The Profiler. Lori May A.
Читать онлайн книгу.
still saddened by my father’s death. My grief could be deemed as weakness, and I can’t afford that interpretation.
“He’s dead.”
Severo starts to get up from his chair, but when my eyes focus on his, he realizes it’s best to stay put. “Sorry. I didn’t know. He wear a badge?”
For the sake of getting it out of the way, I provide enough information to satisfy his curiosity. “Fed. Damn good one, too.” For a moment, I don’t think of his death, but recall his living years. “Great one. Knew his shit. Not just martial arts, either. He was just so amazing. He could sniff out a killer like no one. Great instincts, great control. He was a profiler who knew how to hunt. He always got his way.”
Severo snorts a chuckle and says, “Sounds like you.”
“Well,” I say, sipping at my now hot coffee, letting the stale taste distill my emotions. “He was a great mentor. I couldn’t have asked for better training.”
Before I take a seat across from the detective, I remove my Special Agent ID and wallet. Flopping into my seat, I give an annoyed sigh when Severo reaches across the table to inspect my credentials.
“Agent David?”
I lick my lips clean of the hot coffee. “What now?”
“Angela David?”
Severo’s look is one of confusion, and I’m starting to relate to that emotion. “Yes.” I speak slowly, making fun of the detective and his momentary lapse of sanity. “I am Angela David. Do you know who you are?”
“So your father—” as he ignores my sarcasm, the words come slowly from Severo “—was Joshua David?”
I stand up and grab my badge from the detective. “Did you know him?” My pulse increases as I watch for his reaction, but I have little patience left today. “Severo? Are you saying you knew my father?”
With his head shaking and a softer look on his face, the detective speaks in a calm voice. “Hey, cool down. I know of your father’s reputation. I didn’t know him. Not personally.”
“But you knew enough to recognize his name.”
Sitting back down, urged by Severo’s hand wrapped around my arm, I look into his narrowed eyes to measure his sincerity.
“Of course I’ve heard of him, Angie. How could I not have? He had a reputation that could kick some serious ass around here. That’s good to hear, right?”
“Yeah, no, of course that’s good. It’s just…strange, I guess.”
I take a few deep breaths to put things into perspective. Of course he’s heard of my father. He’s a detective. Anyone on the job would have at least heard of Agent Joshua David. But any time a stranger mentions my dad, it’s as though there is a piece of him left behind, for me to discover, and the feeling is bittersweet.
“Hey, it has to be hard. But bad shit happens to good people all the time. Part of the job. I know that doesn’t make it any easier, but hey, my condolences. No wonder you’re so feisty. You got some big shoes to fill.”
Cain enters the room, so I pull my energy back to focusing on this case. I do have a lot to live up to, with my father’s reputation, but it’s Marcus Cain who’s going to be there for me as I make the right moves to get into NCAVC.
Cain looks at each of us. “I guess we’re up to our asses, uh?”
Severo nods his head knowingly, but I have to ask for clarification. My mind has too much new information to deal with to keep up with subtleties.
Cain leans on the table and explains. “The gardener’s kid? Yeah, he was up to something, all right. But nothing to do with the case.” He slides my files closer to him, glancing over the sparse paperwork. “Just a grower, is all. Planted pot in the garden where his pops wouldn’t blow his cover, but he was all freaked out when he saw us. Too doped up to know we weren’t DEA. Gotta feel bad for his pops, though. Didn’t know what the hell to think of it. Poor sap.”
“He’s taken care of?” Severo asks, which I think is kind of sweet, being concerned for the unfortunate events the gardener had to go through today.
“He’s gone. He’s just relieved his kid’s no murderer, ya know? Speaking of which, where we at?”
Severo straightens in his chair and spreads out the files before us. “It’s all yours, Agent David.” He lays the photos across the table for viewing. “Cain wants you assessing something scandalous, so I guess this is your lucky day.”
I peer at the remains of the scene, captured on film, then look to Severo, knowing this is his case. Cain warned me to be mindful of the turf war, so I have to ask. “You really don’t mind if I look?”
“Knock yourself out. Captain Delaney doesn’t mind me sharing, and it’s all right by me. I’m going to call the lab and see if any results have come in to verify these two scenes match up.”
As I watch the detective pass through the door, Cain fills me in on the process. “Severo’s got them looking at the bits of stone found on the body, to make sure it does come from the crematorium. It doesn’t look like we’ll get much other trace from that scene, which tells us what, kiddo?”
“The doer knew what he was doing.”
“Right. Which doesn’t always make it easy, but it most certainly makes it interesting,” he says, before slurping coffee from his mug. Cain dabs at his chin with his cuffed sleeve and then glances at me. “You hurt?”
“Excuse me?”
“From that little chase out there with the gardener’s kid. You got a bit of a bruise coming through,” he says softly, placing the edge of his thumb against my chin, right where the kid landed an uppercut. “You know Severo was only trying to do right, out there. Don’t be mad he tried to save your ass.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”
“Like I said, you can’t be making enemies around here, so lighten up a little and try to warm up to the detective. He’s a good guy with a good heart. He may seem like a horse’s ass some days, but he’s a team player. Give him a chance, Angie.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, taking in my first scolding.
“I hope so. Now, tell me what you see.” Cain pushes aside his mug, making room to spread out the crime scene photos.
Inspecting them closely, I try to look beyond the obvious and open my mind to discovery. I realize Cain wants me to find my own way, which I appreciate. It’s nice to have the opportunity to work with a reputable profiler, but it’s even better when that person really accepts his position as mentor and doesn’t incessantly impose his own theories. Guess I got lucky being matched up with Cain.
“Come on,” he urges, tapping the photos. “What does Killarney’s body tell you?”
I edge off of my seat to get closer to Cain as we review the black-and-whites. “He’s burned.”
“Look harder.”
Cain slides a close-up of Matthias Killarney directly in front of me. I take in the details and am a little surprised. “His foot. It kind of looks like a stab wound.”
“Now what would Killarney be doing with a stab wound?”
In the center of the victim’s right foot is a delicate slice, easily made by a pocketknife or other small weapon. It’s barely noticeable in the photo, but definitely strange.
“The killer messed up?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Cain retorts.
“I’m not sure,” I say, which is true. It seems strange that the killer would make a superficial cut on the victim’s foot. If he was burning the man to death, why bother?
As