At 6:00 a.m. my alarm goes off. I fight the tiredness and swing my legs over the side of the bed, forcing myself into an upright position. I remember waking up at 4:00 a.m., and I remember some sort of nightmare. But the additional two hours of sleep has pulled a thick veil over the memory. Someone was killed, but that’s what most of my nightmares are about—murder.
I chop up two carrots, peel two oranges and cut them into quarters. My noisy juicer screens out the sounds of next door’s television and within a couple of minutes a nice thick, bright orange mixture is in my glass. I dish out some fruit salad from a large Tupperware bowl in the fridge and sit down at the table to read the Washington Post. I flick through the news section while I eat.
Fifteen minutes later I pull the couch across to one side of the room and roll out my Pilates mat. My thirtyminute DVD routine consists mainly of abdominal work, with some leg and butt work. I notice with triumph that my flexibility seems to be improving. I was always pretty flexible from kung fu, but through Pilates the stretches are becoming easier. By the end of the routine I’m sweaty but happy with my healthy start to the day. Perhaps the good start, with the help of one or ten coffees, will make up for my late night.
I stumble into headquarters right at 7:59 a.m., coffee in hand. I open my office, dump my bag and grab my notebook and a pile of files from the top of my in-tray. I’ve tagged ten in all as higher-priority cases out of the forty waiting for my attention. We have to prioritize, but every file that is pushed back in line could mean another life. It’s overwhelming. That’s partly why the unit has such a high burnout rate…and a high divorce rate.
Some of the files have been sitting on my desk for weeks. We’re not supposed to take them home—it’s Bureau policy that no files leave the building—but we do. You have to when so much is at stake.
My slight heels make a clip-clop sound as I hurriedly move through the Bureau corridors to meeting room 2 in the center of the building. I rush in and take a seat next to Sam. I’m not the last, not quite, but Rivers is just about to start. He glances at me, a look I can’t decipher. He removes his glasses and starts.
“Since our meeting last week, two cases have been closed. Congratulations to Agents Anderson and Marco for their work on the Henley case.” He pauses. “Also, the Night Fever case Agent Hammerston profiled a couple of months ago has been closed. The LAPD caught their guy on the weekend and got the confession too.”
He looks to his left, at me. “Anderson, you go first.” He waits, pen poised and glasses back on.
I start my rundown. “I’ve picked out ten cases for the next two weeks. Two of the cases look like they’re a perp’s first kill, but both of them will kill again. We need to get the perps now.”
Heads nod around the room in acknowledgment. First-time murderers often make mistakes and it’s good to get them early before they become better at hiding their tracks.
“The other eight I’ve selected are longer-term cases, but some of them are particularly nasty. Like the Whistler case in Canada. The perp’s escalating big-time.”
Rivers scribbles something in his notepad and keeps his head down as he talks. “The media love that case, even though it’s in Canada.”
“Yeah. It’s a hot one all right.” I glance around the room, conscious of keeping the pace moving. “I’ve also got to do a few follow-ups for the profiles I did before the Henley case.”
Rivers stops scrawling, looks up and nods.
We continue around the room, with each profiler running through their caseload in turn. I sip my double-shot coffee hoping the caffeine will kick in soon. But concentration seems impossible…how nice it would be to be lying on a beach somewhere. I close my eyes, imagining hot sand on my skin. But this relaxing image is suddenly replaced by a naked dead girl. My dream comes flooding into my conscious mind. I open my eyes with a start and the girl fades.
I tune in to the meeting again and am shocked to hear Sam finishing off the run-through of her workload. Had we gotten around everyone?
“Okay, people. Sounds like you’re all busy, but that’s nothing new,” Rivers says. “And I’m afraid we’re going to have to shuffle some cases around, but I’ll let Pike explain.” Rivers is unable to hide the hint of gruffness. “He’ll be here in a moment. Now, I’ve also got three new cases. We’ve got a child killer in Texas. A strangler on the loose in Boston—”
A ripple of grim laughter fills the room.
“I kid you not,” Rivers says, acknowledging the absurdity of another Boston Strangler. “And we’ve got a request from the French police for a profile of a band of bank robbers.” Rivers looks down at his notepad again, “James—”
Peter James stops flicking his pen against his notebook and looks up.
“—you can have the strangler. Tuldoon, you’ve got the Texas case—”
Jim Tuldoon, always a stickler for paperwork, writes furiously in his notebook. What could he be writing at this stage other than “killer in Texas”?
“—and Wright, you’ve got the bank heists.”
Sam looks up, winks and clicks her mouth at Rivers. Only Sam could get away with it.
I think a smile plays on Rivers’s lips before he moves on. “No surprises there. So—”
Rivers is interrupted by the entrance of the director of the unit, Jonathan Pike. Pike wears his standard well-tailored dark gray suit, which provides a contrasting surface for his dandruff. He hovers at the door.
“Sorry, Andy. Do you want to finish up?”
“No, no. I was done anyways.” Rivers says the right words, but his tone implies something altogether different. I’ve never noticed any animosity between the two before.
Pike takes the podium. “Okay. Well, first off I’d like to congratulate Agents Marco and Anderson for their work on the Henley case.” Pike motions his right hand toward us in a stiff manner. “As you know, it became a high-priority case for us and I’m glad to say we delivered for the politicians, yet again. So thanks to you both for the long hours.” He pauses, withdrawing his right hand, and for a minute it looks like he’s going to give us a round of applause. Instead, his arm returns to his side. “Now, I’m afraid I’ve got some other news that won’t thrill you.”
Everyone groans. I knew it. No wonder Rivers is pissed.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s Hunter this time. He’s been reassigned to the Counterterrorism Unit. I know things are getting tough for us over here, and I’m doing everything I can to keep as many resources as possible. But we can’t afford another 9/11. Director Mueller has to answer to the American public.” He looks at his unconvinced audience. “Rest assured he does value what we do here. I’m sorry, people, I know you’re already busy, but there’s not much I, or we, can do about it. Andy?” And with that Pike hands it back to Rivers and leaves the meeting.
The unit had twenty people in it before September 11 and now there are only twelve of us. Eleven after Hunter leaves.
“Any cases in Hunter’s load that appeal?” Rivers says, eyeing the rest of us.
“I’d like those religious murders down in Arkansas,” James says, furiously tapping his pen against his notebook again. The man drinks too much coffee. Not that I can talk.
“And I’ll take the kidnapping in Rhode Island,” Hammerston says.
I missed Hunter’s case rundown. I should have paid attention. As the other agents call out their preferences, I try to remember at least one of his top-priority cases. My mind is sluggish and refuses to respond.
“I’ll take the D.C. one,” I finally say. I can’t remember the case, but Hunter had one on the go in the city. A serial killer, just my style, and only two known murders to date…I think. At least, that’s what I remember from last week’s meeting.
Everyone turns their heads and looks at me. The room falls silent. I’ve said or done something foolish.
“What?”
Sam breaks the silence with a lighthearted laugh, taking the impatient eyes away from me. “I just asked for that one, honey.”
“Oh.” I feel suitably dense.
“Do you want it?” Sam says.
“No, no, I’ll take—” and there I stop, because for the life of me I can’t remember any of Hunter’s other cases.
“Why don’t you take that Australian one, give you a taste of home,” Sam comes to my rescue again.
How could I forget that Hunter was doing a profile for the West Australian police? “Sounds good.”
“So what have we got left?” Rivers says, checking his notes. “There’s the rapist in Miami. Marco, why don’t you take that one. And the global credit-card scam.” Rivers looks over his glasses and sweeps his eyes around the room. “Actually, you can finish the profile for that one this week, Hunter, and then pass it over to Wright for follow-up. And we’ve got those hate crimes in Pennsylvania… Silvers, you take that one. Hunter, I want a list of your other cases and recommendations for reassignment by the end of the day.”
“No problem, sir.”
“Well, that’s it, folks. Let’s get back to work. I’ll come and see you all individually about Hunter’s cases.”
Sam and I are already standing, ready to go, when Rivers speaks again.
“Oh, and we’ll have a send-off for Hunter on Friday night.”
Sam and I are first out the door. “What time did you get home?” she whispers. We keep walking, moving away from the other agents.
“I left about thirty minutes after you.”
“You look wrecked, girl.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t get much sleep.” I think about the dream again, and the elements replay themselves more vividly. The dead girl with a tattoo, some sort of a Celtic symbol perhaps, and a woman walking by herself in a parking lot. Then I was running.
I dismiss the dream; after all, I often dream of death and stalking. An occupational hazard, I guess.
Sam brings me back to the world of the living.
“No sleep? Any particular reason?” She has a cheeky look on her face.
“No.” I know what she’s hinting at and head her off at the pass. “It’s strictly professional between me and Marco,” I say, making sure no one’s in earshot.
“Maybe for the moment, honey. But he knows how to work the ladies.”
“Well, that’s a good reason to stay away, isn’t it.”
“He just hasn’t met the right woman yet. Someone like you?”
“But what about Matt?”
“Matt? What about him?”
“It doesn’t feel right yet.”
“Honey, you told me it was over with him.”
“Yeah, it is. We agreed we wouldn’t try the long-distance thing. So it’s over.”
“Well, start acting like it. You left Matt back in Australia seven months ago. At this rate, you’re heading for the nunnery.”
I have to admit, celibacy is getting a bit hard to handle.
Sam doesn’t let up. “You’re single, gorgeous and successful. You can have anyone.”
But it’s not that simple. Sam could have anyone. And I mean anyone. But me? Besides, how do you let go of seven years of your life?
I smile and change the subject. “So, will Hunter be happy? Pissed?”
“We’re all half expecting it at the moment. Who knows who’ll be next.”
“Surely they can’t reassign anyone else.” I can’t take any more cases.
“Let’s hope not. Things are going to get pretty hectic here.”
“They already are.”
“It’ll get worse.”
I bite my lip, guilty. Rivers has put me on a pedestal and I don’t think I deserve to be there. I might get one or two things the other profilers don’t but it takes me a lot longer.
We arrive at my office and I open the door.
Sam keeps walking down the corridor and then stops and turns around. “I might actually get your opinion on that D.C. case. Maybe tonight after work?”
“Sure.” I find it hard to say no, despite my caseload. Besides, it’s Sam. I’d do anything for Sam. She waves and disappears round the corner.
In my office I flick through the files on my desk, looking for the girl that’s haunting me. I must have seen her somewhere, but where? Fifteen minutes later I give up. I’ve been through every file and my recently tidied desk is a mess again. I put Hunter’s West Australian case at the top of my pile. Even though I’ve never been to W.A., it still makes me think about home. The past seven months have gone quickly, but I still miss Australia.
A few hours and a quick lunch break later I hit send on an e-mail to Detective Peter O’Leary, the homicide cop in charge of the W.A. case. One down, forty to go. I move the W.A. file from my “to do” tray to my “follow up” tray. I’ll give O’Leary four weeks before I contact him to see if there’ve been any more murders or any breaks. I print out a copy of the profile and place it in the file. The profile should give O’Leary something.
I’ve got an hour and a half before I’m due to meet Sam in the gym. I take my phone off divert and check my messages. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. It’s a good time to do some follow-ups. I look through some of the crimes I profiled before I went on the Henley case, and spend the next hour and a half talking to cops about any developments. After each call I add updates to the files. Two cases have been solved, so I request more documentation from the cops so I can close off the files.
It’s just past six-thirty when I hurry down to the gym and into the locker room. I tie up my sneakers and Sam walks in. She looks stressed.
“Hard day at the office?”
“You bet, honey,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“What’s up?”
“The D.C. case. There’s something not quite right about it.”
“That’s our dinner-date conversation, remember? Let’s concentrate on exhausting ourselves first.”
“Deal. I’ll see you out there.”
The gym’s busy, with about twenty guys and only two other women there. One of the women is Dr. Amanda Rosen, the departmental psychologist. She, Sam and I often work out together, and occasionally Amanda joins us if we catch a movie or a bite to eat after the gym. I’m sure she’d socialize with us more if it weren’t for the fact that she has to do our six-monthly psych evaluations. I don’t think she wants to get too friendly.
I recognize the other woman from forensics, but I haven’t worked with her yet and don’t even know her name. I make a mental note to get Marty to introduce me.
Amanda sees me and smiles. I smile back then begin stretching. I jump on the treadmill. The rhythmic motion and sound of my feet hitting the tread sweep over me, and I let the day’s thoughts wash away.