The Profiler. Lori A. May
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, as I am anxious to prove my interest in profiling. Forensics will lead us to scientific answers, but I’m interested in fingering any indication of what sort of person does this to another. It’s not every day a person is burned up in a crematorium. At least not with criminal intent.
As I let my eyes drift along the walls, my attention is quickly diverted by a small carving in the concrete to my left. It’s Latin.
“In nomine Dei.”
Cain looks at me quizzically, shaking his head. “Angie, can’t you stick to one freakin’ language when you’re around me?”
But when I point to my findings, the Cain I know as a serious and effective profiler returns, and his badass, bad-attitude exterior leaves. “What is it?”
I scan the walls to see if there’s more to decode, but finding nothing, I explain. “It’s Latin, meaning ‘In the name of God.’”
Severo steps closer to the wall, and thereby closer to me. I feel his breath cross my shoulder as he inspects the carving, and briefly, I am caught in his scent. Man. Masculine.
In just enough of a whisper to keep the detective close, I ask, “Now who knows a thing or two about God?”
“Looks fresh, too,” he says, breaking eye contact and taking a step back from me. He signals to the photographer and leads us aside. “Well, folks, I think we may have ourselves a note. Let’s say we get out of CSU’s way and wait for the lab to fill us in on the findings.”
As we exit the tomb, I begin to tail Cain back to the road, then I spot some movement in one of the ill-tended gardens. When I spy a man in his twenties looking perfectly suspicious, my hand slides down my side toward my holster.
The movement prompts him to flee.
“Stop! FBI!”
I pick up speed, hurtling over bushes and forensics gear, passing the groundskeeper and Severo. Tree branches bat against my cheeks as I snake in and out of the brush.
“FBI! Stop!”
The man continues on, hopping over stone carvings and winding along pathways. The garden is a maze and, clearly, this guy knows it well.
I race forward, gaining on the man, and vaguely hear Severo trailing behind me. His voice warps through the air but I ignore it.
When I see the man hop the fence separating the neighboring apartment building from the church property, I scramble under the wire to make time.
He turns back to check our distance, and with the twist in his body, loses ground and tumbles into a ditch.
“Lemme see your hands!” As I close in on the guy, he gets up and begins to bolt, but I make it to his side just in time.
He swats at me with fury and I duck my head, then hook a foot behind his knee to pull him down. When he hits the ground, he swings his leg and nearly knocks me on my face, but I quickly leap up and hop over it.
Still standing, I pull the man up by the collar of his jacket, and when I do, he uppercuts me and doesn’t miss.
The hit doesn’t slow me, but it does bring his body closer to mine. I don’t miss a beat, wrapping my left arm around his neck in a choke hold while he writhes about, trying to get free.
I slam him against the fence and lean into him, ready to snag him with my cuffs, despite his slippery attempts to escape. One of his arms loosens as I reach to my side, and within a heartbeat I see the knife he has pulled from his pocket. I slide an inch to escape his swift swipe, but when the gunshot goes off it alarms me, and the guy wriggles from my grasp, dropping his weapon as he runs.
“What the hell d’ya do that for?” I yell at Severo, while speeding down the grassy slope.
Severo yells some explanation as to his tactics of protecting me from the knife, but I ignore his annoyance.
Beyond the apartment building’s entrance, I see a tunnel leading to the underground garage. The hunted man darts in, and I run to the opposite side, where the garage roof meets the hill of the cathedral’s garden.
Severo is yelling, “Angie!” He’s trying to get me to follow him through the garage entrance, but I can see the fire escape exit protruding from the east side of the roof.
With my Bauer .25 in hand, safety off, I slow my pace as I walk along the garage roof. I listen closely, feeling the crisp late autumn air hitting my cheek.
As I expected, the man bolts up the fire escape ladder and onto the roof, facing me.
“Put your hands up!”
The guy is freaking out and shouting, “I didn’t do shit, man! I didn’t do nothing!” But no one innocent ever runs.
I go to his side, aiming my pistol, and cuff his wrists before walking him across the roof, back to the garden.
Severo meets up with me and I want to cuff him, too, but I just tilt my head and say, “You think I need you to protect me?”
The guy is read his rights, but it only takes a minute until the gardener runs up to Severo, who seems rather disgruntled at the moment.
“That’s my boy! My boy don’t do no wrong. Please!”
Severo wipes his brow—as if he worked up a sweat out there—and tells the old man, “That’s for us to determine, Mr. Dunbar. Come on, you can ride with me and we’ll get this sorted out.”
“Eh, Severo,” Cain says with a grimace, showing his smoke-stained teeth. “My girl Angie give you a run for your money out there, huh? Didn’t I tell you…”
Severo smirks and turns away, while I yell at him, “Do you always shoot prematurely, Detective?”
He looks back to me, small beads of sweat trickling down his jawline. “Cute. Real cute.”
“Where the hell did ya learn all that kung fu shit from?” Severo asks, handing me a foam cup with black coffee.
“Am I the only person in New York who uses cream?” I suck it up, though, and take in Severo’s Fifth Precinct stomping grounds. I wouldn’t say it’s comparable to the Ritz, that’s for sure. Especially in this contained interrogation room. You’d think we were the bad guys, being holed up in here, but Severo insisted it would provide the most quiet work space for now, instead of having us pile up around his desk in the open concept offices of the Elizabeth Street Detective Squad. I can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic, though.
I find a can of no-name whitener and add a dose to my mug while I inform him, “That wasn’t kung fu. Just common sense.”
Severo drops into a plastic interrogation chair and eyes me. “Here I thought you were trained in some fancy-schmancy karate or something.”
“I was.” I take a seat opposite him and start peering through files I have yet to absorb. “Among other things.”
“Like?”
I attempt to let my heavy sigh inform the detective I’m not particularly interested in swapping macho locker room talk, but he eggs me on.
“Krav Maga, hapkido, Jeet Kune Do. And a little Ninjitsu for good measure.”
“Jesus.