Marie Ferrarella - Sundays Are for Murder

Nick smiled and shook his head. “Retired army colonel.”

Sam pretended to breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay then. Cops tend to tread with a heavy foot. Half the time, they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

“Not like us,” Charley commented drily.

Nick glanced at her to see if she was being sarcastic, but her expression told him nothing. Except that she avoided looking his way. He wondered if he had a prima donna on his hands. He’d never worked with a woman before, but he knew a couple of agents who had. One was currently involved in divorce proceedings.

Charley turned her attention toward Kelly. “Is there anything else, A.D. Kelly?”

“Yeah.” Kelly paused for a beat. “Catch this son of a bitch for me, Dow,” he said with feeling. “I want him so bad I can taste it.”

Charley looked over at the posted photographs of the serial killer’s victims. Eleven women who had not been allowed to live up to the promise of their lives. Stacy Pembroke would be the twelfth victim.

“Get in line,” Charley replied solemnly. The next moment, she shook off her mood. Looking at Bill and Sam, she said, “We’ll meet back here.”

“You got it,” Sam agreed.

As she began to walk toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder at her new partner, trying to contain her resentment that he was now in the position that Ben had once held.

“I’ll drive.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement.

“Whatever rings your chimes, Special Agent Dow,” Nick answered.

Charley stopped. “Was that supposed to be amusing, Special Agent Brannigan?”

“That was supposed to be an answer, Special Agent Dow.”

This was turning out to be one of his more memorable First Mondays, Nick thought, not altogether certain he was happy about it. He figured there were two ways he could play this. He could either take offense or laugh it off. The latter seemed to be the better way to go.

His new partner said nothing as she led the way to the bank of elevator cars.

THEY RODE DOWN in the elevator and made their way through the basement of the parking structure without any further exchange of words. The silence accompanied them as they got into her vehicle. It continued as Charley started up her Honda.

Nick kept his peace until after she’d pulled out of the structure and was on the road. The rain was still coming down in a fine, annoying mist. It coated the windshield just enough to demand intermittent swipes from the windshield wipers.

“Want to fill me in?” he finally said.

She’d retreated into the same thoughts she always had when dealing with one of the Sunday Killer’s victims. Had the death been quick? Had the woman suffered? Had Cris suffered those last few moments of her life? What had gone on in her mind during that time? Had she known she was facing death, or was it just too improbable a situation to comprehend?

Charley realized the new man had asked her a question and waited for an answer. Belatedly, she replayed his words in her head.

“About?” she asked, taking a right turn.

Nick banked down a wave of impatience. Would it get any better or did he need to pass some magical test to prove himself to this woman?

“The serial killer,” he said evenly, then added with a smile, “although feel free to fill me in about anything else you might want to throw in.”

You’re not being fair to him.

It was Ben’s voice, not her own, that she heard in her head. Ben, her teacher, her mentor, her surrogate father. No, more than a father, she thought. Her own father had never treated her with the kindness and understanding that Ben Temple did. And she was going to miss Ben. Miss having him by her side, teaching her things even at this stage of her career. She knew it was better for Ben to finally take the retirement that the Bureau had been waving before him. As for her, she’d always hoped the day would never come.

She spared Nick a glance. Man has a profile like Mount Rushmore. “It’s going to take me some time to adjust.”

He looked at her. “To…?”

She could have easily made it through the yellow light, but for once she eased back on the gas pedal, slowing down enough so that the light slipped into red before she was at the crosswalk. She looked at the man beside her.

“You.”

Nick wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take offense at that or not. “Most people don’t find me that difficult to get along with.”

The man was young, good-looking and in excellent shape. His jacket hugged his muscles. Probably had to have his jackets altered to fit, she mused.

“I liked my old partner,” she informed him flatly.

He slipped in through the opening she’d offered. “What happened to him?”

The light turned green, and she pushed down on the accelerator.

“He took a bullet. One meant for me.” Her heart had stopped in that one minute. Curbing fury and fear, she’d fired at the gunman, mortally wounding him. The time between when she’d placed the call and the ambulance’s arrival seemed interminable. She’d stopped the flow of Ben’s blood with her shirt and her hands. Charley glanced at the new man’s face. It annoyed her that she couldn’t read his expression. “Don’t worry, that’s not part of the requirement. I don’t expect you to do the same.”

“Is your ex-partner—”

“Dead? No, thank God. But he took his retirement straight out of the hospital. Said he was too old to walk into dark rooms with his gun drawn.” Charley bit back a sigh. “Ben Temple was a great partner.”

“I’ll try to live up to that.”

“Don’t. You’ll fail.”

He was too much his father’s son not to rise to a challenge when one was issued.

“Don’t count on it, Special Agent Dow. Want to tell me what you know about this serial killer we’re after?”

All he knew was what he’d read in the paper. He’d done that with half an eye, never thinking he’d be assigned to this particular force. Now he wished he’d paid more attention, even though half of it was undoubtedly media hype.

“What I know about the serial killer,” she repeated. “I know that he’s a son of a bitch, no slur intended on female dogs everywhere. I know he rips families apart. That he probably watches his victims, getting their routines down pat before he strikes. I know I want to pin his hands and feet down and vivisect him.”

Something in her voice commanded his attention. “You sound like you really hate this guy.”

“I do. I should,” she added. “He killed my sister.”

IT TOOK NICK a minute to process what she’d just said. He thought his new partner was either pulling his leg or speaking figuratively. But the woman’s profile was rigid. If she was kidding, Special Agent Charlotte Dow held the world’s record for a deadpan.

“You’re serious,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Hold it. Back up a minute,” he said. “Isn’t that considered a conflict of interest?”

On the team less than an hour and already the new guy was pointing out protocol to her. She couldn’t say she was exactly warming up to him. Charley spared him one cutting glance. “If it doesn’t bother the A.D., I don’t see why it should bother you.”

He’d just been put in his place. Nick felt his even temper become a little less even. His new partner obviously had a stick pushed up in regions that did not entertain the rays of the morning sun. But if what she’d just said about her sister was true, he supposed she could be afforded a little slack.

And, he reminded himself, he was the new kid on the block. That meant he had to go along with things, had to roll with the punches until he got the lay of the land and could block the blows.

“I only meant…” His voice trailed off.

Squeaking through a left turn and plowing through a particularly large puddle that shot plumes of water out on either side of the front of the vehicle, Charley sighed. She was being waspish. What was worse, she was taking it out on the new guy.

She spared him another glance. The man didn’t look any the worse for her sharp tongue, she’d give him that. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap your head off. I’m a little testy this morning.”

Brannigan pretended to wipe his brow. “Well, that’s certainly a relief. I’d hate to think you were like this every day.”

Nick knew he’d just taken a gamble. It was one of those lines that could go either way. It could make her laugh or climb up on her high horse and read him the riot act about affording her respect. He was hoping for the former and held his breath until there was some kind of response.

After a beat, a hint of a smile made an appearance on her lips.

“Fortunately for you, I’m a pussycat most of the time. And, to answer your question about conflict of interest—not that I have to,” she told him pointedly, “neither A.D. Kelly nor I realized that there was a tie-in until certain data was fed into the Bureau’s in-house database program. By that time I was already on the task force.” Her smile widened slightly. “And I’m not without my charm.”

“Where did you leave it today?”

The remark had just slipped out. He decided to leave it there. He’d never been comfortable pretending to be something he wasn’t and what he wasn’t was someone who allowed a person to walk all over him. As a kid, it had earned him more than one black eye and more than a few disciplinary sessions administered by his father, sometimes months after the fact because the Colonel was away so much.

Special Agent Dow’s expression was unfathomable. “Good one,” she said with no emotion. “You’re entitled to one zinger.”

“A day?”

A sea of red taillights lined up in front of her vehicle. By all indications, there’d been an accident up ahead. The police had shut off the stoplights and were directing traffic, none of which was presently moving. Stuck, Charley took the opportunity to turn toward the new man.

“Ever,” she informed him crisply. “And that was it. I’m afraid you’ve used up your three wishes, Aladdin.”

He wondered if that was an example of her sense of humor, or if he’d just been put on notice. Rather than make a guess, Nick decided to shift the conversation. “So what was it?”

They were moving again. Good thing. Her leg felt as if it was cramping up. “What was what?”

“The certain ‘thing’ which made you realize your sister—”

“Cris,” Charley supplied.

“Cris,” he repeated, “was the serial killer’s first victim?”

That was taking something for granted and she wasn’t altogether sure they could, given the nature of their killer. “Alleged first victim,” she corrected.

Nick stopped, slightly annoyed at the second interruption. “Don’t you let someone get a question out without interjecting footnotes?”

“If that someone gets it right, no,” she answered simply. And then, because she didn’t really feel like butting heads this morning, entertaining though it might be, she decided to explain why she’d just corrected him. “Call it a gut feeling, but I don’t think we have found all of the victims. It’s a big country, Special Agent Brannigan. There might be graves in places we haven’t even thought to look. As of now, we know of three states where the Sunday Killer has struck. They were all California natives, but he obviously targeted them and followed them out of state. Given that, there might be more victims that, for one reason or another, we don’t know about yet.” She frowned. “There’s no real common thread to link the women or give us a reason why he chose them and not some other women to kill.”