

  “Thing is, Angie,” Cain says, arching a thumb to the wall of photos. “It’d be a little too coincidental for some wacko to follow you down there, even if he does know you, ya know? People don’t usually wander into crematoriums for fun. It’s not uncommon, though, for a criminal to return to a scene and admire his work.”

  A fever is breaking out on my skin, and I was warned I would likely encounter some nausea along the way, but I just can’t believe this. “Then, if he’s the killer…how does he know me?”

  “Look. For all we know, kiddo, this guy followed you from somewhere you hadn’t noticed. Somewhere he could have heard your name or seen your badge.” My mentor slurps at his coffee, then wipes his chin dry before shrugging. “Happens all the time. Nothing to get too freaked out about. Not yet, anyways.”

  “What do you mean, not yet?”

  Looking at Cain and Severo, I see the years of experience behind their outer appearances. They know what they’re doing because they’ve seen it all. One day I’ll be in their shoes, but for now I’m learning as I go along.

  “Sometimes they like to make it personal,” the detective says, and I watch him closely as he speaks. His voice is candid, but soft, and I suspect he’s sharing information with caution, careful not to raise any alarm within my already shocked being.

  “It’s happened once or twice where a suspect takes it upon himself to add a little more to the game—you know, mind tricks and all. It’s an easy way for them to feel like they have the upper hand. But you—you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

  “How can you say that?” My anger takes me to the crime scene wall and I begin to rip down photos from the past few days. “If you’re saying the killer wants to play mind games with me, who’s to say I’m not going to end up like this?”

  “Because you’re smart, kiddo,” Cain says, pulling the photo of Killarney from my grasp. “I didn’t pick you out of a hundred mentoring candidates because you’re an easy target. I picked you because you were the best damn intake the Bureau’s had in years. I don’t choose victims, Angie. I choose hunters. Your father had it, you have it. This,” he says, waving Killarney’s crime shot in my face, “is not your fate. You understand me?”

  “Fine,” I reply, feeling defeated by the reasoning. I don’t know about Cain or Severo, but I don’t take too well to the notion that some serial killer wants to play nice with me.

  “Now settle down,” Cain says, walking me back to my office chair. He makes me sit, then places his hands on the chair arms, leaning in as he speaks. “You cannot get riled up. You understand? I know it’s tough, but you have to keep your focus. I need you to take it easy, let your wounds heal, and concentrate on this case. Remember why you’re here.”

  His eyes look directly into mine, and I know underneath his crusty exterior, he means well. I came back to New York for two reasons: to be with my family, and to work with the best damn profiling mentor on the East Coast. Well, since my father.

  He’s right. I know he is. “Okay, so now what?”

  “Let’s figure out how this guy put a name to you,” Severo says, tacking the photos back along the wall in an orderly fashion. “He had to have followed you from somewhere, to know you were going to the crematorium. So?”

  The two of them look back to me, and I think of my decision to return to the cathedral. “I went into the library, like I said I was going to. I looked some information up and then when I was leaving…”

  “What, kiddo?”

  “I saw Severo sitting there. Or his Jeep, at least.”

  “Severo?” Cain asks, losing the focus on my eyes as he turns to face the detective.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “And what, mister hotshot, were you still doing there?”

  He looks back to Cain, obviously gauging my mentor’s tone. “I waited to see if Angie would want a ride after her trip into the library. When she wasn’t coming out, I decided to leave. But not before taking a bathroom break, if you must know.”

  “Yeah, and then you followed me,” I add, still wondering why he does that all the time. “You could have got yourself killed, you know? That car that nearly rear-ended you? And then that cabbie cutting in front—wait, that’s it.”

  “What? What’s it?”

  “The cabbie. I was watching to see if you smashed up the Jeep, and then a cab cut in between us, and it followed me all the way to the cathedral. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, as they drove off to the other side of the lot.”

  “But your attacker may have been the passenger in that cab.”

  My eyes meet the detective’s. “Which would mean he actually followed me from the campus to see where I was going. You think he was watching me?”

  I can’t help but feel creeped out by the notion of this. Cain shrugs his shoulders, but I can see he’s thinking about it.

  “So, what made you go back to the cathedral, kiddo? He couldn’t have known you were going there, unless of course you made contact with him. At the library, maybe?”

  “No, I only talked to the lady at the help desk, so I could print this,” I say, handing my findings to my mentor. “I didn’t talk to anyone else. There was no way this guy knew where I was going. I didn’t tell anyone, so…”

  “So he was watching you,” Severo says, his voice full of contempt. “If he knew you were working this case, he didn’t care where you were going, only that he find you. Must have made his day when you led him right back to where it all started.”

  “Crap.”

  “Ah, now, come on, kiddo. There was no way you could have known. This guy, he’s probably all messed up in the head. But we gotta keep an eye on you now. Now that he’s made contact, he might try again. Could be this is just the start, ya know?”

  “Great.” Despite the aches within my body, I hoist myself out of the chair and stretch out the kinks. My muscles feel as if I’ve just endured another sixteen weeks of training, only with no break in between. “Something to look forward to.”

  “What’s all this?” Cain asks, flipping through the printed pages I’d gathered from the coat of arms Web site. “I thought you were following something related to the scene?”

  “I was.” I sit back down in my chair, feeling a little woozier than I’d like to admit. “I tried to match up the name Devlin to swords, and sure enough, I came across the Devlin coat of arms. Have a look.”

  “I’m looking, but I’m not seeing your point, kiddo,” Cain says, his brows scrunched up as he peers to the printed images. “What am I supposed to see?”

  Cain make
s room on the edge of his desk for Severo, who takes a look himself. “Well, there is a sword,” he says, glancing at Cain, then back to the images. “But not much else of any significance that I can see.”

  “Then look harder.” I get back out of my chair, my body fighting my determination, and pull the recent photos of Devlin off the wall. “Look. One sword enters in a direct line beneath the sternum. Another pierced from the left, through his heart. On the opposite side, one pierced his rib cage from the right. And the last one strikes directly downward, as though the killer stuck this into him from above, pushing it through his breastbone. So, if you examine the lines created by these swords…it almost forms a T. Or a cross.”

  “Ah,” Severo says, pulling a photo of Devlin from my grasp to hold it up beside my library printout. “Now I see what you’re getting at. Look, Cain. Devlin’s rib cage is like the shield. These stars in each corner are kind of like where these swords enter here,” he says, agreeing with my suppositions. “And then this sword is placed in relation to this star, right here, below the sternum.”

  “But there were four swords,” Cain argues. “And only three stars. What do you make of that?”

  I shrug. “The fourth sword enters his breastbone, but angles directly under his head. I’m thinking that’s some sort of message to us. Or to Devlin, for that matter.”

  “Okay, kiddo, well done. But here’s my next question. Why? What’s the point? What else did you find at the library to tell us something about this Devlin guy?”

  “Here, have a look at this.” I shuffle the pages to some theories I came across this morning. “On the top of the shield, meeting up with the larger cross, is a smaller cross—kind of square in shape. It has a reference to Christianity, but more significantly, it occasionally refers to those families involved in the Crusades.”

  “Angie, my sweet little protégée, you are one smart cookie,” he says, his grin spreading across his age-worn face. “We all know the gist of the Crusades being expeditions to recover the Holy Land from disbelievers. And you said so yourself, kiddo—we need to think like the killer, not like the victim.”

  “Yeah, but Angie was thinking this guy might be after believers, Cain, not disbelievers.” Severo shuts off the office coffee carafe and dumps his stale brew. “I’m not sure it adds up just yet.”

  “But if we’re going to think like this guy,” I say, trying to find some rationale for what the killer is doing, “we need to really put ourselves in his shoes. Killarney, La Roche and Devlin all seem to be believers, at least when it comes to God. But…there’s gotta be something we’re not seeing. Something about them that would make the killer think they are not followers. Of God, of the church…”

  “Of him,” Severo says, his lips pursed as he thinks out loud. “We don’t know, right? All we have at this point is the little bits of trail he’s left for us to piece together. And if he does know the victims personally, through some association or another, anything is possible.”

  “He’s a wacko if that’s what you mean,” Cain grumbles. “He may have some score to settle with these churchgoers, but I couldn’t give a flying rat’s tail about it, ya know. I just want to nail his ass and get this thing done with. Who knows what’s on his agenda? But it’s our job to make sure it ends now.”

  “When’s trace coming back?” I ask, anxious to get back out on the trail. My enthusiasm causes me to lose my balance and stumble, but Severo steadies me. “Anything from Devlin’s scene to solidify a connection?”

  Cain cracks his neck as he gets up from his desk and looks at his watch. “Should be soon. The lab’s picking at it now.”

  As the detective piles some of the paperwork together I get the feeling he’s leaving. “Where are you going?”

  “We,” he says, handing me my jacket, “are taking you home.”

  “What?”

  “Cain’s going to talk to Devlin’s students and see if anyone saw anything that can point us in the right direction. I’m taking you home so you can rest.”

  “But—”

  Cain hushes me, waving his hands. “Kiddo, that was a nasty blow you got and I don’t want you dropping dead on me. You’ve been going strong since you got here, but I want you to take some time, refresh, and get back out there with a clear head.”

  He ushers me to the door, Severo ahead of me with my files, and I feel like a child being told what to do. “Tomorrow being Sunday, what better day to rest? Besides, we got enough lifeless bodies to deal with today. I need you in top form, Angie. Especially seeing how this guy’s taken a personal interest in you.”

  Chapter 9

  Little beams of evening sunlight shine through the balcony doors in my living room, hitting the hardwood floors and, sadly, making me notice the dust bunnies that have taken up residence. With a few tissues in hand, I scoop up the telltale signs of bad housekeeping on my part and quickly dispose of them before Severo gets back.

  He was kind enough to take Muddy for a walk around the block while I changed into some comfy clothing and heeded my mentor’s command to rest up this evening. As much as I know I need a full night’s sleep, I wish I didn’t have to sacrifice valuable time on this case.

  According to Cain, he and the detective will wrap up any interviews with Devlin’s students, pick away at the trace findings and prep me when I return. But I won’t get any field experience sitting at home.

  At the sound of my phone ringing, I rush to answer, wondering if Cain has already found something. But when I answer, I am much more pleased with the delicate voice that responds, and a smile spreads across my lips.

  “How are you, Grandma?”

  “Oh, how I miss your face! My sweet, sweet dear, I cannot wait to see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Wow, that was fast,” I say, taking a seat to rest my body. “When can I expect you?” Looking at the mess known as my apartment, I wonder how I’ll ever get this place in order before she comes back to the city. I haven’t even unpacked my stuff from Virginia yet, let alone made my father’s old bedroom suitable for my grandmother.

  “I couldn’t wait, Angie. My bags have been packed a long time, waiting for this day to come. All I needed was for those papers to come through and now they have, thank goodness. This place is no good for me. There’s nothing but old people here, and they’re all such bores,” Gran says, and I laugh at her candor. “It’s like they’re all getting ready to die with the way they carry on, moping about. Miserable old croaks.”

  When I left Michigan to train in Quantico, my grandmother took up temporary accommodation in a “mature residence” while deciding what to do with herself. She has her own apartment that her caregiver frequently visits, but the entire building is inhabited by elderly folks, and apparently my grandmother doesn’t consider herself one of them.

  “But how are you feeling? Uncle Simon says you are not as good as you should be.”

  “Oh for goodness sakes, your uncle makes it sound like I’ve got one foot in the grave, which I don’t, of course,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s just my hip, Angie. Old age is defeating me, is all. Otherwise I’m feeling mighty fine. Coming home will do wonders for me, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will, Grandma, and I can’t wait to see you,” I say, absorbing her softness, underneath that stubborn exterior. Guess I know where that personality trait comes from.

  “I should be at the church by noon, sweetie, so I expect to see you for lunch. I’m going to visit with that uncle of yours and set a few things straight with that boy. He’s always been such a sentimental softy, but he needs to know I’m not checking out anytime soon.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re in good shape, and in good spirits,” I say, meaning every word of it. I wasn’t sure what to expect, the way Simon described her, though I won’t disagree my uncle can be a bit overreactive at times. “It’ll be nice being roommates again, won’t it?”

  “You bet your silver dollar it will,” Gran says, sounding as though she’s geared
up for spring break. “We’re going to go out on the town, shake what the Lord gave us, and make some boys drool, all right? To hell with my hip.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, restraining my laughter. Gran’s always had a fiery spirit, and I love spending time with her when she gets feisty. It’s like having a much, much older sister to hang with. I’m sure having her here will do me good, too.

  With the sound of my door creaking open and the familiar footsteps of Muddy trotting along the wooden floors, I know Severo has returned, so I close my conversation with Gran.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie,” she says. Then, before hanging up, she adds, “It’s Saturday night, love. You better have some fun plans made. Just be sure to save some energy for when I get there.”

  “I will, I promise,” I say, then hang up to embrace Muddy. “How’s it going, baby? You have fun with the detective?”

  Muddy rubs by me, more interested in visiting his water dish, and I quickly check my appearance to make sure I’m not entirely indecent. I threw on an old college sweatshirt and some drawstring bottoms, but am now second-guessing my casual attire. Ah, hell, it’s my home. I can dress however I want. I’m not trying to impress anyone, after all.

  “It’s freezing out there!” Severo says, rubbing his hands together as he rounds the hallway to meet me in the living room, which is really just an extension of the dining room, which is kind of an extension of the kitchen. This apartment isn’t the biggest on the block, but it’s got all the comforts I need, and memories of growing up with my father, so I couldn’t ask for more. “That Cain?”

  “Here, warm up,” I say, handing him a mug of freshly brewed French roast. “No, it was my grandmother. She’ll be here tomorrow, so I need to get this place cleaned up. Hey, you want something to eat?”

  “Who’s taking care of who here?”