“Another of my serial killer victims?” Kent asked.
Ruben had to force himself not to roll his eyes. The profiler was insufferable—however, Ruben did not want to lower himself to Kent’s level.
“It’s a dead woman, if that meets your criteria.”
“It depends,” Kent said, as all the recruits gathered around, hanging on the profiler’s every word. “Was she shy? Introverted? Single? Kept to herself?”
“We don’t even have an identity on her yet, so how could we possibly know all of that?” Ruben said, then regretted it immediately.
“I can,” Kent said, that spring in his step predicting that he was really going to be a pain in the ass today. “I’ll come along and show you.”
For joy.
* * *
Kent stepped out of Nicole’s Mustang, feeling every strain from the earlier fight. He was loath to admit that he was getting older, but damn. Twenty years ago, he could have whipped that little snot and not felt a thing. He would have run a half marathon afterward. Now? Now, his left knee throbbed and he could still feel the impact in his elbow from when he’d struck Yvent in the jaw.
Kent knew that he wouldn’t be playing racquetball any time soon, as he rotated his forearm around, wincing.
From Ruben’s black SUV, Yvent exited the passenger side door. Those two had been thick as thieves for weeks. Alas, people always gravitated to their skill level, even if they did not want to admit it.
“You should go easier on him,” Nicole said, joining him as they walked across the street to the empty lot with the yellow crime scene tape.
“Ruben?” Kent snorted. “I think he’s learned how to take one for the team.”
“No, I meant Yvent. He’s got talent, and he needs to spread his wings.”
Kent shook his head. “No, what he needs is to be taken down a notch or three. That boy’s arrogance is going to get him killed.”
“By you?” Nicole said with a smirk.
“Very funny, but no,” Kent replied. “Had Yvent gone up against any of the serial killers I have, that boy would be dead ten different ways. You’d then have to tell his body bag how gifted he was.”
“There’s got to be a way to get him ready for the real world without crushing his larynx.”
“Not that I’ve found,” Kent said as Nicole reached out her hand to stop traffic as they crossed the street. Soon, all four of them were at the crime scene tape.
The uniformed police officer got out his clipboard.
“Names and ranks,” he said. He was clearly in charge of the crime scene log.
“Seriously?” Kent retorted, and lifted the tape and ducked under it.
“Oh, sorry, Special Agent Harbinger,” the officer said. “No introduction necessary.”
* * *
Nicole could feel Ruben groan from the other side of Yvent. And this time she kind of agreed with her partner. Kent did not need any encouragement. His ego was out for a spin today, that was for sure.
“Detective Nicole Usher, fifth precinct,” Nicole informed the officer, then joined Kent on the crime side of the tape. There were very few bystanders, but it was early, and cold outside. Only a small television crew seemed to be taking interest, as they prepped to film some “B” roll.
Graffiti on the wall. Drug dealers on the corner. The kind of stuff that made everyone else in town feel safer. A hideous crime like this couldn’t have occurred in their nice neighborhood.
Nicole hated to tell everyone, though, that even from here she could tell this was a body dump. There just wasn’t enough blood here for it to be the primary crime scene. The killing could have taken place anywhere. Even the beloved suburbs.
“Knife wound,” Kent said. “Right beneath the armpit, straight into her pulmonary artery.”
“Then where’s all the blood?” Yvent asked as he joined them.
“Probably at the primary crime scene for all four victims.”
Ruben straightened to his full height as he shook his head. “We have absolutely nothing to suggest that the three murders over the past five months have anything to do with one another.”
“Go ahead, get it out of your system, Torres,” Kent said. “Prove me wrong.”
“The MOs of the killings are all over the place,” Ruben said “The first victim died of a rifle wound. The second from a handgun. The third from a hunting arrow, and now a knife wound.”
Kent just smirked. Nicole felt sorry for her partner. Ruben was in way over his head, yet he didn’t seem to realize it yet.
The profiler nodded to his protégé. “Yvent, why don’t you tell your friend here the evolving pattern that is linking them?”
“The cause of death is becoming more and more intimate,” Yvent answered. Nicole hadn’t thought of it that way before, but the kid was right. Something Kent had already figured out two murders ago, when he called these murders the product of a serialist’s work.
“So the FBI didn’t send me a complete moron,” Kent said. Nicole was pretty damned sure that was the closest thing to praise Kent had given since Yvent got here. “Also, he takes a trophy at each killing.”
“But a different one each time,” Ruben interjected. “A toe ring at the first murder. A lock of hair at the second. A one-square-inch patch of skin from under victim number three’s arm, and now it looks like he took the tip of her pinkie finger.”
Nicole felt sorry for Ruben. Even in arguing that these cases were not linked, he’d numbered the victims in the order that Kent predicted. This could only go one direction, and that was down.
Kent turned to Yvent. “Would you like to field this one?”
The profiler’s protégé shrugged. “Again, more and more intimate trophies from each murder, which have become more and more personal to the killer.”
Nicole stepped forward to stop Ruben from digging himself into an even deeper hole.
“But I thought that the first crime was always the most personal to the killer?”
“The most linked to the killer, yes,” Kent said. “Many times, that first victim was personally known to the killer. However, this guy is getting a taste for what he’s doing, and wanting a token that is more representative of the crime so that he can relive it with more accuracy.”
Yvent nodded. Like Kent needed any feedback. Yvent ventured into dark territory. Trying to think like Kent and, therefore, a serial killer. “Which is why this killer’s profile needs to be created almost backwards. His most recent killing is telling us the most about him, rather than the first.”
“Exactly,” Kent agreed.
“But so far, the women you have identified as this serial killer’s victims have absolutely nothing in common,” Ruben argued.
“Ah, but they have a type,” Kent said, nodding toward the body.
Nicole knew that it was her turn. Hopefully, she could do as well as Yvent, who was half her age. The kid did seem to have a knack for this stuff. Nicole studied the woman. “She dyes her hair, but the roots are at least a month old.”
“Yes,” Kent said, encouraging her. “But go deeper.”
“She’s wearing some makeup, but no foundation,” Nicole commented. Ruben looked frustrated as she continued. “That’s a Nordstrom business suit, but my guess is that we’ll find out she bought it at the discount store, Nordstrom Rack.”
Ruben snorted. “And how would you know that?”
“It’s last season’s style, yet the clothes look new. She purchased them recently, which means she got them from a clearance rack.”
“And the shoes,” Yvent said. “Nice, but not flashy. Studies show that the most accurate predictor of a woman’s personality is in her shoes.”
Was that true? Nicole looked down at hers. A set of comfortable, low-heeled, strapped mules. They looked nice, but you could run in them for blocks after a perp. She guessed Yvent was right. Fashionable, but practical. She’d take it.
“The rest of the victims are very similar. Fashion conscious, but on a budget. Minim
al makeup,” Kent explained. “All in professional, but low-key jobs. I’m sure this woman will fit the profile. An executive assistant, or receptionist at a law firm—something along those lines.”
Nicole looked down at the poor woman. She’d just been trying to get by. And here her frugality had gotten her killed. It was always like this, though, wasn’t it? The victim of a serial killer seldom deserved it.
At least Nicole could take comfort that they knew why the woman had died and, with any luck, they would be able to catch the killer to prevent more from dying. There probably wasn’t another cop or profiler who would have picked up this pattern at all, let alone so quickly.
“So we do have a serialist on our hands,” Yvent said, with a sense of wonder.
A small parking enforcement electric cart whizzed up to them. A young woman, looking of Pacific Rim descent, gave a broad smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Ruben.”
Nicole looked to Kent, but he just shrugged. Clearly, the profiler didn’t know what was going on either.
* * *
Ruben gulped and stepped forward. They’d been so busy with so many cases that he hadn’t exactly had time to tell Nicole of his current situation.
“Paggie, hello.” He couldn’t be rude to the meter maid, though.
The woman’s smile widened, showing her perfect teeth. “I was down the block and heard some handsome detective had shown up, so I could only assume it was you,” she teased. “My Prince Charming.”
How Ruben hated that nickname. And especially now. Kent was enjoying himself way too much, as he took a sip of hot chocolate from his cup. Even though his lips were busy, his eyes had a glint to them.
Paggie got out of her cart and came straight for Ruben. Under the scrutiny of the rest of the group, he opened his arms and accepted her into a hug. He did avert his mouth when she came in for a kiss, though, so that her lips landed on his cheek.
“Something wrong?” Paggie asked.
“No,” he gulped. “Not at all.”
“Seriously?” Kent said. “A meter maid? Are you just tempting fate, or what?”
Ruben tried to ignore the profiler. “Paggie, this is Nicole Usher, my partner.”
Paggie put her hand out and Nicole shook it. “No introduction needed. I would have recognized you just from your fingernail polish.”
“Really?” Nicole said her eyebrow shooting up. “Funny, because I don’t know anything about you.”
Instead of getting mad, Paggie patted Ruben on the chest. “He’s all worried what you guys will think. I know all about your last big case, Plain Jane. Trust me, I’m not Rebecca.”
Yvent asked, “Should I get her fingerprints?”
“Naw,” Kent said. “They’re already on file at the department.”
The profiler’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Ruben was going to pay for this later, he just knew it.
“So how long have you two been dating?” Nicole asked.
“A few weeks,” Ruben answered.
Paggie fake-punched him in the chest. “More like twelve weeks.”
“Twelve?” Nicole blurted, then seemed to regroup. “Well, that’s a long three months of lying to your partner.”
Nicole crossed her arms over her chest. Usually, that judgmental stance was reserved for Kent.
“I thought she knew, Rubi?” Paggie asked.
“Rubi?” Kent scoffed. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”
“No,” he said, pulling Paggie deeper into his arms. “I was just hoping to avoid this awkward moment.”
“No secrets?” Nicole said. “Remember that pact?”
“Really?” Ruben shot back. “Really? You’re going to try and take the high ground on this one, Nicole?”
“What have I lied to you about?” his partner retorted.
“Do we have time to list them all?” Ruben responded. “How many times have you snuck off with Kent, helping him do something illegal?”
“That’s different,” Nicole argued. “That’s for a case.”
“So ‘no secrets’ is just about me and my love life?” he countered.
Nicole’s cheeks flushed red. He guessed he should feel some satisfaction that, down deep, Nicole still cared something for him. Otherwise, why would she be so pissed?
“Not exactly an auspicious start to a relationship,” Nicole commented.
“Oh, and you two doing it for the first time in the morgue was a great marker for success.”
“As much as I would love to hang around and have you two work out your unresolved issues,” Kent said. “We really do have a case to solve.”
“Oh,” Paggie said. “Don’t let me stop you.” Playfully, Paggie walked her fingers up his shirt’s buttons. “I’ll be seeing you later.”
He adored Paggie, but she really didn’t seem to get how uncomfortable this was. Sure, Kent and Nicole flaunted their relationship, but that wasn’t Ruben’s style. He liked to keep his private life private.
“See you at seven?” Paggie asked.
“We’ll see,” Ruben said. “It could be a long night.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Kent said. “We’ll be sure to get him home to you.”
“Wow, thanks,” Paggie said. “You’re not all like Ruben said.”
Kent chuckled as Ruben tried to sink inside of his suit. “Good to know,” the profiler commented.
Luckily, Nicole turned to Kent. “So what’s next?”
“We work the case,” the profiler answered, much to Ruben’s relief.
* * *
Nicole had to give it to Ruben—he swallowed his pride and embarrassment, and loosened the knot of his tie. “I’m going to assume that we’re going to find as little forensic evidence at this crime scene as the other three, so do we need to take a closer look at victim number one to see about your theory that all of these deaths were the result of one killer?”
Kent shook his head. “Nope. We need to look at victim zero.”
“What are you talking about?” Ruben asked.
Nicole was equally surprised. She didn’t know of any other murder that fit their criteria. Once Kent had made his announcement after the last victim, a mid-20s African American woman, that there was a serial killer on the loose, Nicole had gone over all open homicides, looking for a pattern. How had Kent found one that she hadn’t?
That was a stupid question. Of course Kent had found one. It was his gift. If only instincts could be taught. Nicole was starting to get confidence in hers, but then something like this would happen and she would feel as inexperienced as Yvent. It made it even harder to know that women were dying while she was trying to catch up with the profiler.
“Check your email,” Kent responded. “Once I realized we had a serialist on our hands, I went back through the unsolved homicides for the past few years. One in particular stood out to me.”
“No way,” Yvent said. “I combed through those records.”
Nicole was glad to see she wasn’t the only one.
“Watch and learn,” Kent stated. Like she said, his ego was on a bender.
CHAPTER 3
Ruben checked his phone, and sure enough, there was an email from Svengali2013—Kent’s account, of course. Was it just a coincidence that Kent sent the email before they found another body?
Would he ever know the truth? Probably not. He might as well just read the damn thing.
Ruben opened the document to find that it was a police report regarding the murder of a known prostitute, Trudy. Ruben vaguely remembered the case. It wasn’t his, but he’d seen the crime scene photos. The woman had fallen off the roof of a building. Absent any other evidence, the investigating officers chalked it up to a trick gone bad. The woman was known to take her johns up to the roof and if they paid extra, they could do it at the edge of the roof, for a little extra thrill. For all they knew, her death was nothing but an accident.
“So why this crime?” Ruben asked.
“The purse was missing.”
Ruben shrug
ged. “In that neighborhood, it would have been shocking if the purse was still there.”
Nicole looked up from her phone. “But the credit cards were never used.”
“Nope. Not even her Wal-Mart gift card,” Kent commented. “I mean, come on. If you are going to steal a purse and you don’t even go splurge on fifty bucks of ammo at Wal-Mart? There’s something seriously amiss there. It doesn’t hold at all to the suspected robbery MO.”
Ruben could feel his ears burning. He didn’t want them to turn red. He didn’t want everyone standing around to know exactly how embarrassed he was. Not necessarily for himself, but for his fellow investigating officers. They should have checked on those cards. They should have raised a red flag that the death wasn’t a robbery. But, as Kent had pointed out, it was a prostitute’s death. And the reality was that those were just a low priority on the docket.
Kent constantly spouted that many serialists honed their craft on high-risk persons. The profiler’s supposition was that if a serialist just stuck to prostitutes, the vast majority of them would never be caught. Unfortunately, Ruben couldn’t disagree with that cynical assessment. This murder was a case in point.
“So he killed this first prostitute, then got a taste for it?”
Kent shook his head. “No, I think he killed Trudy on accident.”
Yvent stepped forward. “What evidence do you have of that?”
“There’s no bruising on her upper body. None on her arms or torso. Her panties were down, and there was evidence of consensual sex. I think they were just practicing risky sex on the roof when she accidently went down.”
Yvent nodded sagely, as if he could keep up with Kent. “Then he got a taste for it?”
* * *
“It being an accident would make sense out of the nearly year-long cooling off period between kills,” Nicole stated, finally feeling like she had caught up with the profiler. Usually, a killer went through several stages. The first was directly after a murder. He felt remorse and shame. Horror at what he’d done. This was the cooling off period. But then, as time passed, he would relive the thrill of the crime over and over again, getting more and more worked up at the thought until he couldn’t contain himself any longer and killed again.
The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection) Page 37