The Profiler Page 6

  “Cain, I’m sorry. I had no idea. But your kids are lucky. It’s good you make a point to visit them.”

  “Every kid needs a father,” he says, extending a hand to briefly graze mine. “You know that. Damn shame, what happened to yours. Read all about it in your files. I mean, I didn’t know the man personally, of course, but what a reputation.”

  “What did my file say?”

  Smokers’ cough lets loose before Cain clears his throat. “Ah, nothing I didn’t already know. Just that your father was one of us and that he died working the streets. Good man. That’s how I knew you’d be a good kid to take on. Hell if I want any newbie to deal with, ya know? I knew you were it the moment I saw Joshua David was your pops.”

  “Did it say much about…that day?”

  “Just the formalities. Guess that wasn’t any of my business to see. Course, it doesn’t matter for picking a mentoring partner, now does it? I just needed to see what kind of person you were. What you were made of.”

  With Cain as my mentor, I’ll get the proper guidance I need to pursue my career with NCAVC. My father spent most of his younger years working with NCAVC in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, until he and my mother returned to New York and he settled back into the NYC field office, years before I was born. Even though my intention is to work in a different division, with the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program at NCAVC, I aim to live up to his profiling reputation.

  “I just hope it’s not too much too soon,” Cain says, and I listen to his well-meaning words. “It’s tough to take, I bet, coming home without him here for you. You’ll let me know, though, if you run into any personal troubles, right? You and I both know you’re no good as an agent if your emotional health isn’t centered.”

  I nod as Cain’s eyes dart side to side. He tries to keep focused on the road ahead while offering support.

  Though I smile, there’s no way I can foretell what emotional baggage I bring to the table. Everywhere I look, every day that goes by, I think of my father. He’s my blood. And it’s not like I’m willing to forget him, or what happened to him. I suppose the trick will be finding the fine line between treasured memories and sanity.

  Learning more about my mentor, though, finding out that he’s a father and a former husband, makes me even more certain of my time with him. Cain has his own baggage in his personal life, but perhaps the two of us will somehow find a way for me to get past mine. And maybe, somehow, I can help him out, too.

  We slam up against a curb and I spot Severo’s black Jeep across the street. It looks like a Hollywood take-down with the sirens and lights flashing, but the neon dance is not coming from the detective’s unmarked vehicle.

  “What’s all this?” Cain forces his rugged body out of the car and meets Detective Severo on the opposite sidewalk. The handful of emergency vehicles keeps my attention momentarily, but I am careful to bring my focus back to the team.

  Severo looks as bewildered as we are. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  The three of us slide into the historic-looking elevator, complete with a wrought-iron gate, before its doors close and, unified, we stare at the illuminated numbers, counting along until we reach the sixth floor. When the doors open, we are welcomed into the foyer of a penthouse suite.

  The building did look a little posh from the outset, but I had no idea what to expect once inside. I may be a born and bred New Yorker, but never have I visited such a pristine upper-class dwelling. My upbringing in Chelsea has seen an average-rated artsy neighborhood transform into a popular and stylish retreat, and though I have fond memories of my life there, its esthetics are still quite the opposite of this East Village suite.

  Despite my immediate notice of the decor, it’s the commotion inside of the penthouse that maintains my interest.

  “Lord almighty, what do we have here?” Cain grumbles. “Looks like a retirement party. I hope it’s not in my honor.”

  My mentor’s snicker is matched with a distasteful smirk from an approaching officer. “Cain.” His eyes scan the three of us and then he begins to walk us in, but out of the way of the traffic. Two ambulance workers and a handful of cops are busying themselves in the apartment, and I can’t help but feel we arrived at the party too late.

  “The housekeeper called 911 when her employer started having some problems. Looks like a heart attack.”

  His head nods toward the living room, where I see an elderly man propped up in a wingback chair. Across from him, on an antique settee, sits an equally elderly woman, lips quivering, cheeks streaked by tears. “As you can see, there’s nothing for you here.”

  “On the contrary,” Cain interjects. “Your stiff may have been involved in a much more serious crime, so if you don’t mind, McCabe, we’ll make ourselves at home.”

  Cain and the officer—McCabe, I take it—start in on the details of what happened, and when my mentor nods, I take the sign as an okay to enter the heart of the scene. Severo walks alongside me as we move into the living room, and I ask if he knows the officer on duty.

  “I may have seen him around. But I get the idea Cain knows him much better than I do.”

  Nodding, I retain focus on the body. This man’s prints were found at the church cremation site, but it doesn’t add up. His body is old and frail, and I know I shouldn’t be making judgments based on that alone, but he just doesn’t seem to be murderer material.

  While Severo inspects the body, I decide I can no longer ignore the sobs coming from the housekeeper. Besides, she may have information critical to this case.

  “Hi,” I say softly, letting a gentle tone alert her to my presence. “Sorry about Mr. La Roche. I was wondering—”

  Her sobs break off for a moment as she stutters, “Je ne c-comprends pas.”

  “Severo, she speaks French.”

  “What, is that not one of your mastered tongues?”

  My amused glare meets his, but I return my attention to the housekeeper. She continues, without knowing whether or not I can understand her. “Il sort de l’ordinaire….”

  “She said it was something out of the ordinary.” I translate to the detective as the lady’s words mix with choked tears. She’s dressed well enough, but as I crouch at her side, I pick up a mixed odor of mothballs and floor wax. “She got a call from Mr. La Roche and knew something was wrong.”

  “J’ai pris un taxi….”

  “She took a taxi and when she got here, he was ill. When she realized he was having heart problems, she called 911.”

  “…Je n’ai pas entendu ce qu’il a dit….”

  “He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying….”

  “…la brûlure…”

  I shove Severo to the side, twisting to see the victim, as the housekeeper keeps talking in spurts. “She said he was burned. Look.”

  “He certainly is. Look at that.” Severo inches in and hunches beside me as I inspect the burn marks along the man’s arms and hands. His face has been touched as well, but the remainder of his body seems relatively unharmed.

  Leaning on the chair’s arm, Severo looks at me. “However, it’s no surprise, considering we found his prints at the crematorium.”

  “Yeah,” I say slowly, “but it doesn’t make him a killer.”

  A throaty guffaw escapes from Severo. “So, what, you’re deciding this guy had nothing to do with Killarney’s murder?”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “His prints were there, David. Prints that came up in the database. He’s got a record for something. So don’t go thinking this man’s an innocent bystander just because he seems old and harmless to you.”

  I shush Severo, seeing that the housekeeper is watching us, looking to us for an explanation. “Hey, she may not understand what you’re saying, but that smart-ass tone of yours could show a bit more compassion, don’t you think? Besides, the AFIS report said this man’s history was purely petty crime. Nothing like murder.”

  Severo
’s brow scrunches up and for a second he looks at me analytically. His eyes scan my face and then focus in around my lips. I shift restlessly and his attention diverts back to the housekeeper.

  “Ask her what La Roche did for a living.”

  She says, “Un boulanger.”

  I translate, “He’s a baker.”

  “Ten guesses these burns aren’t from making Bundt cake.”

  The heavy throat-clearing alerts me to Cain’s proximity. “Well, what do we have here? You two look so cozy together.”

  I get up from my squat next to Severo and disregard Cain’s observation. “The housekeeper can’t understand English, so go easy on her. If you want to ask her something—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you can translate. What about Mr. Crispy. What’s the deal with our suspect?”

  Severo takes a stance against the floor-to-ceiling drapes and surveys the room. “Well, Agent David doesn’t want to believe he’s our suspect.”

  Cain settles in beside the housekeeper, keeping his eyes on me. “Talk it out, Angie. Tell me what you think.”

  I lean closer to the baker and point to his aged body. “How could he manage to get himself home, let alone carry Killarney’s dead body back to the men’s mission?”

  “Maybe that’s what prompted his heart failure,” Cain says.

  Severo is shaking his head, obviously not seeing my point. “His prints were at the scene. Either willingly or not, this man was somehow involved in what went down at that church.”

  “So? Maybe this guy’s not the murderer. Maybe La Roche saw something he shouldn’t have and that’s what got him in trouble.”

  Cain’s cough-filled laugh bursts out, and the housekeeper jumps in alarm. Her puffy eyes zero in on him, but she soon slips back into quiet sobbing.

  “She’s got a point, slick. Good thinking, Angie. You tell him.” He pushes himself up from the settee and surprises me when he hands a tissue to the elderly woman.

  She offers meek thanks by saying, “Merci infiniment, monsieur.”

  Cain simply says, “Yeah, right back at ya,” before meeting up with the approaching officer on duty.

  I stare down Severo while Cain and McCabe exchange a few words, but the detective does little but shrug at me. Stubborn. I know Cain warned me to play nice with fellow law enforcers, but I expect the same respect from them. That includes Severo.

  Cain calls for our attention and leads us out to the foyer. “McCabe’s team needs to get to work and prep this guy for the medical examiner, so we gotta move on out of here, folks. He’s agreed to let us know when trace is through. Maybe there’s something we can put to use we’re just not seeing yet.”

  Setting the pad of his gloved thumb on the elevator button, Cain looks at me and says, “You made a point, kiddo, but try to keep an open mind. When we get back we can start up a profiling chart and put some ideas together, but in the end the evidence will lead us to the truth.”

  We may not have any concrete answers until trace comes in, but I can’t believe La Roche is the murderer. There’s gotta be more to it.

  The bell chimes as the elevator door slides open at the ground floor, and Severo informs us he’s off to tend to some personal business. I am about to follow Cain when my cell rings.

  “David.”

  “Angie? This is your uncle Simon. I need to see you.”

  I wave a hand to both Cain and the detective, alerting them to hold off departure for a moment. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  Simon’s breathing is rapid and I can sense tension on his end of the connection. “It is your grandmamma, Angie. She is not so well. Please come. Angie, please.”

  Chapter 5

  “I can take you,” Severo says, stepping off the sidewalk. My feet remain firmly planted as he slides into the driver’s seat of his Jeep. “Where you need to go?” he asks through the window.

  “Gramercy Park. I thought you had something else to do?”

  “Midtown West, but what the hell.”

  Cain honks his car horn and yells at me through the open passenger-door window. “You coming or going, Angie?”

  I look to Cain, then back at Severo. Waving off my mentor, I slide into the seat next to the detective and buckle up. My curiosity is too much to ignore. “Isn’t that out of the way?”

  “We got a bit of time before McCabe shares his findings. Once we’re out of the Village, Gramercy Park awaits. And Midtown? Hell, I’ll get there eventually,” he says, shrugging with little care, even though in my books that’s a bit more crosstown driving than necessary. His hand extends to the middle console and I watch as his rough fingers fumble across the stereo controls. “You mind?”

  “Not at all,” I say, then make a face when Severo finds some obscure sounding station. “Nice ride.”

  “Thanks. I got it, uh, got it back when I was engaged,” he mumbles, obviously uneasy with the notion of sharing this personal history. “I figured it was my last chance to buy something purely for me, ya know? Never had a brand-new car before. Then again, never had a fiancée leave me, either.”

  “Cain mentioned it,” I say, treading with caution. “Sorry to hear about that.”

  “Hey, shit happens. At least the Jeep’s still here.”

  His chuckle warms the mood and I keep my eyes on the road ahead, trying to ignore his offbeat lip-synching. The light behind us from the setting sun reflects in the mirrors and I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the activities of the day.

  “Your grandmother lives with your uncle?”

  The detective’s voice jolts me from my lapse of reality and I clear my throat. “No. She used to live in the city, but moved with me to Michigan when I went off to school. Said she wanted to stay with someone who reminded her of her youth.”

  “So why are we going to Gramercy Park?”

  My hands fiddle with the stereo and I let my fingers slide along the controls, looking for anything to keep my mind off my family. There’s no point in ignoring his questions, but I’m not too keen on sharing my life with the detective. He is, after all, still a stranger to me.

  “That’s where my uncle’s church is. Besides him, my grandmother is my only living relative.”

  “He’s a priest?”

  “That’s right. When I went to Quantico, my grandmother stayed in Michigan, thinking she would eventually move back to the city. But after my father died, she felt kind of weird about it so my uncle saw that she had all she needed in Detroit, including a homecare nurse. We had plans to move her in with me once I got settled, but who knows? Maybe she’ll be here sooner than we anticipated.”

  “What about your mother?”

  I take in a deep breath before answering. If I don’t get this out of the way, it only means he’ll ask again, and I’d rather not dwell on the past any more than I already do.

  “She died shortly after I was born. They didn’t find out she was sick until she started prenatal care, so my father only had so much warning that he was going to be a single parent. But between my father, my uncle and my grandmother, I didn’t lack anything growing up,” I say, making sure there is no room for Severo to pity my upbringing. “I’m not saying it wasn’t hard at times. Once I got the itch for analyzing crime, though, I began to spend more and more time with my father. But Gran was great. We couldn’t have been any closer,” I declare, then let out a light chuckle before adding, “Especially when she was my roommate in college.”

  “That’d be interesting.” Trying to use the rearview mirror to his advantage, Severo slants his eyes, intent on watching me. With the fading light of day, his features appear gentler, more humane than they tend to be on the job. “Is it serious?”

  “Time will tell.” I’m careful not to mistake his curiosity for compassion. I can’t say I know him well enough yet to decode his facial expressions.

  Turning right onto the side street, the detective pulls into an empty space near the church doorway. Without hesitation, he hops out and runs around to open my door, which is somethin
g I didn’t expect. “I’ll stay here. You go on ahead.”

  As I enter the nave of the church, the collection of prayer candles provides enough light to illuminate my path. Stained glass windows with artwork representing various saints reflect hues of blues and greens, oranges and reds. The kaleidoscope of colors leads me to my uncle.

  “Angie! It is so good to see you now.”

  Urging my uncle to take a seat, I sit beside him in an aged pew and await the news.

  “She is not so well, your grandmamma. The nurse tell me she is weak and she needs to be with her family. I know it is sooner than you expected, Angie, but we can move her now, yes?”

  I slide a hand through my uncle’s thinning hair and rest my palm against the back of his neck. “Yes, of course, Uncle Simon. Right away.”

  My uncle’s hunched shoulders relax, but his expression still harbors concern. “I will get the papers.”

  I watch as his frail frame exits to a side room, and I think for a moment what it would mean to lose my grandmother so soon after my father’s death. I don’t think I could bear it.

  It’s been hard on the whole family to deal with this pain in separate cities. I hope that being in New York together will bring us all comfort.

  “This, Angie,” Simon says as he steps toward me. “We can sign this and your grandmamma will come here, yes?”

  Reviewing the documents Simon has provided for me, I agree that signing them will bring some resolution to our issue. “Her personal caregiver will handle the rest, Uncle. She will be here soon, and then we can see she has all she needs. Okay?”

  “Yes, yes, Angie,” he says, wrapping feeble arms around my waist. His hair smells like scalp dander, and I brush a stray hair to the side of his forehead. “You are such a good girl. Angie, you make me so proud.”

  I lift my uncle’s chin and say, “Gratulor,” thanking him in Latin. His small grin is enough response for me, and so I kiss both of his hands before leaving.