The Profiler. Lori May A.
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plastic grocery bag slaps against my calf and alerts me to reality. As I unwrap the garbage from my leg, my cell phone rings and I focus on the present.
“David.”
“Angie,” Cain says in his age-worn voice. “Meet me at the men’s mission by St. Augustine’s. Have I got a body for you.”
Chapter 2
When the cabbie drops me off at the scene, Cain is standing outside the mission building with Detective Severo, who’s talking to a middle-aged woman. I wasn’t expecting to see him, and now that I do I’m curious as to why he’s here.
“Nice Thanksgiving?” he asks as I step up to the curb outside the mission.
I shrug my shoulders, not interested in small talk. “Fine,” I say. “Burned the turkey.” Regret for confessing my culinary taboo immediately follows. Severo doesn’t need to learn one of my flaws so easily, but it doesn’t seem to faze him much.
“How ironic,” he says, then lifts his cardboard takeout box of stale-looking nachos, offering me a sample.
Shaking my head, I step closer to Cain to see what’s going on.
“Angie, thanks for getting over here quick. This is the housekeeper for the mission.” I note her fearful eyes, desperate for answers to which I myself have no idea of questions. “She was checking on one of the resident spiritual advisors when she found him…. Hell, I’ll let you have a look for yourself.”
As I offer a meek smile to the lady, trying to provide comfort for something I don’t yet understand, I notice the many guests of the mission. People are lined up outside the building, food in their hands, protective of what is likely the best meal they’ve had all week—or longer.
The building itself is plain and camouflaged with its unassuming exterior, only now it looks like a disco with the strobe lights of emergency vehicles dancing across its concrete exterior in the darkening night.
We climb the narrow staircase to the upper level, and I take in the stink of kerosene mixed with something more potent.
Burned human flesh.
Inside the advisor’s room, dim in this evening light, I see the corpse propped upright in a wooden rocking chair.
One thing doesn’t make sense. The room has no fire damage.
“Matthias Killarney. Fifty-two. Caucasian. Dead.”
The monotone of Cain’s voice signals the beginning of a long shift and I step closer to the body, interested to understand. A few investigators are rounding up forensic evidence and I’m careful not to step across their boundaries.
“This is Severo’s deal,” Cain says to me as I lean closer to the man’s body, covering my nose and mouth with some gauze. “The detective and I were enjoying our own holiday feast of wings and nachos down at Dooly’s Pub when he got called on this one. He was kind enough to invite us over to check it out. You know, so you can get your feet good and stuck in the mud.”
“How considerate,” I mumble, wondering how much Cain had to argue to convince the detective to extend that invitation. But I keep my focus on the crime scene.
The man is sitting in a firm position, placed in the wooden chair as though he were a puppet. Rigor mortis has reached its full extent, making the victim’s posture as static and flexible as a brick. This condition can last anywhere from twelve to forty-eight hours, and may provide an estimated time of death for the crime scene unit and medical examiner.
At first glance, the room appears calm and untouched by any intruder, but trace will undoubtedly disprove that naive impression.
I step back from the body and pull the cloth from my face. Despite the stench, I need to breathe freely. “What do we know?”
Detective Severo flips open his notepad and runs through the time of discovery and a few comments from resident workers. “But most important, albeit obvious, this guy was set up here on display. We don’t know where the actual crime took place yet, just that he was brought back to his home and propped up for someone to find. Excuse me a moment,” he says, and I watch as he meets up with some of his teammates for a discussion.
Cain leads me back outside, letting Severo’s team do their job. “The medical examiner will provide clues as to the fire. Whether this guy died in a blaze or what.”
“Why would someone go through all that trouble?” I lean on a tree and watch as the detective makes his way to meet us outside. I look from him to Cain, realizing in some ways the two men are complete opposites, yet by some arguments they are one and the same.
Cain’s hunched body, beaten with years and the streets, is deceiving. His appearance may be worn, but the profiler is like wine, only getting better with age. His exterior belies the solid, analytical man inside. His reputation alone…well, it’s enough to make a rookie agent like me drool with envy.
Though Severo is much younger, Cain obviously has respect for him, so there must be worlds of experience beyond his facade.
Cain lights up a cigarette and peers at me with narrowed eyes. “You’d be surprised, kid. And that’s for you to figure out, my little profiler in training.”
“But burning this man, and then bringing him back here—especially seeing how this is a busy place this time of year—it’s like he wanted to make a point. Why not just leave him at the original scene?” As I speak aloud, I find myself running the events through my mind, trying to make sense of them.
“The housekeeper says the last time anyone saw Killarney was yesterday afternoon. Wednesday,” Severo interjects. “But anything could have happened overnight, when only resident staff are around and likely asleep. But, yeah, seems risky.”
Before much silence has passed, Cain turns toward his car and motions for me to join him. “Come on, Angie. We’ll let the detective do his job here. And Severo—you know where to find us. If you don’t mind, once your CSU team cleans the place I’d like to give Angie here a chance to mull over the findings.”
I slide into Cain’s passenger seat and look back at Severo, who peers at me suspiciously before walking back to the mission.
“You know Detective Severo well?”
As we drive along the dimly lit street, spotted with decorations in preparation for the holiday season, I try to look occupied with my seat belt so Cain doesn’t get any funny ideas as to my inquiry.
“Severo? Shit, we’ve had our moments.”
He pulls up to a street corner deli cart, hops out to retrieve two extra-large coffees, then shuffles back to his seat before starting out on the road. I hold the takeout cups as Cain slides his seat belt over his chest.
“Ah, he’s a pain in the ass sometimes. His bark is worse than his growl, though, that’s for sure.” I hand Cain a steamy cup to balance while driving. “Thing is, kid, working in this city is like fighting for your corner of the playground, ya know? Everyone has their turf and no one likes sharing the dirt. You better get used to that, and quick, too. Best advice I can give you is don’t piss anyone off unless you have good reason.”
“Nice,” I say, vowing to remember that bit of insider knowledge. Quantico was definitely competitive, but Cain is making NYC sound like a battlefield.
“Don’t get me wrong, Angie. The guy knows his stuff and he’s a pro on the job, no argument there. He’s a good guy to let loose and sling back a few beers with, too.” Cain leans his head in my direction and briefly lifts his brows, then returns his focus to the road. “But his noggin… He got messed up by a dame and I think it’s got him all in a bunch, you know?”
I nod and sip my coffee. Almost a week in his presence and the guy can’t remember that I take cream, so the black liquid is a little harsh to the palate. As I swish the beverage in my mouth, letting it cool before swallowing, I try to imagine Severo in a relationship. Just