McGregor didn’t let it go. “Shocking,” he mocked. “Why don’t you just guess? Apparently Detective Torres wants something, anything, Accurate or not.”
“We get the point, Dr. McGregor,” Nicole said, trying to get the poor EMT out from under everyone’s glare and close this conversation before Ruben said something he would regret. Hell, even she was getting to the point of wanting to test if McGregor could take it as well as he dished it out.
“No,” the ME said. “No, I don’t think you do.” He turned back to the young woman. “Well? No theories? Postulations? Informed guesses?”
Surprisingly, the EMT’s shoulders squared and she kneeled next to the body. “If this killing holds up to the others, she was lured to a remote location, injected with a cocktail of paralytics, then…dissected.” The woman gulped. Nicole knew how the EMT felt as the she continued. “Cause of death will most likely prove to be a combination of severe shock and blood loss. However, The Professor has gotten better and better at keeping his victims alive during the procedure, so her time of death could be hours after her capture.”
McGregor grunted in the EMT’s general direction. “See? You don’t need me out here.”
With a groan, McGregor rose and dusted off his cover-up. Again, not very crime scene-friendly.
“So?” a voice asked. “We’re thinking suicide?”
Everyone’s head snapped around to find a man in a tuxedo, tie casually undone, walking up to the supposedly secured crime scene.
“Who the hell are you?” Ruben demanded, but the man just put his hands in his pockets and leaned over the body, cocking his head from side to side.
“Did she leave a note?” the man asked.
Nicole had no idea what was going on, but as odd as the man was, he demanded attention, and Ruben seemed more than intent on giving it to him. Her partner nodded for a uniformed cop to frisk the tuxedo. Nicole braced for the man’s reaction, her hand straying toward her holster.
The man hardly seemed to notice, though. His hands stayed in his pants pockets as he studied the body and the cop performed the pat-down.
“Did she lose her job?” the man asked. “Her husband leave her? Is that what the trigger was?”
Even though he was making absolutely no sense, there was a smoothness to his tone that made him seem anything but wrong. The cop pulled what looked like a badge out of the man’s jacket pocket and read the name aloud, “Kent Harbinger. FBI.”
Nicole inhaled sharply as Ruben’s eyes narrowed to a slit. “FBI?” he repeated.
The cop nodded. “Looks like he’s attached to the BAU.”
Ruben went rigid next to her. Their mystery man was from the FBI’s vaunted Behavioral Analysis Unit. The most elite serial killer investigation division in the country. No, in the world. Their captain must have called in the profiler…behind Ruben’s back. The lack of confidence this showed was…well many a career had been destroyed this way.
Her partner recovered fairly quickly. Faster than she. “Perhaps, then, Special Agent Harbinger, you should read the file before you offer any advice.”
The profiler’s lips turned up in a subtle grin as his eyes took in the entire crime scene. “Oh, I’ve read the file, and the conclusions in there are nearly on par with chalking this up to a suicide.”
“We have a detailed profile already which—”
“23-35-year-old white male that has an anatomy teaching background?” The profiler sighed, shaking his head, although there didn’t seem to be anything sympathetic in Harbinger’s tone as he gestured to the body. “There’s nothing sophisticated about this killer.”
A flash of the camera went off, startling everyone but the profiler.
“A killer as amateur as the profile of him,” Harbinger concluded.
If Ruben had been on edge before, her partner was on the precipice, his toes dangling over. Nicole rushed into the void. Perhaps the situation could still be salvaged.
“We should start over,” Nicole said, putting her hand out. “I’m Detective Nicole Usher.”
The profiler accepted her hand. She found his palm cool to the touch. How she wished she’d taken a moment to wipe hers on her pant leg before shaking his. Harbinger had an average, medium strength grip, yet her palm tingled, like static electricity or the feel in the air before a lightening strike. The sensation wasn’t exactly pleasant, yet she didn’t necessarily wish it to stop. She looked up to Harbinger’s face as their hands pumped up and down together. His eyes held nothing but mischief.
Still holding her hand, he turned it over, his thumb tracing the veins just under her skin. “Large hands for a woman,” the profiler commented.
The moment shattered, Nicole jerked her hand back, then wished she hadn’t. His grin spread. Harbinger had clearly been testing her. Nicole was pretty sure that her show of insecurity earned her a failing grade.
Her partner stepped between them, shoving his hand forward to the profiler. “Detective Ruben Torres.”
Harbinger accepted the handshake then winced. “My, my, what a strong grip we have…”
Nicole frowned. Salvaging the situation might have been an overly optimistic goal.
* * *
While Kent hadn’t exaggerated the tensile strength of Torres’s handshake, the man’s physical prowess was of little concern. The detective’s palms had callouses most likely associated with a significant chunk of his day at the gym. Yet they weren’t rough. Quite the opposite, in fact. Torres must have had a manicure recently. Interesting.
Time to dig a little deeper.
“Compensating for something?” Kent asked Torres, yet his eyes slid over to watch Nicole’s reaction. The woman’s face flashed fear. How does he know about Ruben and my relationship? Kent could have easily answered that one if he wished. The two’s body language, feet pointed toward one another, the close interpersonal space, the casual contact of two people who knew each other’s bodies inside and out. Then the woman’s pupils constricted and her lips relaxed. There was his answer.
“Ah, so you are packing some heat,” Kent said, directing his attention back to Torres. The detective’s grip grew stronger. Not just packing some heat, but pretty proud of it. Again, interesting. “It must be that you just don’t know what to do with it.”
The blood vessels in Torres’s face opened, flushing his cheeks as his nostrils flared. Rage. You didn’t have to be an expert in micro-facial expressions to pick that one up.
Kent’s eyes darted to Nicole, who wouldn’t meet his stare. Interesting. Very interesting. Torres tightened his grip on Kent’s hand, as if brute force alone could stop him. Not very likely. Although he did have to give the detective a bit of credit. Most heterosexual males would have taken a swing at him already. And a Latino, at that? Keeping his rage under control while Kent dissed his equipment and his ability to satisfy his woman? Torres must have had some therapy.
Or was it the fact that everyone at the crime scene was now watching, or pretending not to watch, this little exchange? The wheels of the gurney stopped squeaking. The rustle of plastic of evidence by those that collected it, died down. The murmur of conversation reduced to a hush.
Ah, Kent always did his best work with an audience.
Unfortunately, the detective was attempting to crush a few bones in Kent’s hand. “So, quite enthusiastic…” Kent taunted, “However, not very creative.”
Okay, Torres’s shoulder flinched that time. Kent was ready to duck and throw a counterpunch, but Nicole stepped forward, putting a hand on her partner’s arm.
“He’s just testing us,” Nicole whispered. Her lips a dark pink, and not colored by lipstick or gloss. If Kent was correct, the woman was wearing Chapstick. Probably SPF 30 balm. And even though she wore her dark hair back in a tight ponytail, there was a hundred-dollar haircut under there. The carefully feathered tips swished at the nape of her neck.
They were all close enough together that Torres’s Drakkar Noir aftershave blended with Nicole’s kiwi shampoo. The s
cents were definitely not harmonious.
“More of a matter of convenience than compatibility?” Kent asked.
He was halfway to ducking. No matter Nicole’s restraining hand, Torres was on the verge of swinging. So why not pour fuel onto the fire? Give the people something to remember?
“Come on, big guy,” Kent said with a wink. “Let’s hug it out.”
* * *
Ruben froze as the profiler drew him into a bro-hug. Should he shove him back? Punch him in the face? Anything else but allowing the bizarre gesture to play out would create a scene. Not that this little confrontation didn’t already have all eyes glued on them.
Count to ten, Ruben. Count to ten. A little hard as each heartbeat bounded in his ear.
“Detective Torres?” a voice called out, slicing through the tension. Some poor uniformed cop walked right into the middle of the scene. The kid looked around, suddenly seeming to realize he had just interrupted something above his pay grade. “Sorry…I just…”
“Yes?” Ruben answered, pushing back from the profiler, glad to be rid of the man. The patrolman stared awkwardly. Ruben nodded, trying to encourage the kid to fill the awkward space.
“Um, yeah…I just wanted to let you know that the neighborhood canvass didn’t turn anything up.”
No surprise there. None of the previous sweeps had found a single person who had seen or heard anything. “Have tomorrow morning’s shift go around to the buildings again, in case we missed anyone tonight.”
The patrolman gave a sharp nod, which the profiler contradicted with a shake of his head.
“I wouldn’t waste my time.”
“Procedure is procedure,” Ruben stated, biting back a sharper, more curse-word-filled retort. But exploding, arguing, or otherwise engaging with Harbinger would be playing into the profiler’s hands. Instead, Ruben continued on with the patrolman. “And I want an update on the whereabouts of all of our POIs last night.”
The kid went to fulfill his orders, but Harbinger chuckled.
“Ah, Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” the profiler stated, putting his hands back into his pockets. “Kind of a metaphor for the whole case, wouldn’t you say?”
Ruben turned to find the ME and his assistant try to figure out how to put the body into the bag without disturbing the labels. You would think that by the sixth try they would have figured out that they just couldn’t do it. He ignored Harbinger’s taunt, however accurate. Ruben had an investigation to run.
“What do you mean?” Nicole asked. Ruben shot her a look but she must not have seen it, her eyes intent on the profiler.
“There is a body.” Harbinger shrugged. “There is a body bag. Ipso procedural facto, the body must go into the bag.”
The uniformed cop frowned. “What would you have them do?” Ruben shot the kid a look as well, but he, too, was focused on the profiler. “Rig up some kind of drape to keep particulates from falling into the body cavity?”
“Or…” Harbinger drawled out. “Use something that is already so conveniently body-sized? Rigid sides? A lid?” The profiler looked to Nicole then the patrolman. “A coffin?”
“Oh, yeah! Duh!” the uniform stated.
Even if Ruben hadn’t already instinctually disliked this profiler, he would have hated him by now. A coffin was such an eloquent solution to their problem. One that a dozen-plus law enforcement members hadn’t thought of. If only Harbinger could solve the crime so easily.
Ruben turned to the patrolman. “Make the arrangements.”
The cop hustled over to the ME, thankfully putting an end to the three-ring circus by the body. Hopefully giving the profiler one less target for his ridicule.
Ruben wished that he were so lucky, as Nicole turned to Harbinger. “What did you mean it was a waste of our time to expand the canvass?”
Oddly the profiler shouted, “Help!”
Everyone at the crime scene swung around at the strange outburst, but Harbinger pointed up to the apartments lining the alleyway. Not a single person came to the window. Not a single shade moved.
“In this part of town?” Harbinger questioned, “The residents actively don’t hear or see anything.”
“The perfect dumping ground,” Nicole concluded.
“And your ‘person of interest?’” Kent chuckled. “The anatomy instructor at the community college?”
Ruben’s hand made a fist of its own accord. It was one thing for the profiler to riff and poke at the crime scene. It was quite another for him to actively dis the core of his case. Ruben was so sure that the professor was involved that he had put round-the-clock surveillance on the man. They just needed him to trip up.
“You don’t think Professor Munz is involved?” Nicole asked the profiler. Clearly she was not picking up Ruben’s mental urging to ignore the man in the tuxedo.
“Oh, the professor is a necrophiliac, of course,” Harbinger stated.
Nicole turned to Ruben, the question clear on her face. Was the professor into dead bodies? Ruben had no answer for her. However, the profiler was more than happy to continue.
“But I mean, who hasn’t experimented?” Harbinger pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed at the ME. “Am I right?”
The doctor responded by grinding the butt of his cigar between his teeth.
Harbinger looked like he took the aggressive gesture as a compliment and turned back to Nicole and Ruben with a grin. “Focusing on the most obvious suspects, those with a biology background, was your first mistake.”
Ruben tried to keep his tone calm, even though he was anything but. “If you hear hoof beats, you should think horse, rather than zebra.”
“With a serialist like this?” The profiler pointed to the body laid out it in its gruesome form. “You’d best be looking for Hyracotherium.”
Ruben was sure that he should know the reference, but it took Nicole to fill in the blank.
“The ancestor of the horse,” Nicole stated.
“And zebra,” the profiler interjected.
Nicole continued on. “It was the size of a dog and spotted.”
Harbinger gave a slow nod of approval to Nicole. “This killer obviously has a fascination with anatomy. However, clearly he doesn’t have any professional background in the field.”
“And how exactly would you know that?” Ruben demanded. The profiler sideshow had gone on long enough. Time to show everyone that it was only a man standing in front of them, not some kind of psychic.
“By the way he selects his victims,” Harbinger responded, sounding as if Ruben had just asked him if the sky was blue.
Nicole’s eyes darted to Ruben’s then shot back to the profiler. “So far there hasn’t been a pattern. The killer is choosing his victims at random.”
“Oh,” Harbinger said in a singsong voice. “You two are so adorable. Random? There is nothing random about any of this.”
Counting to five, Ruben simply did not have the patience to make it to ten. He responded. “Put it all down on paper, Harbinger, and I’ll have a look.” He turned to the knot of people standing just within earshot. “And let’s wrap this crime scene up.”
EMTs, CSIs, and cops dispersed before him, some bumping into others in their haste. Ruben did not feel sorry for them in the least. Focus was distinctly lacking today, and he intended to bring it back.
“What do you mean, not random?” Nicole asked. Jesus, she just wouldn’t let it go, would she? When did she forget the meaning of “having your partner’s back?”
“Best guess?” Harbinger said, although Ruben was beginning to fear that the profiler didn’t guess at anything. “Online dating.”
Finally the guy swung at a pitch and missed. “We’ve checked their computer search history,” Ruben rushed on, “including any hidden cached sites. I can say with absolute certainty they were not contacted through social dating sites.”
“Ah,” Harbinger cooed. “Absolute certainty. You almost make this too easy.”
Face burning, Ruben stifled the r
esponse he would like to give the FBI profiler. Before he could think of a retort that did not use the F-word, Nicole stepped forward.
“Beyond the lack of evidence, the victims are a mix of men and women.”
The profiler cocked his head. “And everyone is honest online? He could be posing as a women to men, or just be a man seducing another man, or offering up a monkey in a matador costume. People going to the sites I am thinking of aren’t looking for vanilla options.” Harbinger pointed to the only article of clothing the victim had left to them. “Look at those shoes. Tell me they aren’t date heels.”
Thankfully, Ruben’s cellphone vibrated on his belt. “Torres,” he answered with a bark. He would be grateful for any interruption that ended this performance. As Ruben listened, he became more and more grateful.
“Got it.” He snapped his phone closed. “They’ve brought in Munz and, once again, he does not have an alibi for the time of capture.” He gave a sharp nod to the profiler. “You, of course, are welcome to join us in his interrogation. They are bringing him in as we speak.”
“Naw,” Harbinger said. “I think I’m going to recreate the captures instead, but thanks.”
Well, that was a welcome relief. Ruben felt certain that the profiler would want to tag along, if for nothing more than to disrupt the interview as thoroughly as he had the crime scene.
Ruben turned away from the profiler and headed toward the car. He was a good six steps away when he realized he was alone. Ruben looked to Nicole, who wouldn’t meet his eye. “Something wrong?”
“I just…” Nicole glanced up, but only held eye contact for a fleeting moment. “I think I’m going to stay to see the direction that Harbinger is going.” She rushed on. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll join you at the station.”
Had Nicole just punch him in the gut? Because that was exactly what it felt like. And the profiler certainly seemed to agree, as a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin spread. Ruben wasn’t so insecure that he was worried. He shouldn’t be worried, should he? Of course not.
Pulling his tie out from his shirt, where it had been protected from the gore of the scene, Ruben shrugged. “See you soon, then.”
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 4
