Part 5 (2/2)
”I did; now I don't.”
”But ...”
He shook his head. ”Enough about me.”
His partner joined them, ”Ed is a fine example of why you shouldn't p.i.s.s off your boss. So, do I get an introduction to the beautiful lady?”
Barrett rolled her eyes, as she mentally noted that Ed's partner would probably hit three hundred pounds and lose the rest of his thinning red hair before the age of thirty.
”Dr. Barrett Conyors, Officer Bryan Ca.s.sidy.”
They shook. ”So how do you guys know each other?” Ca.s.sidy asked.
”We worked a couple cases. Barrett is the best profiler I've ever met,” Ed stated. ”By the way, I heard about Charlie Rohr...I heard you were there. I'm sorry.”
”It was pretty awful,” the b.l.o.o.d.y scene played in her head. ”The idiots let someone in with a firearm.”
”You're lucky to be alive.”
”I hadn't even thought about that,” she said, looking up at a cherub and feeling an unpleasant sensation as its eyes appeared to be watching her. ”I don't know if cops get it the same way, but all of my bad cases kind of follow me around. I know I'm going to be seeing Charlie Rohr for a very long time.”
”You think his family will sue?” Ed asked.
”No idea. They didn't want anything to do with Charlie while he was alive, but there's a d.a.m.n good case to be made against the state, so you never know. It wouldn't surprise me.”
”Why is that name familiar?” Bryan asked.
”The Caravaggio killer,” Hobbs replied.
Ca.s.sidy smiled, ”The guy with the knitting needles who liked girls with something extra.”
”That's right. Barrett did the profile. If it hadn't been for her he'd still be out there.”
”I thought you didn't believe in profiling,” Bryan commented.
”I don't,” Ed said, but then added, ”I believe in her.”
”Oh, please,” Barrett brushed away the compliment, yet clearly enjoyed Ed's admiration. As she recalled, that had been mutual. But what the h.e.l.l was the deputy chief of detectives doing here? If he wasn't putting Jimmy under surveillance, it made no sense. And why was he living in Manhattan, what had happened to his wife and kids? ”I wondered why you hadn't called me,” she said.
His head c.o.c.ked slightly.
”For a case,” she added.
”Can we talk about that later?”
”Sure ...”she looked at her watch, and felt a growing apprehension, standing in front of the Martin townhouse, feeling it tower over them. ”I guess it's time to head in.”
”You wearing a wire?” he asked.
”No.”
”Don't you think you should?”
”I don't usually tape my patients without their knowledge.”
”This is different and you know it.”
”True, but still.” She smiled, glad that he was taller than she was, and why no wedding band? While Ralph had no difficulty carrying through on his l.u.s.tful thoughts, Barrett's would-be infidelities had always stayed between her ears. Although, back when she and Hobbs had spent long hours unraveling the inner world of Charlie Rohr, she'd wondered what it would be like to be wrapped in the powerful arms of the no-nonsense detective.
”Think about that wire,” Hobbs said.
”You'll be there,” she reminded him.
”I'd rather be listening in.”
”I'm not hearing this,” Ca.s.sidy remarked.
”Enough,” Barrett hefted her briefcase, let a car pa.s.s, and then crossed the street and walked up the broad granite steps. As she approached, she caught the mournful sound of a cello spilling from the house. With her hand on the antique fox-head doorknocker she paused. She a.s.sumed it was a recording, probably Brahms. A clock chimed the hour from inside the house; she knocked and the cello playing stopped.
The towering mahogany door swung in and a tall blond man with pale-blue eyes greeted her. At first she thought he was the butler, but realized a servant wouldn't be dressed in belted chinos and a white oxford b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt. A Siamese kitten batted at his ankles, drawing her attention to the unmistakable red-blink of a security bracelet.
”Dr. Conyors?” the man said, his voice pleasant and deep.
”Yes,” Barrett answered, feeling a blast of cool air spill over her as gooseflesh popped on her arms.
He stepped back into the dark, marble-floored foyer. ”I don't know if you remember me, but we met once when I was in the hospital.” He extended his hand.
”I remember, but you look different,” she said, shaking his hand, noting the strength of his grasp and that he was wearing musky cologne. Had she been mistaken? This couldn't be the same guy. At the same time her eyes were pulled in a dozen directions as she started to grasp the grandeur of the house. Even in the dimly lit foyer, it was hard not to gawk at the majestic sweep of the spiral staircase, or the beautiful inlaid marble on the floor, or the carved wood paneling and columns, and the artwork ... like being in a museum.
The plainclothes cops trailed in after her.
”That's right,” Jimmy said, watching as they entered, ”you requested an escort. At least they're not in uniform.”
To Barrett's ear, it was a reproach. ”As you said, it's what I requested.”
”Never mind,” his tone conciliatory. ”The kitchen is to the right, past the parlor and through the dining hall,” he directed them, as though they were a pair of in-the-way servants who needed to be gotten from underfoot. ”There are some deli sandwiches on the table. I'd offer you something other than soda, but I can't have anything stronger in the house.”
”We could stay here,” Hobbs offered, looking Jimmy straight in the eye.
Jimmy held the detective's stare and then turned to Barrett. ”Is that necessary?”
”No,” she said, ”it'll be fine. Where would you like to meet?”
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