by P. D. Martin
“Why don’t you take that Australian one, give you a taste of home,” Sam comes to my rescue again.
How could I forget that Hunter was doing a profile for the West Australian police? “Sounds good.”
“So what have we got left?” Rivers says, checking his notes. “There’s the rapist in Miami. Marco, why don’t you take that one. And the global credit-card scam.” Rivers looks over his glasses and sweeps his eyes around the room. “Actually, you can finish the profile for that one this week, Hunter, and then pass it over to Wright for follow-up. And we’ve got those hate crimes in Pennsylvania… Silvers, you take that one. Hunter, I want a list of your other cases and recommendations for reassignment by the end of the day.”
“No problem, sir.”
“Well, that’s it, folks. Let’s get back to work. I’ll come and see you all individually about Hunter’s cases.”
Sam and I are already standing, ready to go, when Rivers speaks again.
“Oh, and we’ll have a send-off for Hunter on Friday night.”
Sam and I are first out the door. “What time did you get home?” she whispers. We keep walking, moving away from the other agents.
“I left about thirty minutes after you.”
“You look wrecked, girl.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t get much sleep.” I think about the dream again, and the elements replay themselves more vividly. The dead girl with a tattoo, some sort of a Celtic symbol perhaps, and a woman walking by herself in a parking lot. Then I was running.
I dismiss the dream; after all, I often dream of death and stalking. An occupational hazard, I guess.
Sam brings me back to the world of the living.
“No sleep? Any particular reason?” She has a cheeky look on her face.
“No.” I know what she’s hinting at and head her off at the pass. “It’s strictly professional between me and Marco,” I say, making sure no one’s in earshot.
“Maybe for the moment, honey. But he knows how to work the ladies.”
“Well, that’s a good reason to stay away, isn’t it.”
“He just hasn’t met the right woman yet. Someone like you?”
“But what about Matt?”
“Matt? What about him?”
“It doesn’t feel right yet.”
“Honey, you told me it was over with him.”
“Yeah, it is. We agreed we wouldn’t try the long-distance thing. So it’s over.”
“Well, start acting like it. You left Matt back in Australia seven months ago. At this rate, you’re heading for the nunnery.”
I have to admit, celibacy is getting a bit hard to handle.
Sam doesn’t let up. “You’re single, gorgeous and successful. You can have anyone.”
But it’s not that simple. Sam could have anyone. And I mean anyone. But me? Besides, how do you let go of seven years of your life?
I smile and change the subject. “So, will Hunter be happy? Pissed?”
“We’re all half expecting it at the moment. Who knows who’ll be next.”
“Surely they can’t reassign anyone else.” I can’t take any more cases.
“Let’s hope not. Things are going to get pretty hectic here.”
“They already are.”
“It’ll get worse.”
I bite my lip, guilty. Rivers has put me on a pedestal and I don’t think I deserve to be there. I might get one or two things the other profilers don’t but it takes me a lot longer.
We arrive at my office and I open the door.
Sam keeps walking down the corridor and then stops and turns around. “I might actually get your opinion on that D.C. case. Maybe tonight after work?”
“Sure.” I find it hard to say no, despite my caseload. Besides, it’s Sam. I’d do anything for Sam. She waves and disappears round the corner.
In my office I flick through the files on my desk, looking for the girl that’s haunting me. I must have seen her somewhere, but where? Fifteen minutes later I give up. I’ve been through every file and my recently tidied desk is a mess again. I put Hunter’s West Australian case at the top of my pile. Even though I’ve never been to W.A., it still makes me think about home. The past seven months have gone quickly, but I still miss Australia.
A few hours and a quick lunch break later I hit send on an e-mail to Detective Peter O’Leary, the homicide cop in charge of the W.A. case. One down, forty to go. I move the W.A. file from my “to do” tray to my “follow up” tray. I’ll give O’Leary four weeks before I contact him to see if there’ve been any more murders or any breaks. I print out a copy of the profile and place it in the file. The profile should give O’Leary something.
I’ve got an hour and a half before I’m due to meet Sam in the gym. I take my phone off divert and check my messages. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. It’s a good time to do some follow-ups. I look through some of the crimes I profiled before I went on the Henley case, and spend the next hour and a half talking to cops about any developments. After each call I add updates to the files. Two cases have been solved, so I request more documentation from the cops so I can close off the files.
It’s just past six-thirty when I hurry down to the gym and into the locker room. I tie up my sneakers and Sam walks in. She looks stressed.
“Hard day at the office?”
“You bet, honey,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“What’s up?”
“The D.C. case. There’s something not quite right about it.”
“That’s our dinner-date conversation, remember? Let’s concentrate on exhausting ourselves first.”
“Deal. I’ll see you out there.”
The gym’s busy, with about twenty guys and only two other women there. One of the women is Dr. Amanda Rosen, the departmental psychologist. She, Sam and I often work out together, and occasionally Amanda joins us if we catch a movie or a bite to eat after the gym. I’m sure she’d socialize with us more if it weren’t for the fact that she has to do our six-monthly psych evaluations. I don’t think she wants to get too friendly.
I recognize the other woman from forensics, but I haven’t worked with her yet and don’t even know her name. I make a mental note to get Marty to introduce me.
Amanda sees me and smiles. I smile back then begin stretching. I jump on the treadmill. The rhythmic motion and sound of my feet hitting the tread sweep over me, and I let the day’s thoughts wash away.
I used to go for the wrong sort of girl. I’d pick the dumb ones because I thought they’d be easier. Which they are, of course. But I’ve refined my art and skills and moved up in the world over the years. Now I like the smart ones. The harder ones. Sometimes I even consider going for the fancy ones…the women who live in the lap of luxury with their designer clothes, six-figure incomes and think they’re untouchable. But that’s the nice thing about my calling—no one is untouchable. I can have anyone I want. And sometimes I enjoy just that, picking the hardest prey and watching the cops chasing their tails. Idiots! That’s partly why I moved here. For the challenge. I’m right under their noses. I wonder what they’ll make of me?
I’m sick of being the nameless, faceless person who never gets any recognition. If only they knew how smart I was, what I’m truly capable of…maybe then they’d see me.
I’ve picked the next special girl. To her I’m just one of the millions living in this city. But soon she’ll know me. Soon, they’ll all know me.
CHAPTER 04
I pull the cork out of a bottle of Australian shiraz from my small collection and Sam opens the pizza box. We’ve gone for marinara on a thin crust with extra cheese. She pulls a piece upward, stretching the mozzarella until the piece finally detaches from the rest of the pizza.
She takes a hearty bite and says through her mouthful, “Damn, your pizza shop’s good.”
“Thank God we got our workout in,” I say, taking a bite and pouring wine at the same time.
I place Sam’s glass in front of her and hold mine up. “Cheers.”
“What are we toasting to?” she asks, picking up her glass.
“Who knows…good health?”
“As good a toast as any.”
We clink glasses and both take a sip.
“Good wine, girl.”
“It’s an Australian shiraz. What do you expect?”
“Not biased, are we?”
“Well, maybe a bit.
We finish our first slice of pizza in silence, concentrating on filling the holes in our stomachs. We both take another piece.
“So, Sam…”
She looks up at me, midbite.
“Marco’s had lots of women?”
“Finally!”
“What?”
“You’ve been feigning lack of interest for months and finally you’ve realized you’re into him…and boy is he into you.”
“I don’t know about that…”
“’Course you do.”
I smile. Maybe I do. I’ve never told Sam about the night Marco and I nearly kissed. “So, the question?”
“Not that I know the man’s every move, but I’ve worked with him for the past year and he’s dated a few women. That I know of.”
“Yeah, and for every one you know of there’s probably another one or two you don’t.”
“Possibly. He’s a good-looking man.”
I smile, picturing Marco. Even the standard FBI dark suit can’t hide his physique, which, I must say, is pretty close to my idea of perfect. Marco is six feet tall, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. His upper body is complemented by a muscular torso and long, strong legs. His ass looks pretty good too. His hair is dark brown and short, the standard Bureau cut, and his facial features are broad, with a well-pronounced jawline. It gives him the classic, masculine chiseled look. You can see his Italian heritage in his coloring, especially his slightly tanned skin and rich, intense brown eyes. His one imperfection, a scar that runs across one eyebrow, only adds to his sex appeal. He’s good-looking all right. I don’t usually go for them that good-looking.
“Have you ever?” I say.
“Me? Marco? No. He’s a good guy, but not my type.” Sam takes her third slice of pizza. “Dig in, girl, before I eat it all.” She takes a mouthful and follows it with a large sip of wine. “Marco’s too serious for me. But he’s right for you.”
“I didn’t know matchmaking was one of your talents.” I hold my wineglass to my lips and give her a cheeky smile before taking a sip.
“I’ll have you know, I’ve introduced two married couples to one another.”
“Really?” I’m genuinely impressed.
“Sure. And my money’s on you and Marco.”
I laugh. “Are you taking bets?”
“I can if you want. We could run a pool in the unit. Take bets on when your first kiss will be.”
“That’d be terrific,” I say and roll my eyes.
“Just say the word.” She takes another mouthful. “Look, as far as I know, they were just dates. It doesn’t mean he sleeps around or is only after one thing.”
“They’re all after that.”
“Well, yes. But some of them realize that a good woman isn’t about conquest.”
It’s true. At least I have to hope so.
“But we work together,” I continue. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
“It’s not ideal. But if the spark is there, it’s there.”
Sam’s right.
“And you wouldn’t be breaking any rules, or anything,” she adds.
“No?”
“The official line is that it’s okay for agents to date one another.”
“That’s good to know.”
“But you would get flack from other agents. In fact, the Bureau’s even coined a term just for FBI couples.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. If you and Marco get together, you’ll both be called double agents.” She pauses. “You’d make a good double.” She laughs.
“Gee, thanks.”
I take the last piece of pizza.
Sam gets rid of the box. “Shit, it’s nine o’clock. We better get started.”
She spreads the contents of the D.C. file over my dining-room table while I move the plates and bottle onto the counter. I refill our wineglasses and hand Sam hers. As soon as I see the photos I freeze.
“What’s up?” she says.
“I…I’ve seen this girl before.” I hurriedly put down my wineglass and pick up the photo of the first D.C. murder victim. It’s the girl whose face I saw in my dream. But I don’t mention this to Sam. Instead, I rationalize to her, and to myself. “I must have seen this file before.”
“From Hunter?”
“I guess so.” I need time alone to think about this. Images of a case I’m not even working on?
Sam studies my face. “Are you all right, Soph?”
“I’m fine. I was just surprised to see the girl. Like I said, I must have seen the file before, that’s all.”
But I haven’t seen the damn file.
Sam is less than convinced, but I turn away and move toward the window. A cold shiver runs down my spine as I go to close the curtains. For an instant I think I see someone standing across the road looking up at my window. But when I look again, no one’s there. I close the curtains and return to Sam.
“So, let’s look at this case,” I say, forcing the unease I feel to the back of my mind.
We both stand over the table to get a better view of the photos. I take in all the details. The wounds, the body placement, everything, already starting to form an opinion. There have only been two victims so far. I pick up all the photos of the girl I recognize and look for the marking on her thigh. But it’s not there. She has knife wounds surrounding the area, but no tattoo. I sink into a chair. I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing that the tatt’s not there.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Sam puts her hand on my shoulder, worried.
“Mmm? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about another case,” I lie.
Sam looks at me oddly.
I push the confusion away, focusing on the case. “You’ve got my undivided attention. Are Flynn and Jones on the case?”
“Yeah, they took it over as soon as the Henley case closed.”
“They’re good cops. Good guys.”
Sam starts taking me through the case. She’s reading from her own notepad, and the original files lie on one end of the table. It’s the usual assortment—the coroner’s report, police reports covering the crime scene and detailed information about the victims. Profiling is a four-step process—analyzing the profiling inputs, reviewing decision models, an assessment of the crime and then drafting the profile itself.
We start with five major profiling inputs—the crime scene, the victimology, forensic information, the preliminary police report and the all-important photos.
At the crime scene we study the physical evidence, including weapons, body positioning, and any other patterns that may be visible. Next we look at the victimology to get an insight into the victim. By getting to know the victim, we can understand the perpetrator. We consider a victim’s age, occupation, background, habits, when she was last seen and so on. The forensic information includes time and cause of death, wounds, sexual acts (pre-and postmortem), the autopsy report and lab reports on blood splatter, fibers and so on. These four things combine with the prelim police report—which gives us information about who reported the crime, anything the cops on the scene noticed, and also covers background on the neighborhood—to give us a better understanding of the crime.
Next we look at a variety of decision-process models, including homicide type and style, primary intent (for example, was the primary intent robbery or murder?), victim risk (high, moderate or low, for example, prostitutes are in the high-risk category because they’re accessible and vulnerable by the nature of their work), offender risk (did the offen
der take risks during the crime?), time required for the crime, and information about the location. We also look for signs of escalation—does it look like our criminal will become more violent, repeat the offense or intensify his activities from, say, kidnapping to murder?
The third step is crime assessment. During this stage we reconstruct the crime to determine how things happened and how people behaved, focusing on the interaction between the victim and perp. We classify the type of crime and look at any staging elements that may be present, like a staged robbery, and we also look at possible motivations and the crime-scene dynamics, such as cause of death, location of wounds and crime-scene location.
From here we generate the criminal profile itself. In reality, though, the first three steps are often blended together rather than looked at in isolation.
“Okay, so this was the first one.” Sam picks up a photo of my girl. In this photo she’s alive and well, smiling for the camera. “Jean Davis. She was killed five months ago. Twenty-eight years old, worked as a producer’s assistant at WX40TV. A real career gal, by all accounts. Very friendly and outgoing.”
I pore over the other photos of Jean. The crime-scene ones. Her body is in the back seat of a car—where I can’t tell, although the area looks quite remote. She lies slightly turned, with her knees resting to one side and both arms raised to about forty-five degrees on either side of her body. Her head is turned, eyes open. Just like she was in my dream. The body positioning reminds me of a back exercise, except her head faces the same way as her knees instead of vice versa. Her body is messy, with multiple knife wounds. Most wounds are quite long, indicating the killer pulled the knife across her body rather than stabbing inward. Unusual. There are several large cuts across her abdomen and breasts, ranging between four and ten inches in length. Most of the cuts had formed scabs before her death, except one smaller cut just above her belly button and two deeper cuts on her left breast. Her throat also contains several older, shallower cuts. Similar cuts are on her upper arms and upper legs, with a heavy concentration on her thighs, in line with her crotch. There are five or six cuts that are obviously newer, quite fresh at the time of death. There must have been a lot of blood during the time he had her.