The Profiler

by Chris Taylor

  A protest tried its hardest to be heard, but the best she could do was a little squeak as he stood and cautiously made his way back to the maître d’. Ellie drew in a lungful of oxygen and did her best to forget how it felt to have him so close his breath tickled her ear.

  The barman approached and took her empty glass. “Would you like another, madam?”

  Mm, would she like another?

  It was true, she’d barely eaten all day and the alcohol was going straight to her head, but her limbs felt deliciously weak and the nerves that had twisted her inside and out had completely disappeared.

  She was having dinner with the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on and all of a sudden, she couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t.

  “Yes please.” She gave him a warm smile. “Another one is exactly what I need.”

  * * *

  Clayton waited for the maître d’ to finish with the couple in front of him and tried to stem his impatience. He stepped forward as soon as the way was clear.

  “Ah, I was just wondering if you could show us to our table? We’d like to eat now.”

  The man looked up and smiled. “Of course. If you’ll follow me.”

  “Hold on a second. I need to get my—”

  “Wife, of course.” The man glanced toward Ellie where she sat at the bar. “Please, take all the time you need.”

  Clayton stumbled and turned on his heel. Heat inched up his neck. His wife? Ellie wasn’t his wife. Why hadn’t he corrected the man?

  She wasn’t anything like his wife. His wife was cool and blond and passive. Ellie was none of those things. She couldn’t be more different from Lisa if she’d tried.

  But she wasn’t trying. She was his work colleague. His partner for the short time he was in Sydney. A friend; that’s what she’d called him. And yet, she’d blushed when he’d gotten too close and had flirted with him with her eyes. At least, it felt like flirting. It had been so long for him, he was now beginning to wonder.

  She was well into her third margarita when he reached her. He watched her lift the glass with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. If she wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t last until dinner.

  “Hey.” He spoke softly, so as not to startle her. She jumped anyway and almost toppled off the stool.

  Her dress rode high, exposing an expanse of shapely, nylon-coated thigh to his appreciative gaze. She tugged it down, blushing furiously.

  “Where did you go? I thought you’d disappeared.” She gave him a wry smile and shrugged lopsidedly. “Story of my life.”

  Tenderness welled up inside him. The feeling was so foreign and strange, it took him a moment to recognize it. He gazed down at the top of her head with its freshly straightened hair and almost forgot about his fear of heights. She wasn’t his wife, but she was someone he cared about. More than he wanted to admit.

  He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Our table’s ready, partner.”

  “Table. Right. Ready.” She grinned up at him. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  She stood and wobbled on her ridiculously high black sandals. He stepped forward and slid his arm around her tiny waist, drawing her in firmly against him and steered her toward the waiting maître d’.

  The man nodded knowingly and concealed a grin. “Please, follow me,” he murmured.

  It felt weird walking across a room that was moving. Clayton had almost managed to forget how far off the ground they were until he looked up and saw the lights of the city spread before them.

  Without warning, Ellie grabbed him by the arm. “There’s something wrong, Munro. We’re going round in circles. I think I need to sit.”

  He stifled a grin. “It’s okay, Ellie. We are going around in circles. We’re at the Centrepoint Tower Restaurant. One full revolution in seventy minutes, remember? You’re the one who brought us here.”

  She looked up at him with wide, wondering eyes, a quizzical expression on her face. “Right. Yes, of course. It’s all good then.”

  This time the grin escaped. “

  “Yes, sweetheart, it’s all good.” He caught her wide smile and felt something give in his heart. Helping her into the chair the maître d’ had pulled out for her, he settled her comfortably at the table. She stared at the silverware, a slight frown marring her features.

  He felt a stab of concern. “Are you sure you want to stay for dinner? Because I can take you home in a cab, if you’d rather.”

  “No way. I’m starving. What’s on the menu?” She picked up the elegant, gold-embossed menu from where it lay on the table beside her. Clayton stifled another grin when she peered at the pages in consternation.

  “Need some help?”

  She shook her head and then winced. “No, no. I thought for a minute the menu was turning in circles, too.” She let out a wicked laugh that went straight through him. Her gaze fell on the half-empty glass of scotch he’d carried with him to the table and then back to her empty cocktail glass. She looked up at him and grinned. “I think I need another drink.”

  He grinned back at her. “You know, partner, I think you’re right.” He signaled to the waiter who glided over to their table. “Could we have a large carafe of iced water, please?”

  “Of course, sir. Right away.” He glided away and Ellie frowned.

  “Iced water?”

  “Yes, Ellie. Iced water. Believe me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

  She tilted her head to one side and rested her chin on her palm, her elbow propped on the table. “That tequila’s gone straight to my head.”

  “I take it you’re not a seasoned drinker?”

  “You can say that again. A glass or two of wine every now and then just about pulls me up.”

  He indicated the empty cocktail glass. “So what prompted the margaritas?”

  Ellie ducked her head. “I guess I felt the need to unwind. It’s been a pretty stressful few weeks.”

  Clayton nodded. “You won’t get any argument from me.”

  Ellie sighed into her hand and then peered at him from beneath her thick lashes. “You’re awfully cute, Munro.”

  His heart hitched. “Thank you, Ellie. You’re pretty cute yourself.”

  She blushed and looked away. The waiter appeared and filled their water glasses. Clayton picked up the menu and scanned it quickly.

  “What would you like to eat, Ellie? How about a steak with garden vegetables?”

  “Sounds great. I could eat a horse.”

  “How do you like it?”

  “Medium rare.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” He looked up at the waiter and gave him their order.

  “So, you and the boss go way back?”

  He started in surprise. “Yes, I’ve known him most of my life. He was the Local Area Commander in my hometown. As a teenager, I was a bit of a handful. There’s plenty to distract you when you think you’re eight foot high and bulletproof.” He smiled in reminiscence. “Dad was a District Court Judge and didn’t look kindly on misbehavior. He took me down to the PCYC and introduced me to Ben. He was the youth officer there at the time.”

  Clayton picked up his glass of iced water and brought it to his lips. “I guess he hoped it would keep me occupied and off the streets.”

  Ellie’s gaze slid over him. “You, a wild child? I don’t believe it.”

  “Ask Ben.” He flashed her a grin. “Better still, don’t.”

  “So, he’s the reason you became a copper?”

  He thought for a while and then replied. “I’m not sure it was the only reason—I have law enforcement in my DNA—but he certainly left a lasting impression.”

  She regarded him again from behind the curtain of her lashes. “You’re awfully cute, Munro. Did I tell you that already?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The early morning sun shone determinably through the squad room windows, banishing the storm clouds that hung around the day before. Shards of light bounced off the crea
m walls and largely unoccupied metal furniture. Clayton strode in and Ellie kept her head down, pretending to be absorbed in the file that lay open on her desk. It was barely eight and her pounding head reminded her of her overindulgence the night before.

  Fleeting memories of their night out flitted through her consciousness and the heat in her face intensified. What the hell must he think of her? The end of the night was a blur, but she did recall leaning very close to him in the taxi on their way home—and had she actually told him he was cute?

  With a moan of disgust, she inched her head upward, wanting to sneak a peek so she could discover his whereabouts. A pair of perfectly pressed charcoal gray suit pants filled her vision, inches away from her desk.

  Her cheeks burned hotter, but she had no choice but to continue her upward journey. Bright, cobalt eyes regarded her with amusement.

  “I’m pleased to see you survived the night. No ill effects, I hope?” He flashed a wide, white grin.

  Flustered, she looked away and busied herself with the paperwork on her desk, doing her best to ignore him. “I’m fine, thanks. Perfectly fine.”

  A few moments later, she peeked beneath her lashes. He was still there. Still grinning. God, why didn’t he just leave?

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee? I’m on my way into the tea room.”

  “No, no. I’m fine,” she managed to croak before burying herself back in her paperwork, hoping he’d take the hint.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he propped himself up on the corner of her desk. Swallowing a sigh, she filled her lungs with air and steeled herself.

  Her eyes met his. She swallowed again. He looked good enough to eat. Her gaze wandered across his shoulders. His dark suit contrasted nicely with yet another crisp shirt, this one in a soft, pale blue that brought out the sapphire in his eyes. A Ralph Lauren tie patterned with navy and red stripes provided just the right amount of color.

  In contrast, she felt tired and disheveled. After sleeping past her alarm, she hadn’t had time to wash and straighten her hair. It now hung in messy, tangled waves around her face and would annoy her for the rest of the day.

  Not only that, she was wearing yesterday’s suit. In her excitement to get ready for last night’s date, she’d forgotten to pick up her dry cleaning. She groaned under her breath, grateful that at least her underwear was clean.

  Date.

  Had she really just thought that? It wasn’t a date. Hell, she could barely remember some of it.

  A familiar pair of black stilettos landed on her desk. She looked up, startled.

  Clayton shrugged. “You left them in the taxi.”

  She was mortified. Not only had she imbibed more than enough, she’d also felt comfortable enough to kick off her shoes. God, what else had she done?

  Another moan escaped her. Fire exploded across her cheeks. She looked around in desperation for somewhere to hide. Clayton chuckled.

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Ellie. We’ve all been there. A few too many drinks, a few loose inhibitions…”

  Ellie dropped her head to her desk, willing the floor to open up and swallow her. Why wouldn’t he just go away? Why was he torturing her like this?

  Her temper flared. Why was he torturing her like this?

  “So, what’s with the ring around your neck?” As soon as the words hurtled out of her mouth she regretted them. His face turned to granite, the sparkle of humor that had been there moments before, vanished. She kept her gaze on the desk in front of her and willed him to walk away, no longer wanting him to reply.

  “It’s my wedding ring.”

  Pain sheared through her at his words. Questions burned in her mouth, but she refused to give them voice. Let him explain if he wanted to. It was none of her business.

  He had a wife. He was married.

  “Ellie, look at me.” It was a heartfelt plea and one she was powerless to resist. She looked up. His eyes were dark with emotion.

  “Her name was Lisa. She died almost three years ago.”

  Self-loathing surged through her veins. His wife was dead. And she’d been about to accuse him of all sorts of things. She should have known he had more integrity than that.

  She did know.

  She’d been by his side for nearly a month. Despite the strains of the job, she’d seen how sensitive he was to the families of their victims, how empathetic he’d been to their suffering and how determined he was to give them justice. He was a Fed, but he was nothing like Robert.

  “Talk to me, Ellie,” he said softly.

  She closed her eyes and then opened them again and braved a glance in his direction. The emotion in his eyes tugged at her heart. “Clayton, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

  “Ellie. Clayton. I’m glad you’re here.” Ben strode up to them looking grim, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “These have just come in from the lab. It’s the forensic results on the girls we’ve found.” His voice was cautiously excited. “This might be the break we need.”

  Clayton straightened, instantly alert. “What have you got?”

  Ellie leaned forward in her seat, her animosity forgotten. She waited for Ben to speak.

  He shuffled through the papers in his hand. “Looks like we’ve got some DNA from underneath Angelina Caruso’s fingernails. The lab guys found skin cells.” He looked up, his face stark. “She obviously put up a fight.”

  Referring to the notes, he continued. “Those strange particles you saw in Angelina’s hair have been identified as paint chips. They’ve been traced back to a Dulux brand called Coconut Ice. It’s a paint usually applied to wood and other similar surfaces.”

  His gaze flicked from Clayton to Ellie. “Unfortunately, as I’ve just discovered, it’s a fairly common brand that’s sold in almost any hardware store.”

  Ellie released the breath she’d been holding and leaned back in her chair. Disappointment surged through her.

  “So, the paint chips are going to be next to useless. It will be impossible to track down every can of Coconut Ice sold in the last few months. Besides, the paint could have been stored in his back shed for months, years even.”

  Ben sighed. “I know what you’re saying, Ellie, and I agree. Tracking down the paint sale’s going to be impossible. But about the storing for years… It’s interesting to note that particular brand of paint is new—it’s only been on the market for about six months.”

  “Oh, well, that certainly narrows it down.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm, Detective Cooper. We’re all feeling the strain here.”

  She blushed under his quiet reprimand, made even worse with Clayton standing a few feet away, listening to every word. She mumbled an apology.

  Clayton crossed his arms over his chest. “What about the DNA evidence? Have we got a match on that?”

  Ben grimaced. “No, at least, not yet. We’ve only just started running it through our database. Of course, it’s only going to find a hit if our perpetrator’s already in there.” He shrugged. “But, you never know. We could get lucky. It’s unlikely this is the first time he’s crossed the line.”

  “Any news on the wood shavings found in Josie Ward’s hair?” Ellie asked.

  Ben turned over a couple of pages and scanned the contents. “Looks like it’s radiata pine. A soft wood that’s popular with handymen and hobbyists.” He looked up and held her gaze. “Again, it’s available in most good hardware stores. But what’s really interesting is the same kind of shavings were also found underneath Angelina Caruso’s fingernails.”

  Ellie let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God for that. I know I shouldn’t say that, but at least we know there isn’t another madman out there doing this.”

  “I agree,” Clayton said. “What about the saw marks?”

  A bleak smile thinned Ben’s lips. “Yeah, that’s probably some of the better news. The saw striations left on the bones of both girls are a match. They were definitely made by the same saw. Samantha Wolfe tells me
a saw’s teeth pattern is unique to the particular saw. A bit like a person’s fingerprints. If we find the saw, we’ll likely find the killer. According to the lab results, it’s a stainless steel hacksaw.”

  He acknowledged Ellie’s raised eyebrow with a nod and added, “There were microscopic pieces of stainless steel in the wounds. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for a saw to leave bits of itself behind, particularly if you’re sawing through tough material.”

  “Like bone,” Clayton muttered, his face dark.

  Ben’s eyes were brutal as they stared back at him. “Yes, like bone.”

  Ellie broke the tense silence by clearing her throat. “I take it the DNA didn’t match Wayne Peterson?”

  “No. We’d have arrested him by now if it had.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about the trash bags? Did they have any luck with them?”

  Ben flipped through the pages of the report. Ellie looked at Clayton from beneath her lashes. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down. He stared at the floor. She felt the same weight of responsibility and disappointment.

  “It doesn’t look like there’s anything here about trash bags.” Ben pierced her with a look. “Were they both wrapped in trash bags?”

  She inclined her head. “Angelina was. Both her head and her limbs. The bags looked like they’d come from the same source, too. At least, to the naked eye. Black, heavy quality.” She winced. “Probably available from every shop and supermarket in Sydney.”

  “I can’t find anything in here about trash bags.”

  Passing Clayton the lab papers, Ben continued. “I suggest you get onto the lab and find out about them. At the very least, they should be checked for fingerprints. You never know. It might give us a lead and at the moment, that’s something we’re preciously short of.”

  “Sure, boss. No problem.”

  Ben strode toward his office and Ellie looked up at Clayton. “So, what do you think? Got any new brainwaves about who the hell we’re looking for?”

  “He likes to shop for bargains at Bunning’s Warehouse?”

  Her answering frown was fierce. “It’s not a laughing matter, Munro.”