The Profiler Page 13

  “They never found the weapon, did they?” Severo asks.

  “No, but once you kill one cop,” I say, keeping my emotions contained, “the system doesn’t take it lightly when you do it again. Concrete evidence or not.”

  Whatever situation brought my father in proximity to that ill-timed robbery, operated by two minors out to score some cash, is irrelevant. When he got in their way, apparently, and figured out what they were up to, his life was cut short.

  Shot by a minor, who’d been only recently let out from a juvenile facility after shooting an officer, my father died indirectly while in the line of duty. That kid, no matter the gun wasn’t found at the scene, didn’t stand a chance. He was there, and with enough evidence of their crossed paths to convict him, he’ll be behind bars for a long time to come. It’s too bad he didn’t learn from his earlier mistakes that crime, indeed, does not pay.

  As Denise sets out dessert plates, thankfully interrupting my uncle’s storytelling, I decide to check on Mrs. Schaeffer and see how Muddy is doing. I would have brought him along for the company, but Simon has a slight allergy to dogs.

  As her phone continues to ring, unanswered, I wait for the beep and then leave a message. “Hey, it’s Angie. It’s almost two, so I bet you’re out taking Muddy for a walk. I’ll be home soon, but you know where to reach me if need be,” I say, then close my cell phone and return to the company.

  “Everything good?” Severo asks, as I take a seat beside him. His tie is a little crooked, so I reach a hand to straighten the silk against his tailored shirt. Man, when this guy dresses up, he looks pretty good. Mind you, I have nothing against a uniform, either.

  “Yeah, they must be out for a walk,” I reply, then lean into his shoulder, pleased we are no longer on the topic of my father’s death. “We can go anytime you want, you know? Gran said she’s staying with Simon for a few days so they can catch up and so I’ll have a few more days to get the apartment ready for her.”

  “Good,” he says, pushing a finger through my hair. “Because if you ask me, you still got a lot to do to make that apartment presentable.” He laughs as I pinch his side, and moves out of harm’s way. “Hey, it’s not like I didn’t try to help you clean up, Agent. Plus, you seem all recovered now. Maybe we should head back and see what else we can do to make it feel more comfortable.”

  My eyes move slowly from his to my family’s, checking to see if anyone overheard that invitation. When it appears my conscience is clear, I move in closer to Severo, whispering so only he can hear, “How fast can you drive?”

  The ride back to Chelsea is definitely more pleasant than our earlier drive to meet up with my family, as Severo and I share stories on everything from training and work to childhood and the holidays. Even when I mention my father, in this casual conversation my memories focus on the good times I had with him and not so much on the pain I’ve been dealt since his death.

  Severo parks his Jeep off to the side of my apartment, and we make our way to the three-story walk-up. His hand is wrapped snugly around mine, and with the afternoon sun shining down on us, I feel pretty good right now. We may be weary of what we’re doing, with our connection as coworkers, but there’s just something between us that’s hard to restrain.

  As Severo holds the door open for me and I begin to trek up the stairs ahead of him, I’m surprised to see Muddy sitting on the second floor landing. It’s not like Mrs. Schaeffer to let him roam freely in the hall. There are only three small apartments in this narrow building, one on each floor, but we’ve never let Muddy take over the common walkways, out of neighborly respect.

  His tail wagging, he approaches me, and as he does I shriek with panic. “Shit! He’s bleeding.” Muddy’s nose is streaked with blood, and I quickly check for any sign of injury. The blood is slightly sticky, yet I cannot seem to find its point of origin.

  “He doesn’t seem to be hurt, though,” Severo says, lifting his paws one at a time, then looking behind his ears.

  “Oh my God,” I say, running to the door. “Mrs. Schaeffer!”

  Muddy and Severo follow after me, as we enter the unlocked door and scramble to find my neighbor. “Mrs. Schaeffer!” I keep yelling out, and with no answer to lead me I search through her kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. “What the hell?” I look to Severo, bewildered by her absence. “Where could she be?”

  A muffled sound comes from inside her hallway closet, and as I approach to check it out, Severo releases his handgun and cautions me to take it slowly. With his weapon leading the way, he slides the closet door open and then relaxes briefly as we see Mrs. Schaeffer sitting on the floor, her mouth secured by duct tape.

  The fear in her eyes is crying out to me, and I drop to my knees, careful to pull the tape slowly from her delicate skin. Her eyes dart to the side, and as Severo follows the direction she’s looking, he whispers, “Angie, stay quiet, okay?”

  I nod to him as he slowly walks through her apartment, and I try to hush Mrs. Schaeffer as I peel the last of the tape from her face. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay now,” I say, then wrap my arms around her in a hug. As I do so, I notice my neighbor has no blood on her whatsoever, and I am confused as to how Muddy picked it up. “Mrs. Schaeffer, what happened?”

  She first gasps for air, stretching out her mouth, and then she informs me of her bound feet. As I untangle her from the mess, she speaks softly, obvious fear keeping her on guard. “There was a man, Angie. I don’t know who, he just came to my door, and I opened it, thinking it must be you or Mr. De Salvo downstairs. Because how could someone get in without buzzing?”

  “But Mr. De Salvo’s in Florida visiting his nephew.”

  Her sad, fearful eyes stare back at me for answers and tears begin to run down her cheeks. As I raise a hand to wipe her face clean, my attention is caught by Severo yelling from a distance.

  “Angie! You’re gonna want to see this!”

  Chapter 11

  Hopping up every other step to the third floor, I follow Severo’s voice and race to my apartment door, where I see Mrs. Schaeffer’s spare key in the lock. When I walk in and see what Severo sees, I gasp.

  “No. Oh, no, no, no!” Careful of my footing, so as not to disturb any evidence, I step closer to the courier box sitting in the middle of my living room floor.

  It’s torn open a bit, and I can see where Muddy must have chewed on the corners, thereby getting blood on his face. I don’t know that I want to look inside the stained cardboard box, but I don’t have a choice.

  “Okay, see you soon,” Severo says, hanging up his cell phone. “Cain’s on his way right now. Angie? Hey, come on. Maybe you should sit down.”

  “No.” Whatever this guy is up to, he obviously wants to make a point by leaving me something to come home to. I just can’t believe I let him in the building. What had he looked like? Bald, I remembered. Thinking on it now, I should have paid more attention to a Sunday delivery.

  Taking a latex glove from the work pack I keep at home, I peel back the top of the large box, and when I lean in to get a closer look, I cover my face with my free hand. Inside this courier box, which is big enough to hold a computer monitor, a man’s head sits on a platter.

  “You should gather some personal things together,” Severo says, his voice calm but firm as he reaches out to me. “You can’t stay here tonight. I’ll call my captain and make arrangements for Mrs. Schaeffer to stay in a hotel. What about the guy on the first floor?”

  My head shakes back and forth as I take in the sight. “He’s in Florida, but we should see when he’s scheduled to come home.”

  “Okay. I’m going to take Muddy to be with Mrs. Schaeffer right now, just to keep him out of here. And I’ll let her know to pack some things.” His hand strokes my arm, and I look to his eyes to read his concern. “I’ll be right back. You yell if you need me.”

  As he leaves my apartment, I stare at the bodiless man. I know from his mouth we’ll be able to pull DNA and hopefully find out who he is quickly, and see ho
w he plays a role in this charade, but I really can’t stand it anymore.

  Our killer is obviously not settling down anytime soon, and who knows how many more possible victims are out there? With each attack, though, one thing is for sure. He seems to be getting closer and closer to me, and this makes no sense whatsoever, mind games or not.

  Sirens begin to wail, and I know Cain and the others will soon be here to dissect the crime scene at my apartment. I prepare to abandon my home once again.

  The one thing I can’t figure out is why this guy has taken a liking to me. Why leave this head here? What do I have to do with any of this?

  I wait in the living room, where CSU members are making themselves at home. For someone who wasn’t planning on having guests over so soon, my apartment sure seems like a hot spot right now.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Cain says, appearing at my side as I watch the team begin to poke around for clues as to what and how and who. “You doing okay?”

  “Fine. Weren’t you supposed to be with your kids?”

  “I was. We met in Central Park, so it wasn’t nothing to get over here. This is much more important, you understand? I’m here for you now.”

  “I just want this over with, Cain. We have to get this guy before he does this again.”

  “And he will, ya know,” Cain says, handing me a file folder of crime scene photos. “Check it out.”

  I review the same images I’ve been staring at in the office the past couple days. Killarney, burned to death. La Roche, suffocated by the burning of Killarney. Devlin, pierced by four swords. “What?”

  “Angie, remember we saw something odd with the Killarney photos?” Cain taps a finger against the image showing that bizarre cut on his right foot. “Well, look, kiddo.”

  I watch as he pulls a photo of La Roche into view, and can’t believe it. “He’s got a cut, too?”

  “Two, actually,” Cain says, pointing at the detail. “Same foot. Same type of wound. But two small slices.”

  I review the photos carefully, and don’t know how I didn’t see these before. “Devlin has the same thing, Cain. Only there’s three cuts. I bet wherever this guy’s body is, it’ll be the same story,” I say, taking in the unsettling news.

  “Which leaves us no doubt,” my mentor states, sliding the photos back into their folder. “He’s counting them off, one by one. Angie, congratulations. You’ve got your first serial case.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, nervous about the possibilities to come. “Cain, I have to tell you something. This guy, I let him in my building. I thought he was a courier and I didn’t even think twice when I held the door open for him.”

  “Do couriers even deliver on Sundays?” he asks, shrugging his shoulder. “But, Angie, kiddo, don’t let it get to you. This guy was coming here no matter what. It’s not your fault. You may be luckier than you think, not being here when he came and made himself at home in your apartment. Is your neighbor okay?”

  “Yeah, Severo’s precinct is putting her in a hotel for the night, but thank God she wasn’t hurt,” I say, and as I do shivers run up my skin. The idea that Mrs. Schaeffer could have been seriously hurt—or worse—is enough to make me feel nauseated.

  Cain and I watch as a CSU investigator lifts the head from the cardboard box and places it in protective plastic. The same process is done for the accompanying platter, but as it’s bagged I take note of its design. “Hey, hang on a sec.”

  The investigator holds off packing the platter and lets me and Cain have a look at the ornate images decorating the gilded dish. “Cain, you seeing this?” I ask, and as Severo returns to my apartment I call him over to take a look, as well.

  “What is that? Some biblical symbolism?” Cain asks, and I gaze at him, not believing his question.

  “Are you serious? It’s the Last Supper, Cain. How can you not know this?” The platter displays a scene from the Bible, where Jesus is surrounded by his apostles for the last time prior to his death.

  “I know what it is,” he says, defending himself quickly. “I just couldn’t see it so well smeared with all that blood. But we better call the archdiocese. If this guy’s got serious angst toward the church or God or whoever, we gotta put the word out. There’s no telling who’s next.”

  As Cain makes the call, Severo raises a hand to brush my hair from my face. “Mrs. Schaeffer is fine and I’ve got someone calling Mr. De Salvo’s nephew. But how are you, Angie?”

  “Um, well, considering we just found a head on my living room floor, not bad under the circumstances,” I say, then nudge the detective in the side to compensate for my terse remark. “I’m okay, really. But we have to find out what this guy wants. This is day four, and the fourth victim. I don’t like it.”

  “Me either,” Severo says, then turns his attention to a CSU member. “Don’t forget that,” he says, and I follow his glance to my dining room table, where I see my newly acquired rosary.

  “No, that’s mine,” I say, approaching, then taking a step back when I see it’s been moved and something else is there. “But what do you think this is supposed to mean?”

  The rosary is laid across the table, and beside it, written in blood, is a question mark. That’s it. Just a question mark.

  “I’m not sure, but what do you mean that’s yours? It wasn’t here when we left, Angie.”

  I think back to when Severo and I came up to my apartment in between shopping and heading out to my uncle’s, and can’t recall where the rosary was. I realize it had probably been in plain sight on my dresser. “It’s mine. Some guy gave it to me the other day.”

  “What guy?” Cain asks, meeting up with us as we inspect the blood drawing. “When was this?”

  “On my way to the cathedral. I hopped a cab and some homeless man was coming out of Denise’s shelter. We shared the ride and when I was getting out, he handed it to me.”

  “Jesus, Angie, what did he look like? Was it the same guy?”

  My eyes turn to meet Cain’s and I think hard, but shake my head before I respond. “No, no, it wasn’t. This guy was real scruffy and obviously homeless. He had ratty long hair and, okay, so I couldn’t see him too well under his baggy clothing, but—”

  Cain’s hand wraps around my arm as he pries for more information. “Could he have been the same guy who was here today? Or for that matter, the same guy who followed you to the crematorium? Angie, think, damn it. Exactly how long has this guy been following you?”

  Severo pulls my mentor away, seeing my discomfort. “Cain, take it easy, would ya? If you recall, that was just yesterday, so her head’s probably still a little sore.”

  “Kiddo, I’m sorry,” Cain says, leading me to sit down. His voice now softer, he looks into my eyes, and I see he means well. “It’s just…what do you remember? Angie?”

  I think back to my contact with all three men. The one in the crematorium had been dangerous, but the other two appeared harmless, and none of them seemed familiar. “The guy in the cab was quiet and real rough looking. I figured he was shy or ashamed or something. He looked nothing like the courier. Although…. I guess they could’ve been about the same size.”

  “A shower and a shave can change a lot, kiddo.”

  “Then Cain,” Severo says, pulling out a chair to sit beside me. As he runs a hand across the back of my neck, he speaks with a monotone, but firm voice. “If it is the same guy, he would have been following Angie long before yesterday. He could have been following her from day one.”

  “Even before the shelter?” I ask, angling in my chair to debate this idea. “That was the day after our first body was found at St. Augustine’s. If he’s been following me since then, what does that say? That he was at the men’s mission watching us? He was there the whole time?”

  Cain taps his knuckles against the table, next to the blood-smeared question mark. “That’s exactly what we gotta figure out, kiddo. Because if this guy’s got some personal business to settle with you, it doesn’t matter how many bodies we find. It’ll
be yours that means the most to him.”

  “Bag it,” Severo says to the CSU, who then picks up the wooden rosary and adds it to the collection for trace. Little specks of blood are on the beads, and I wonder if Muddy accidentally played with the evidence. Time will tell.

  “So now what?” I ask, unsure of where we go from here. With no clear theory of how this guy chooses his victims, it’s hard to figure out how to save his next one. Now that the archdiocese is aware of the situation, thankfully, word will get out that someone may be trying to send an ungodly message.

  “Well, you can’t stay here,” Cain says, and I nod toward the detective.

  “Yeah, Severo said the same thing. I’m going to pack some stuff, but I can’t go to my uncle’s. He’s allergic to Muddy.”

  “And I have a crappy bachelor pad, kiddo. So, what’ll it be. Hotel or the office?”

  “She can stay with me,” Severo suggests, and both my mentor and I look to him. Though Severo and I were perhaps planning on spending some social time together today, I don’t know that my mentor needs to hear about it. “Besides, if this guy likes to follow her around, it’s probably best I stick close, ya know?”

  My eyebrows arch as I glance at the detective, hear his words. That has got to be one of the lamest excuses I have ever heard from someone trying to get me up to his place.

  “Sounds good to me,” Cain says, surprising me. “He’s got a point, kiddo. Who knows what this wacko is up to. Best you’re not left on your own.”

  “Do I have to remind you of my skills, gentlemen? I ranked at the top of my class at the academy,” I say, defending my ability to take care of myself. “I know how to—”

  “Take care of yourself,” they say in unison, and then Cain grabs my hand, holding it tightly as he kneels down in front of my chair to speak to me. “Kiddo, I have no doubts you can kick some serious ass. Hell, you could knock me out in a second. But you can’t take this lightly, you hear me? There’s no sense in risking it, just to prove yourself. You don’t have to prove anything, not to me. You are your father’s daughter. You got in you some of the best breeding the Bureau’s seen in a long time. I know that, the detective knows that and we sure as hell know you know that. But right now, I’m asking you a favor. Stay with Severo, just for the night, and then we’ll figure something else out tomorrow, if that’s more to your liking. Okay?”