The Profiler Read online

  It had a lot to do with the fact the AFP declared themselves an elite force, the crème de la crème of policing. He was the first to concede this notion engendered a fair amount of arrogance and conceit among some of its members and there were a number of federal officers who openly considered their State counterparts the poor relations.

  He’d never thought of them like that. It was the State police who did the grunt work—the real detective work, as far as he was concerned. The day-to-day grind of keeping the streets safe. Putting their bodies and lives on the line to make sure it was so. And thank God they did. He couldn’t imagine the chaos if the State lawmen decided to hang up their boots for a day or two.

  Clay’s gaze flicked back to Ellie. A few strands of her glossy, chestnut-colored hair had defied the short, straight bob and curled around her ear like a lover’s finger. Teasing, tempting, tantalizing. He itched to touch it. To touch her. Swearing under his breath, he turned back toward the window and gazed unseeingly at the passing traffic.

  “What’s the matter, Fed? You look like someone’s just stolen your last all-day sucker.”

  He choked. A kaleidoscope of images of Ellie with her mouth open, her tongue tasting, tumbled through his mind. He tried and failed to keep the heat from spreading to his face. The fabric of his suit pants grew tight and he squirmed. It was an immediate and entirely unwelcome response, and one he had absolutely no control over. He clung to visions of his wife Lisa, with her soft-brown eyes and silky blond hair, in an effort to dislodge the dangerously erotic thoughts that threatened his sanity. Guilt settled like concrete in the pit of his belly.

  For Christ’s sake, what the hell had come over him? Lisa had been gone for nearly three years and he’d barely had a passing thought about another woman. He sure as hell hadn’t wanted to sleep with any of them. Damned if he knew what it was about this pint-sized spitfire that suddenly had him responding in a way he thought had died along with his wife?

  How could he even be thinking about another woman? He’d promised himself to Lisa—his heart, his mind, his soul. Forever and ever. Amen.

  Somehow, that message was getting lost between his heart and his head—or more precisely, his groin, and he wasn’t happy about that. Worse still, he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  Despite his best intentions, Clayton’s gaze slid back toward her. Small hands and slim fingers, with neat, unvarnished nails, gripped the steering wheel with confidence as she manoeuvred in and out of the heavy midday traffic. Her delicate wrists were just visible beneath a white tailored blouse and smart navy jacket. She’d tossed her heavy, woollen cloak and scarf into the back seat as she’d climbed into the vehicle.

  His gaze dropped lower and wandered across her chest. He was disappointed to find most of it concealed beneath the jacket, although he recalled an earlier time in the heated squad room when she’d discarded it. Unbuttoned at the throat, her sheer blouse had allowed him a glimpse of pale skin. The generous swell of cleavage had done nothing to cool his interest.

  Swallowing an impatient groan, he dragged his gaze away and stared back out the window. Christ, what was he doing? He’d only just gone through all of this and here he was, ogling her again? What was he? A randy teenager? She deserved better. Lisa deserved better.

  And what about Olivia? He had a daughter to consider.

  “I think this is it.” Ellie’s voice interrupted him as she pulled the car over to the side and stopped in front of a vacant lot. Police vehicles and unmarked cars cluttered the area as personnel from various police and forensic departments swarmed around.

  Clayton opened the door and climbed out. He waited as Ellie retrieved her scarf and coat and tugged them on. He caught a glimpse of her chest as her blouse stretched tight and was annoyed by his body’s immediate reaction.

  She looked up. “Did you bring a coat?”

  He shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. The air was crisp and the light wind had a bite to it, but for someone used to living a couple of hours’ drive from the snowfields, this Sydney winter barely registered.

  She shrugged. “Might as well go and see what all the fuss is about.”

  * * *

  “Detective Cooper, what a pleasure to see you again.”

  A curly haired surfer type with bulging forearms and keen gray eyes sidled up to Ellie and gave her a friendly nudge. Too friendly.

  Clayton tensed. He shouldered his way forward and inserted himself between them. Thrusting his hand out, he forced the other man to acknowledge him.

  “Federal Agent Munro,” Clayton stated.

  “Detective Jake Lyon. Forensics.” He eyed Clayton with obvious distrust and tried to crush his hand in a meaty grip. Clayton held his gaze, refusing to flinch. A knowing smirk tugged at the other man’s lips and he grudgingly surrendered Clayton’s hand.

  Ellie appeared oblivious to the exchange. She was all business as she turned to Jake. “What have we got?”

  Putting aside his display of macho prowess, Jake’s face turned serious. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Coop. It’s probably best I show you.”

  He headed toward the group of technicians and local police who were busy securing the scene and pushed his way through. Clayton and Ellie followed after him.

  “A local fisherman got it caught in his line and hauled it in. He was fishing from the shore. Lucky for us, the killer used half a dozen heavy-duty bags to wrap them in or the hook would have broken through and let go.” He flicked his gaze to Ellie’s. “We might never have found her.”

  Clayton spied the black plastic garbage bags where they lay torn and open on the ground. Tugging on a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket, he squatted and opened them wider.

  The stench of rotten flesh hit him like a physical blow and he turned his head away, scrambling to control his stomach. It was lucky he hadn’t had lunch.

  Squeezing a tiny breath through his mouth, he forced his head back around. There was no way he was going to disgrace himself while Jake “the bodybuilder” Lyon looked on. He caught another glimpse of the greenish-black, swollen flesh and bones that filled the bag.

  “Shit.” The muttered curse fell from his lips. They’d been in the water awhile. The decay was advanced. The pieces were barely recognizable as human body parts. He caught a flash of red nail polish on the grotesque fingers and his stomach clenched again.

  He stood and met Ellie’s eyes, his lips pursed grimly. “It’s not good.”

  She held his gaze. He could see the resolve in her eyes as she psyched herself up to look inside the bag. His admiration for her grew. Stepping away to give her room, he waited as she moved forward and squatted near the gruesome discovery.

  He could tell the exact moment she spied the rotting remains. Her whole body tensed and she swallowed a little convulsively against the putrid stench. He knew how difficult it was for her to overcome the instinctive need to retch. He’d fought against the same urge himself. Like any normal person would.

  His eyes narrowed and determination hardened into resolve. He’d been brought in to unravel this. And he would. Before any more women were mutilated. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders and this time he welcomed the feeling. It’s what he did best. Putting together intricate details of a perpetrator until a picture emerged of a killer they could identify—killer that would strike again if he could. There was nothing surer.

  He looked over to where Ellie stood speaking with some of the other officers. As if sensing his interest, she glanced up. She held his gaze for long moments, her green eyes fierce, before turning away again.

  His gut knotted in response and he gritted his teeth. Being busy was good. Finding a killer was good. It helped to keep other unwelcome and distracting thoughts about Ellie from his head. She sidled up close beside him and his breath shortened. He tried not to inhale her vanilla-sweet scent.

  “The morgue guys are here.” She nodded toward the bag on the ground a short distance away. “They’re taking it in.
I told them we’d tag along.”

  His gaze bounced off her. “Good. Let’s do it. We need to get her identified.”

  * * *

  Clayton and Ellie strode into the cool, fluorescent-lit environs of the Westmead Morgue just as Dr Samantha Wolfe reached for a surgical mask. The black trash bags lay open on a stainless steel gurney not far away. It was late afternoon, but the place still looked lively. Three other pathologists worked on bodies stretched out on nearby gurneys. Every now and then the sound of a Stryker saw squealing through bone interrupted the almost-surreal serenity of the large room.

  Clayton suppressed a shudder. Christ, he didn’t know how the hell people worked in a place like this. The smell alone was enough for him.

  Spying the two of them from across the room, Samantha signaled a greeting.

  “Detective Cooper, I see you’ve drawn the short straw again.”

  Ellie’s lips compressed into a semblance of a smile. “I guess you could say that.” She glanced toward Clayton. “I think you’ve already met Federal Agent Munro.”

  Well-shaped eyebrows rose above the green surgical mask. Brown eyes, alive with mischief, raked over him. “The profiler from the AFP, right? We met the other week.”

  Clayton nodded a brief acknowledgement. Ellie took off her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair near the doorway they’d just entered. Opening a cupboard nearby, she pulled out a plastic apron and a mask and tugged them on. Turning back to the doctor, she indicated the garbage bags.

  “We’re hoping these belong to Angelina Caruso. If they don’t…” Her voice drifted off.

  With eyes that had seen the worst man had to offer, Samantha’s gaze rested briefly on Ellie and then moved over to Clayton. “It means one of two things. Either there are two sick bastards out there carving up women or it’s another victim of the same sick bastard.” Her gaze narrowed in contemplation and her tone challenged him. “I take it that’s why they’ve called in the Feds.”

  He kept his expression neutral. “I’m here to help.”

  Her lips smacked with appreciation. “Hmm, love ’em or hate ’em, they sure make ’em cute down there.”

  Heat flooded his face. Irritation and embarrassment surged through him. He risked a sideways glance and was disconcertingly pleased to see Ellie’s cheeks were also flushed with embarrassment. She suddenly seemed awfully interested in the array of protective gowns, hats, gloves and shoe coverings filling the cupboard that remained open beside her.

  His irritation at the doctor’s inappropriate comment subsided in the face of Ellie’s obvious discomfort. A tingle of delight and something that felt very like anticipation ran through him.

  So, she wasn’t as unaware of him as she’d let on. That was an interesting development and one he shelved away for further contemplation when the time was right. When guilt wasn’t filling every one of his pores and Lisa’s beloved face wasn’t materializing before him.

  He gave an impatient shake of his head. Lisa had been his world and he’d failed her. Whatever he was feeling for the fiery detective was purely physical—a male’s spontaneous reaction to a beautiful woman. Nothing more. He’d best remind his libido of that sometime in the near future. The way his heart kept skipping a beat whenever she came near was becoming damned annoying.

  * * *

  Ellie peeked in the Fed’s direction. The embarrassment that had clouded his features a few minutes earlier had subsided and had been replaced with a grim determination. She watched him as, with impatient tugs, he pulled protective clothing over his suit. She could only guess at what had soured his mood.

  Samantha’s reference to his looks had hit a nerve. Either that or he was completely unaware of his own physical beauty and had his thoughts totally immersed in the case.

  She gave a mental shrug and finished tying the plastic apron around her waist. She didn’t know much about him—hell, she didn’t know anything about him. Apart from the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous and was an old friend of her boss.

  Oh, and of course…that he was a Fed. She couldn’t forget that.

  “I found this in the bag when I emptied it out onto the gurney.” Samantha held up a bloodied gold chain with a small round stone pendant hanging from it. Ellie moved closer.

  “I’ll DNA the blood on it, but it’s my guess it belongs to the victim,” Sam added.

  Clayton shifted closer and made his way around the opposite side of the steel table. His eyes were like flint as they stared at the mess of decomposed body parts spread out in front of him. “What kind of a sick bastard does this?”

  The words were thrown out in a snarl. Ellie felt the heat of his anger as it swirled across the gurney, enveloping her. Her gaze locked onto his and she almost gasped at the fury she saw in them.

  Not that she blamed him. She felt exactly the same way. Her gut tightened as she took in the display before her. The girl’s arms and legs lay in a bloated, brackish-green heap. Samantha had arranged the pieces in their anatomical position. The open wounds at the juncture of two of the girl’s limbs were dark with congealed blood. The sight of it didn’t bode well for the manner of her death.

  Ellie swallowed the bile that rose up in her throat and turned away. Clayton was right. How could one human being do this to another? Not even animals carved their prey up in such a sadistic way.

  Samantha bent over the table, closely examining the severed limbs. “It looks like saw striations through the bones. I can’t say for sure until I check them under the microscope, but it looks like the same kind of saw that was used in the last case.”

  Turning back to the gurney, Ellie willed the nausea to settle. She snatched small breaths of air through her surgical mask and tried to keep her mind focused on the job. Clayton looked across at her, concern now clouding his eyes.

  Answering his unasked question with a grim nod of reassurance, she forced herself closer to the woman who lay in pieces on the table. A glint of something metallic caught her eye.

  Reaching out with gloved fingers, she lifted one of the woman’s arms. Around her left wrist, a heavy silver charm bracelet swung slightly with the movement. The bracelet was dark with what looked like blood and debris, but was still intact.

  Clayton saw it simultaneously. His gaze clashed with hers. Ellie’s hand shook as she lowered the arm back to the gurney. Clayton moved closer. His aftershave tickled her nostrils and smelled so good she immediately felt ashamed for even thinking of something so normal while she stood over the battered remains of the daughter of Jacqueline Caruso.

  “It’s her,” Clayton murmured.

  Ellie nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

  His eyes darkened and he moved to stand beside her. His sleeve brushed up against her arm. “Are you all right?”

  She drew in a steadying breath. “Yes.”

  “Look at her hands. She put up a fight.”

  Ellie looked. Angelina’s fingernails were long and neatly shaped. On her left hand, bright red paint had chipped off in pieces and one nail had broken off in a jagged line. Ellie peered closer and could see dirt and other matter backed up underneath them.

  Samantha’s expression was sober. “I’ll take scrapings from under her nails and let you know what we find.”

  “Let’s hope it’s something useful,” Ellie managed.

  “The other hand doesn’t look quite as traumatized,” Clayton said. He held the girl’s wrist and turned over her right hand. The nails and crimson polish were intact. Only a shadow of some material could be seen beneath them.

  He met Ellie’s curious gaze. “I’d say she’s left-handed.”

  She looked away and cleared her throat against the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to undo her. All she could think of was how she was going to break the news to Jacqueline Caruso.

  “I’m taking it you know who she is?” Samantha asked.

  Ellie nodded. “We think it’s Angelina Caruso. Her head was brought in a few weeks ago. The jewelry matches.”

  T
he doctor gave a brief, grim nod. “At least that means only one woman suffered the horror of being carved up alive. I guess we can be thankful for that.” She picked up a tool from the stainless steel tray beside her and bent over what remained of Angelina. “I’ll let you know what we get back from the lab. Let’s hope there are some skins cells under those nails.”

  Ellie threw her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Samantha. We’d really appreciate that.”

  “I’ll give you a call when I know something.”

  Stepping away from the table, Ellie peeled off her gloves and other protective gear and threw them in the garbage bin and watched Clayton do the same.

  “Let’s go,” she murmured.

  He opened the door and waited for her to precede him. She caught his heavy sigh on the air behind her and knew exactly how he felt.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clayton took a healthy mouthful from the icy bottle of beer and stretched out in the large beige armchair he’d moved close to the sliding glass door leading onto the balcony of his hotel room. The door was half open, allowing the crisp winter air to drift in around him.

  The night sky had settled in and lights from a thousand or more office windows twinkled back at him. His gaze shifted to the myriad of blue and red and yellow neon advertising signs glowing off the tops of many of the skyscrapers. Earth Hour in Sydney would be surreal. With all the lights switched off, the night would be black enough to see the stars.

  It was something he missed about Canberra. He’d been in Sydney almost a month and he’d yet to catch a glimpse of a single star. Too much artificial light, he guessed and too many tall buildings blocking the view.

  Nevertheless, it was still an exciting place to be. Most of Canberra’s streets quieted down after six, but Sydney lay awake for hours, with people passing in the street below him, cars and buses and taxis, horns blowing and the occasional shout. There was something so alive about it. Despite the fact he was a country boy, he could definitely see its appeal.