Sinnerman

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  He held his pointer finger up in the air.

  “Ah, but you do know, don’t you? Something compelled you to call me,” he said. “I can hear it in your voice now as you talk to me. What was it?”

  From the sound of it, I wasn’t going to get away with evading his questions for long, but there wasn’t a level of comfort required for me to open up and spill it all out either. The shield to my circle of trust was up, and he was on the outside.

  “I was thinking about the first time we met several months ago,” I said.

  “I remember it well,” he said. “That was the day you accused me of murdering that poor excuse for a man who used my sister’s body as part of his daily workout routine.”

  “And I still think so.”

  That did it. In a moment of haste I’d spoken about the suspicions I had about him over the past several months. The words gushed out of my mouth too fast for me to do anything, like they often did, and now they clung in the air between us like a leaf desperate to stay welded to the branch of a tree.

  His eyebrow lifted.

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  “You say what’s on your mind, and I respect that,” he said. “It’s an admirable quality in a woman such as yourself.”

  “When I asked about your involvement, you didn’t deny it.”

  “I never admitted it either,” he said. “Don’t you agree that the women of the world are better off without him? Who knows how many more women he would have abused?”

  We both sat for a minute, and neither of us said a word. We just drove. Destination: unknown.

  After a few minutes of silence he said, “Where does that leave us?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “Don’t you?” he said.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “You checked into my background right after we first met,” he said. “I would say you know quite a bit.”

  The man didn’t miss a beat. I thought about asking him how he knew, but then we’d be back to going in circles again. It was unusual. For some reason our exchange made me feel like I was the one being interrogated, instead of the other way around, and in that moment, the tables had been turned—on me.

  I glanced in the side mirror at the car a short distance behind that had mimicked Giovanni’s every move. It had been that way for the past two miles or so.

  Giovanni looked over at me and then in his rear view mirror.

  “Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They’re with me.”

  “They were around the last time we spoke as well. What are they, some sort of protection?”

  “You could say that,” he said.

  “Are you always this elusive?”

  He laughed.

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I have eyes and ears everywhere. I make it a point to know what I need to know when I need to know it.”

  In a way, he’d answered my question, but in another way, he hadn’t answered it at all.

  “Talk to me about this case,” he said, “about Sinnerman. I want to know all about him.”

  “I’m not sure why you’re interested,” I said.

  His face looked stern, but he didn’t seem dismayed by my comment.

  “Let me ask you something—do you believe I can help you?” he said. “Is that why you called me?”

  I thought about it for a moment, but it wasn’t necessary for me to answer. From the first moment I’d laid eyes on him when we met, I knew he was a force to be reckoned with, a man in some kind of powerful position. My gut instinct gave me a good idea of what that was, but I didn’t want to believe it. I took a deep breath in and when I exhaled, out came the entire backstory of my sister, Sinnerman, the latest slayings of more innocent women—all of it.

  When I finished he said, “What is it you would like me to do?”

  It was the moment of truth.

  “I hoped you could help me nail the son of a bitch.”

  “And when I do—what then?”

  “You’re very sure of yourself,” I said. “No one got anywhere close to figuring out who this guy was last time. He knows what he’s doing.” “So do I, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  Inside my head the question had already been answered, a hundred times over—maybe more. But to say it out loud? I wasn’t sure I could do it. My job had always been to bring people to justice, find the bad guy and let the cops do the rest. But this was different—it was personal, and now I didn’t just have sympathy for all the families of victims whose lives had been lost for no reason, I had empathy. And empathy wanted a lot more than a lifetime in prison. Empathy wanted revenge.

  I’d been so caught up inside myself I hadn’t noticed my finger and the incessant tap dance it was doing on the armrest of the car door. Giovanni took notice and placed his hand on my shoulder. It stopped me right in my tracks.

  “Leave everything to me,” he said.

  “But you don’t even know me. Why would you—”

  “I learned all I needed to the first time we met. There’s something different about you, Sloane Monroe. You have a drive that most people never possess, and you’re selfless. What you did for my sister proved that, and I am in your debt.”

  “Honestly, you don’t owe me anything. I don’t view it like that, I never have.”

  “Then try to see it from a different perspective,” he said. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

  Giovanni turned and parked in front of the police station.

  “Why are we—”

  He didn’t respond. He exited the car and came around to my side and opened the door for me. It felt weird. The last time anyone had grabbed the door for me was on the night of my senior prom, and he only did it because he had one thing in mind at the time, and it wasn’t dancing.

  Giovanni stretched out his hand to me.

  “Come with me,” he said. “It’s about to get interesting.”

  CHAPTER 19

  All eyes were on the two of us when we walked through the station doors. Nick’s in particular. I felt like the main event at the Circus, the one the audience waited all night to see. Nick leaned over the side of his cubicle and stared Giovanni down like a lion sizing up his opponent before they battled to determine who would be the one true king. Giovanni didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he didn’t really care.

  The chief was in a glass-enclosed room off to the side with a few other people. He stood when he saw me and opened the door.

  “Sloane, in here,” he said.

  I walked past Nick’s desk and couldn’t hide the smirk I was sure I had on my face. It felt good to be a part of the “in crowd.” I entered the room with Giovanni, and we took a seat. The chief looked at both of us and didn’t seem the least bit concerned about who Giovanni was or why he was there.

  “Sloane, this is Special Agent Luciana,” the chief said with his thumb bent toward a man in a navy suit that I’d never seen before in my life.

  If I had a drink I was sure I would have choked on it.

  “Did you say Luciana?” I said.

  The man stood and exchanged glances with Giovanni. They smiled at one another like they were part of a covert society, and I waited for a secret handshake to take place. When it didn’t, he turned his attention to me.

  “Special Agent Carlo Luciana. And you must be Miss Monroe.”

  I took his hand and shook it. It was cold, but firm.

  “It’s Sloane,” I said.

  “I hear your grandfather used to be in the FBI.”

  “He did,” I said. “He was a good man.”

  “You look confused,” Agent Luciana said. “Let me explain.”

  I was, but not just about why he was there.

  “Effective immediately, my team is taking over this case,” he said. “I have a group of other agents I’ve brought along to assist me, and we will work together with everyone here
until Sinnerman is caught and put away for the rest of his life. I want this to be a team effort with your chief and myself exchanging information. My hope is that the process will run in a cohesive manner.”

  “I’m a PI,” I said. “I don’t work for the department so I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this.”

  “I understand our serial has been in contact with you—left notes, and that sort of thing.”

  I nodded.

  “Have you heard from him since your birthday party?” he said.

  I shook my head. Giovanni slanted his eyes at me but didn’t utter a word or change the relaxed expression on his face. Was it possible he knew about the note I’d found earlier that day?

  Agent Luciana continued.

  “I understand your sister was the last of his first series of victims a few years ago,” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you,” he said.

  “It won’t be once he’s stopped.”

  “Trust me when I say that we will do everything we can to do just that.”

  Agent Luciana looked at the chief.

  “I’d like to have a few minutes with Sloane alone,” he said.

  The chief nodded and he and Giovanni exited the room.

  Once the door closed, I turned toward him.

  “You said your last name was Luciana,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “I assume when Giovanni picked me up, that was your doing?” I said.

  “I needed to speak with you, yes.”

  “And the two of you are somehow related?” I said.

  “I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions, Miss Monroe.”

  He sounded just like Giovanni, the way he spoke to me in his calm, collected tone of voice, and in the manner that he constructed his comments. And his eyes, while softer than Giovanni’s, had the same dark sheen to them. I was convinced they were connected somehow.

  “I have a right to know what’s going on here,” I said, “and if you want me to answer your—”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “No need for you to get all worked up. Giovanni is my brother.”

  I should have been shocked by this, but I wasn’t.

  “And is he—”

  “FBI?”

  I nodded. Carlo shook his head and placed his hand over his mouth like he was trying to resist the urge to laugh.

  “Why is he here then?” I said.

  Carlo smiled and folded his arms and rested them on the table in front of me. He took his time before he replied.

  “Let’s just say he has a vested interest in this case and leave it at that. Now to my questions for you….”

  Meaning me? I couldn’t think of any other reason he’d be there. I wanted to continue our back and forth banter until I had more answers, but somehow I already knew I wouldn’t get much more out of him, and he looked like he’d said too much already.

  “What do you want to know?” I said.

  “Everything, but let’s start with your sister.”

  I relayed the information about Gabby, most of which I was sure he had already been briefed on by someone else. When I finished, he nodded and said, “Tell me how you came to be the center of Sinnerman’s affections.”

  This, too, I was sure he knew, but I humored him with what had gone on over the past week since the murders started up again.

  “He seems quite taken with you,” he said. “How do you feel about that?”

  “If it helps us catch him, I’m fine with it.”

  He moved his hand across the desk and grabbed a file folder and placed it in front of him and opened it. My name was typed in bold letters in the center across the top. I couldn’t read what was below, but it was apparent it was a file about certain moments in my life.

  “How long have you been a PI?” he said.

  “Is that some kind of profile on me?”

  “It’s just a little information to help me get to know you better,” he said.

  Why?

  “This Sinnerman—the killer, is neat, wouldn’t you say?”

  I nodded.

  “And careful,” he said. “To the degree that he’s never left behind a print or any type of evidence that would give us any clues to his identity. And then you come into the picture and all of the sudden he takes risks. Why do you think that is?”

  “He wrote Coop.”

  “But the letters to Detective Cooper a few years back weren’t like the ones he writes you—they’re more personal, intimate.”

  “The cops have always focused on the women. They interview their families, look into their background…that’s what they did last time, and it’s no different now. The women were random. Wrong place, wrong time. It’s not like he has any rhyme or reason about who he chooses beyond their age and hair color. Without evidence on Sinnerman, he’s been impossible to find so I understand why everyone wants to shift their attention to the women. They’re the next best thing. But I believe it will lead to the same place it always has—nowhere.”

  “What would you suggest?” he said.

  I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward in my chair and looked him right in the eye.

  “Forget the women. Focus on Sinnerman and you’ll find him.”

  “Do you want to know what I think, Miss Monroe?”

  I shrugged.

  “I think you are the key to whether or not we find him, and that the steps we need to take all begin and end with you,” he said.

  Before I could respond the office door opened and Rose poked her head in.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but the sketch that woman from the park gave us is finished.” Rose looked over at Agent Luciana. “I thought you might like to know.”

  She then turned and closed the door. He stood up and walked toward the door. I remained seated.

  “You coming?” he said.

  I tried my best not to hide my surprise.

  “You want me in there with everyone else?”

  “Like I said before, there’s a reason our killer is corresponding with you,” he said, “and I intend to keep you close while I prove that theory.”

  “I already have a shadow,” I said.

  He shook his head.

  “Not anymore.”

  I’d started to grow fond of Taye Diggs. In the short time I’d known him, I liked having him around. I wasn’t ready to see him go—not yet.

  “What do you mean by that?” I said.

  “I’ve already assigned some of my men to you.”

  “More than one? When will I get to meet them?” I said.

  “I don’t believe that’s necessary. If they do what they’re supposed to, you won’t even know they’re around, but rest assured Miss Monroe—they will be. And then of course, you’ll also have Giovanni.”

  “Giovanni—why?” I said. “You said he wasn’t FBI so why would he stick around?”

  “Gio is the best protection anyone could ask for. You’d be safer with him than ten of my best men. Besides, it’s what he wants, and I can’t deny my brother’s request.”

  The fog in my head lifted, and I saw a clear picture of what I’d missed before. There was only room for one alpha male in the Luciana family, and Agent Carlo Luciana wasn’t it.

  CHAPTER 20

  Agent Luciana, the chief, Coop, and I stood in a room and ogled the rendering the sketch artist had come up with. It didn’t look much different than a sketch of every other perp in a hoodie that I’d seen. In fact, it was very unibomber-esque.

  Agent Luciana looked at me.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  Coop frowned. He didn’t approve of the fact that my opinion was the first one that was solicited. I smiled—wide.

  “I’m not sure how much help it will be,” I said. “This looks like most of the locals in this town.”

  He gave the sketch to the chief.

  “Get it to the papers,” Agent Luciana said. “No matter how
average it looks, it sends a message to the killer.”

  “Which is?” Coop said.

  “That he slipped up, and we know about it,” Carlo said. “It may not be much, but it’s a start. If we can rile him up, he might make a mistake again.”

  Through the office window I glanced at Giovanni when I thought he couldn’t see me. He was leaned up against the back of a desk with his arms folded. His eyes were centered on something, but I couldn’t see what from my vantage point. I leaned over a bit and realized it wasn’t a what, it was a who. Nick thrust the door open and aimed all his frustration in my direction.

  “What’s she doing in here?” he said. “I’m getting really tired of this.”

  He turned toward the chief who looked at Agent Luciana.

  “Can I help you with something?” Agent Luciana said.

  “Yeah, you can tell me why Sloane is in this room with you guys and I’m not. She has no business being here.”

  “That’s not for you to decide,” Agent Luciana said.

  “The hell it isn’t,” Nick said.

  Agent Luciana was unfazed by this. He looked at me and then Coop and the chief and without saying a word, we all knew what he wanted. The three of us left the room. Behind closed doors Agent Luciana and Nick went back and forth, voices raised.

  Giovanni caught my arm when I walked by.

  “Where are you off to?” he said.

  “That’s a good question. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I feel like I’ve been assigned a bunch of babysitters.”

  “I wouldn’t look at it like that,” he said. “You hungry?”

  I nodded. Food did sound good. It had been hours since I’d eaten anything.

  “Great,” he said. “I know just the place.”

  Nick stormed out of the office and headed straight for me.

  “Who’s this guy then?” he said with his thumb pointed in Giovanni’s direction. “First you strut in here with him like he’s your buddy ol’ pal, and now he’s taking you to dinner? You don’t waste any time.”

  “Nick, you don’t know what you’re—”

  “You know what, save it Sloane. It doesn’t matter.”

  Giovanni stepped forward and created a barrier between us.