Just so I was the one who caught the killer.
Maybe half an hour later, Granger strode superciliously to my desk, avoiding eye contact, white shirt in tow. I braced myself for the inevitable fatuous remark.
“And this is the former Lieutenant Pulaski whom you’ve heard so much about,” he said. “She has been working on a temporary basis as a consulting profiler. Up until now, anyway.”
Subtle, Granger. Very subtle. I stood and held out my hand.
Then my eyebrows rose, of their own accord. I was prepared for the Fed to be cool and authoritative. I was not prepared for him to be hunky.
“Patrick Chaffee, Behavioral Science Unit. Good to meet you, Lieutenant.” His grip was firm but not oppressive. He was a couple of inches taller than me, which is saying something. He had a kind face, a friendly one. He seemed relaxed, at ease. Not like he was planning some macho squeeze play.
“Call me Susan. And just for the record, I’ve been working as a behaviorist for-”
“Oh, I know, I know,” he said, still shaking my hand. “I’m familiar with your work on the Wyndham case. I read your report in the American Academy Journal.”
“You did?” I said, totally nonplussed.
“Absolutely. It made the rounds at Quantico. First-rate work. Thorough and innovative.”
Did I say he looked like a nice guy? Obviously, he was the spawn of Satan. “We got lucky on that one.”
He blew air through his lips. “There’s no such thing.”
“Look,” I said, “I’ve got all the files you’ll want to see. I’ll clear out and let you dig in.”
“I’d rather you walked me through it.”
Yet another surprise. “You would?”
“Absolutely.”
My eyes narrowed. “So… when you say you’re from the FBI, would that be the one in D.C.? In the J. Edgar Hoover Building? Or is this perhaps some kinder, gentler FBI?”
He laughed. “Let me clarify, okay? This is still a Vegas PD case. Two killings, weird as they are, aren’t enough to put it on our threshold. I was just asked to help. Although with you on retainer, I’m not sure why they bothered.” He flashed his smile, the sort of smile that turned George Clooney into a twenty-million-a-flick property. “Think we can work together?”
My chin rose slightly. “Possible.”
Granger looked disgusted. “I’ll leave you two psychos alone,” he said, chuckling quietly at his own nonjoke. Nebbish.
Patrick clapped his hands together. Did I mention that his eyes were blue? Oh, man, his eyes were blue. Vivid, liquid blue. “Shall we get started?”
As it turned out, he wasn’t reading anything until he had a shot of java in him. A man after my own heart. Literally, I hoped. I took him down to the kitchen. Despite his initial generosity to me and my favorable first impression, I thought it was important to set a few ground rules.
“Let’s just get this straight up front,” I said, passing him a Styrofoam cup filled with the brackish stuff that passed for coffee around here. “You may be the big-shot FBI behavioral specialist. That’s okay, I can respect that.”
He took it straight-no cream, no sugar. Brilliant. “I sense a but coming.”
“But I know my stuff, too, even if I didn’t train at Quantico. I’ve been working this beat for nine years and I’ve earned my propers.”
“Understood.”
“So let’s skip the usual business of lording it over me because you’re fed and I’m not. I’ve studied John Douglas’s work on sexual killers, all the interviews, all the compare-and-contrast. Hell, I’ve read every word the man wrote.”
“I was trained by John Douglas.”
“And I’m not inexperienced. My work has led to the capture of twenty-seven sexual or habitual offenders.”
“Excellent. I’ve caught forty-two, myself.”
“And I am up-to-date on the new research in my field. I read the Behavioral Science Unit’s annual report from cover to cover. I read last year’s twice.”
He smiled. “I wrote it.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You’re doing this to me on purpose, aren’t you?”
“And loving every minute of it.” The twinkle in his eye was irresistible, even though every instinct in my body told me I should resist.
“They gave you the scoop on me, didn’t they?”
“I’ve seen your resumé, yes.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I watched his eyes carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know.”
“That your father was a cop-till he was murdered? And the case remains unsolved.”
“That was a long time ago. What I’m concerned about…”
“The drinking?”
I nodded.
“I’m okay with that.”
“Not a problem?”
“Long as you’re sober when we’re working, I don’t figure it’s any of my business.”
“You aren’t afraid I’ll relapse and destroy the case or something? Everyone else is treating me like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
He shrugged. “I might have a little more perspective on this than they do. I used to be hooked on heroin.”
“Heroin? You?”
He spread his hands. “See? Least booze is legal.”
“Heroin?”
He nodded. “But I kicked it. You will, too.” He crumpled his empty cup in his fist. “Tell you what. Let’s hold off on the files. Show me the crime scenes. Take me to the house where the first victim lived. We can read papers later. Make it a late night. Maybe an all-nighter.”
“Sounds great.” I headed toward the door.
“So,” he said, stopping me. “You think we can work together?”
What could I say? I gave him my best squinty-eyed, tell-me-no-lies look. “Did you really have a heroin habit?”
He grinned a little as he led the way out. “You’ll never know.”
After two burials, a hanging was almost exhilarating. He had allowed himself to have fun with this one-why not? If the eyes of the world were going to be focused on his work, as it now seemed evident they were, he should make the most of it. He should see that the word was given to those with the perspicacity to understand it. And for the rest-well, at the very least, he could entertain them.