Anatomy (2 page)

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 scents 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 response 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.”