The Profiler. Lori May A.
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to visit her, though I’m glad I at least got it out of the way. My duty, as the daughter of the man she loved, is now fulfilled. There will be no need to visit her again anytime soon.
With my focus returning to the task at hand, I shorten the distance between me and Severo, but maintain a six-foot separation. I notice the detective is not dressed formally, but has casual gear on—cargos and a light sports jacket. Not a bad rear view, either.
As we hike down the slope, I see Cain hanging out by a decaying water fountain, grumbling some sort of vulgarity about the scene, but I’m not yet sure what the issue is.
I can’t see much of anything in the glaring sunshine streaming through the leafless trees and shrubbery of this landscaped yard. “I’m here. What’s the deal?”
“Looks like this is it, Angie. The scene where our spiritual advisor guy got barbecued.”
Detective Severo leans against a concrete statue of Christ and gives me more to work with. “The landscaper thought something smelled a little funky when he was taking care of the courtyard this morning. When he saw the lock on the tomb had been busted, I got called in to check it out. Since Cain wants you to see the forensic reports on Killarney, I figured I’d go one step further and invite you to the point of origin.”
He gestures to the west and I follow his movement to see where the rest of his team is working. Beyond the footpath, there’s a door propped open in the earthen bank, accessing an underground staircase.
“They used to use it for cremation, so it’s fireproof down there. Now, though, it acts as a sightseeing highlight.” Severo hands me a tattered brochure outlining the tourist attractions of this 120-year-old masterpiece. “Seems kind of grotesque, but hey, whadda I know?”
The promotional pamphlet describes the former methods of burial and gives detailed explanations of cremation history. Like I need to see the accompanying photos.
“Anyways,” Severo adds, “the place has been used recently, and that’s what set off Mr. Dunbar.”
“The groundskeeper?”
“He prefers landscape technician,” Cain says with a smug chuckle. “Gardener’s more like it.”
As Severo leads us along the path, Cain takes on a more serious tone, prepping me for the scene. “Now, Angie, you’re going to see some pretty freaky shit out in the field, so go easy and take it one step at a time. It’ll take some getting used to. But NCAVC doesn’t accept just anybody, ya know. The only way to get quality field experience is to get tangled right up in its disgusting face, okay?”
Cain’s got a point. Since I was placed at the Virginia field office for only a few months—until Cain agreed to work with me, allowing for my placement in New York—there was little opportunity to get anything solid accomplished. In order for NCAVC to take me on as a candidate for the profiling program, I need to do a lot more in these next few years with my mentor to attract their attention. That’s why I agreed to work with the well-respected, though sometimes socially dysfunctional, Special Agent Marcus Cain.
“So is NYPD handing this one over?”
Severo looks at me as though I’ve just threatened his life. “I wouldn’t get too excited, Agent. I’m just doing Cain a favor. Ran it by my captain, and he didn’t have any problems with me bringing Cain along. Who knows, I might even learn a thing or two from the old master.”
My gaze narrows on Severo’s deep-set eyes. Amid the late autumn landscape and the increasingly cool breeze, this hotshot looks fearless. Which makes me very curious as to who he is.
“Why would you bother doing this for Cain?”
I notice my mentor has moved on down the path, and I don’t feel my question will bring any immediate falsity.
“We have a history, having worked together on a multiunit task force. He’s a good guy. He wants to find something juicy where you can get some field experience, so why should I argue? What the hell? Maybe he knows a thing or two about God.”
“I highly doubt it.” Cain just doesn’t seem the type to know anything more than a few variations of blasphemy. “But what about you, Detective? Are you not a God-fearing man?”
Severo nearly spits when he says, “Phsts! Yeah, right. I go to church on Sundays and pray every night.”
As he continues toward the scene, I follow at his side and offer a few words of advice. “Well, maybe you should. From what I can tell, you’re no angel.”
He turns his face to the side, and just the corner of his lips curl before he comes back at me. “And you are?”
“Hey!”
Detective Severo and I both turn our attention to Cain, who appears bored and bent with frustration.
“Can we please get on with this? I’d like to retire soon.”
A genuine laugh escapes Severo for the first time and it surprises me a little. They say you can judge people by their laughter, and if that’s the case, my guess is Severo has a softer side I haven’t yet seen.
Yet? Hell, I doubt I ever will. Not with that chip on his shoulder protecting him from evil.
Cain’s hollering about picking up the slack, and Severo shouts, “Per l’amor di Dio!”
I laugh. “So you do believe in God?” I ask, eyeing him playfully.
Severo seems almost disappointed when he looks at me. “Oh, right, I forgot you understand Italian.”
“Among other things.” In my delivery there is a little bit of flirtation even I wasn’t expecting.
Cain mutters, “Christ almighty,” as we reach his side, before venturing down to the pit of the tomb. Even though he is referring to me and Severo, when I enter the burial site I feel like whispering blasphemies of my own.
“What is that smell?”
“Eh, didn’t I tell you?” Cain chuckles, handing me some gauze to cover my nose. “You should recognize it from the men’s mission, only it’s a bit more potent here. Burned human flesh, my dear. Ten times worse than animals, and all the more horrifying to look at.” At least with the body placed at a different scene I don’t have to deal with visuals and smell all in one take.
“The church once used this?” I can hardly believe it when I see the timeworn ruins. The place is like a catacomb, only scarier due to the knowledge of what this labyrinth of rooms was used for.
Inside the main chamber, there are countless burn marks on the broken concrete, and the stench seems more than a century old. A path winds on to smaller rooms under the earth, and even though this is New York City, I feel as though I’ve been transported through time to a more dark and sinister world. One that is consumed by death.
“Watch it. Ya don’t wanna compromise the scene, Angie,” Cain says, holding me behind the yellow tape. “You trying to make fast enemies with the CSU?”
I look on as the forensics team begins to separate trace evidence from useless material, and am amazed how decisive they are in their actions. To tell one piece of dirt from another and know for certain it is a crucial piece of evidence takes skill and dedication. Not to mention a great deal of patience.
“So this is where Matthias Killarney was killed?” I ask, wanting to know what connects the two scenes.
“It seems so, but we’ll find out for certain,” Cain says, pointing to the forensics experts. “They’ll take this stuff to the lab and once they’re on to something, we’ll have a look and see what we can do to get you some profiling experience, kiddo.”
I hate that he calls me that. Especially in front of Severo. I realize Cain has taken me under his wing, and for that I’m eternally grateful. But the last thing I want is some detective thinking I’m inferior.
I bring my focus back to this case, though,