Читать книгу The Profiler - Lori May A. - Страница 11

I hail a cab to the curb, and just as I am about to open the back door, my hand meets that of a stranger.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, looking at the man, whom I gather is also leaving the shelter where Denise works. His clothing, specifically a tattered bomber jacket with the hood pulled over his head, and old worker-style jeans, looks frumpy and worn, clearly aged from the streets.

He quickly steps back to allow my entrance to the cab, and his slumped, limping body begins to walk away from me, the fabric of his jacket pocketing air with the wind that recently picked up. With December just around the corner, the city streets are no place to wander, and I get the feeling this man spends more time in alleyways than indoors.

“Hey, mister?” I call after him, my hand keeping the cab door open. “You take this one. It’s okay.”

He pivots slightly, taking his time to evaluate my offer, and I think of Cain awaiting my arrival. “Or better yet, we can share it on my dime. I’m going to Riverside and 112th. Does that work for you?”

I watch as he stands there, obviously debating my offer, and then gradually accepting it by walking toward me. I know the city is no place to pick up strangers, and maybe I shouldn’t have offered. But my father taught me to accept people regardless of their position in life, and to not hold prejudice against those who are less fortunate than others.

Over the years, I’ve developed a soft spot for the homeless, poor and needy. This city, despite its magnitude, can be lonely for most of us, even on a good day, with countless strange faces walking by and in and out of our lives. For those with little hope, it must be so much worse.

I give the driver my directions and twist in my seat to face my fellow passenger, who smells faintly of cheap cologne and musty newspapers.

“Just tell him where you need to stop,” I say, and his hooded head nods, acknowledging me without meeting my glance. Peeking out from the fabric are loose curls, mousy-brown hair long and matted, the streaks of gray evidence of his tired age. Some mystery is concealed by his bundled clothing, but it’s not my business to ask.

“I can’t believe winter is just about here.” My small talk may not offer much to this man, but at least it’s keeping the quiet between us from turning into discomfort. “I just got back to the city after spending some time in Virginia. I forgot how cold it gets.” Only a few states away, it’s amazing what difference a few degrees makes once winter kicks in.

Thankfully, the stranger’s hands are covered with woolly gloves, keeping his fingers protected against the weather. Today is bitterly cold, and though the sun shines on deceivingly, it wouldn’t take much to lose body heat out in the wind. I can’t imagine spending my days without the shelter of a warm home or even the comforts of a café.

My thoughts prompt me to reach into my wallet and hand this man a voucher for a free beverage at a coffee shop in my neighborhood. I doubt he ever hangs out in Chelsea, but who am I to judge? Maybe it’ll add some warmth to his life, even if just for a few minutes.

His gloved hands wrap around the voucher, his covered fingers momentarily grazing mine, and he nods again. I have to wonder if he’s shy and reserved, mute, or simply doesn’t want to speak with me. But he shoves the coupon into the ragged pocket of his jeans and I have to leave the rest up to him.

Dialing some digits into my cell phone, I spare this stranger from any more useless chatter as I wait for my next-door neighbor to answer the phone. “Hey, Mrs. Schaeffer, it’s Angie,” I say when the widow answers. “Looks like I’m starting work earlier than expected, so I was wondering if you’d be able to check on Muddy later this afternoon?”

“Sure, sure. That’s fine, Angela. He’s about due for a visit with me.”

Her friendly voice brings a smile to my face, and I’m glad I can depend on her, knowing Muddy has a friend to walk his old bones around the neighborhood block. After all, it was she who took care of Muddy during the months between my father’s death and my return to New York. Said she liked the company in my father’s absence.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

We say goodbye and I tuck my cell phone back into its cradle against my hip.

“This is good here,” I say to the cabbie, seeing our approach to the cathedral across the street. I hand the driver twice as much as I need to.

“Drop him wherever he wants to go,” I say, trying to make eye contact with the stranger, to no avail. He modestly turns his head a little to the left, away from me, so I simply wish him well. “Stay warm.”

Before I shut the door, however, the man leans across the back seat, reaching to give me something. His cupped hand contains a wooden rosary, but I shake my head at him. “Oh, no, thank you. But I’m not actually going to church.”

He persists, shoving his cupped hand toward me, and I don’t want to be rude so I take the beads from him. “Thank you.”

I watch as the cab peels off from the corner with the strange man sitting in the back seat, and I slip the wooden beads into my coat pocket, not knowing what I’ll ever do with them. Hailing Mary just ain’t my style.

As I cross the street, I spot Detective Severo standing tall atop a hill that acts as a gateway to the historic place of worship. Despite his angelic smile, he looks more like a devil with those dark tinted shades.

“This way, Agent.”

I follow his lead across the brown grass of the cathedral yard, pushing thoughts of Denise out of my head. Maybe it was too soon to visit her, though I’m glad I at least got it out of the way. My duty, as the daughter of the man she loved, is now fulfilled. There will be no need to visit her again anytime soon.

With my focus returning to the task at hand, I shorten the distance between me and Severo, but maintain a six-foot separation. I notice the detective is not dressed formally, but has casual gear on—cargos and a light sports jacket. Not a bad rear view, either.

As we hike down the slope, I see Cain hanging out by a decaying water fountain, grumbling some sort of vulgarity about the scene, but I’m not yet sure what the issue is.

I can’t see much of anything in the glaring sunshine streaming through the leafless trees and shrubbery of this landscaped yard. “I’m here. What’s the deal?”

“Looks like this is it, Angie. The scene where our spiritual advisor guy got barbecued.”

Detective Severo leans against a concrete statue of Christ and gives me more to work with. “The landscaper thought something smelled a little funky when he was taking care of the courtyard this morning. When he saw the lock on the tomb had been busted, I got called in to check it out. Since Cain wants you to see the forensic reports on Killarney, I figured I’d go one step further and invite you to the point of origin.”

He gestures to the west and I follow his movement to see where the rest of his team is working. Beyond the footpath, there’s a door propped open in the earthen bank, accessing an underground staircase.

“They used to use it for cremation, so it’s fireproof down there. Now, though, it acts as a sightseeing highlight.” Severo hands me a tattered brochure outlining the tourist attractions of this 120-year-old masterpiece. “Seems kind of grotesque, but hey, whadda I know?”

The promotional pamphlet describes the former methods of burial and gives detailed explanations of cremation history. Like I need to see the accompanying photos.

“Anyways,” Severo adds, “the place has been used recently, and that’s what set off Mr. Dunbar.”

“The groundskeeper?”

“He prefers landscape technician,” Cain says with a smug chuckle. “Gardener’s more like it.”

As Severo leads us along the path, Cain takes on a more serious tone, prepping me for the scene. “Now, Angie, you’re going to see some pretty freaky shit out in the field, so go easy and take it one step at a time. It’ll take some getting used to. But NCAVC doesn’t accept just anybody, ya know. The only way to get quality field experience is to get tangled right up in its disgusting face, okay?”

Cain’s got a point. Since I was placed at the Virginia field office for only a few months—until Cain agreed to work with me, allowing for my placement in New York—there was little opportunity to get anything solid accomplished. In order for NCAVC to take me on as a candidate for the profiling program, I need to do a lot more in these next few years with my mentor to attract their attention. That’s why I agreed to work with the well-respected, though sometimes socially dysfunctional, Special Agent Marcus Cain.

“So is NYPD handing this one over?”

Severo looks at me as though I’ve just threatened his life. “I wouldn’t get too excited, Agent. I’m just doing Cain a favor. Ran it by my captain, and he didn’t have any problems with me bringing Cain along. Who knows, I might even learn a thing or two from the old master.”

My gaze narrows on Severo’s deep-set eyes. Amid the late autumn landscape and the increasingly cool breeze, this hotshot looks fearless. Which makes me very curious as to who he is.

“Why would you bother doing this for Cain?”

I notice my mentor has moved on down the path, and I don’t feel my question will bring any immediate falsity.

“We have a history, having worked together on a multiunit task force. He’s a good guy. He wants to find something juicy where you can get some field experience, so why should I argue? What the hell? Maybe he knows a thing or two about God.”

“I highly doubt it.” Cain just doesn’t seem the type to know anything more than a few variations of blasphemy. “But what about you, Detective? Are you not a God-fearing man?”

Severo nearly spits when he says, “Phsts! Yeah, right. I go to church on Sundays and pray every night.”

As he continues toward the scene, I follow at his side and offer a few words of advice. “Well, maybe you should. From what I can tell, you’re no angel.”

He turns his face to the side, and just the corner of his lips curl before he comes back at me. “And you are?”

“Hey!”

Detective Severo and I both turn our attention to Cain, who appears bored and bent with frustration.

“Can we please get on with this? I’d like to retire soon.”

A genuine laugh escapes Severo for the first time and it surprises me a little. They say you can judge people by their laughter, and if that’s the case, my guess is Severo has a softer side I haven’t yet seen.

Yet? Hell, I doubt I ever will. Not with that chip on his shoulder protecting him from evil.

Cain’s hollering about picking up the slack, and Severo shouts, “Per l’amor di Dio!”

I laugh. “So you do believe in God?” I ask, eyeing him playfully.

Severo seems almost disappointed when he looks at me. “Oh, right, I forgot you understand Italian.”

“Among other things.” In my delivery there is a little bit of flirtation even I wasn’t expecting.

Cain mutters, “Christ almighty,” as we reach his side, before venturing down to the pit of the tomb. Even though he is referring to me and Severo, when I enter the burial site I feel like whispering blasphemies of my own.

“What is that smell?”

“Eh, didn’t I tell you?” Cain chuckles, handing me some gauze to cover my nose. “You should recognize it from the men’s mission, only it’s a bit more potent here. Burned human flesh, my dear. Ten times worse than animals, and all the more horrifying to look at.” At least with the body placed at a different scene I don’t have to deal with visuals and smell all in one take.

“The church once used this?” I can hardly believe it when I see the timeworn ruins. The place is like a catacomb, only scarier due to the knowledge of what this labyrinth of rooms was used for.

Inside the main chamber, there are countless burn marks on the broken concrete, and the stench seems more than a century old. A path winds on to smaller rooms under the earth, and even though this is New York City, I feel as though I’ve been transported through time to a more dark and sinister world. One that is consumed by death.

“Watch it. Ya don’t wanna compromise the scene, Angie,” Cain says, holding me behind the yellow tape. “You trying to make fast enemies with the CSU?”

I look on as the forensics team begins to separate trace evidence from useless material, and am amazed how decisive they are in their actions. To tell one piece of dirt from another and know for certain it is a crucial piece of evidence takes skill and dedication. Not to mention a great deal of patience.

“So this is where Matthias Killarney was killed?” I ask, wanting to know what connects the two scenes.

“It seems so, but we’ll find out for certain,” Cain says, pointing to the forensics experts. “They’ll take this stuff to the lab and once they’re on to something, we’ll have a look and see what we can do to get you some profiling experience, kiddo.”

I hate that he calls me that. Especially in front of Severo. I realize Cain has taken me under his wing, and for that I’m eternally grateful. But the last thing I want is some detective thinking I’m inferior.

I bring my focus back to this case, though, as I am anxious to prove my interest in profiling. Forensics will lead us to scientific answers, but I’m interested in fingering any indication of what sort of person does this to another. It’s not every day a person is burned up in a crematorium. At least not with criminal intent.

As I let my eyes drift along the walls, my attention is quickly diverted by a small carving in the concrete to my left. It’s Latin.

“In nomine Dei.”

Cain looks at me quizzically, shaking his head. “Angie, can’t you stick to one freakin’ language when you’re around me?”

But when I point to my findings, the Cain I know as a serious and effective profiler returns, and his badass, bad-attitude exterior leaves. “What is it?”

I scan the walls to see if there’s more to decode, but finding nothing, I explain. “It’s Latin, meaning ‘In the name of God.’”

Severo steps closer to the wall, and thereby closer to me. I feel his breath cross my shoulder as he inspects the carving, and briefly, I am caught in his scent. Man. Masculine.

In just enough of a whisper to keep the detective close, I ask, “Now who knows a thing or two about God?”

“Looks fresh, too,” he says, breaking eye contact and taking a step back from me. He signals to the photographer and leads us aside. “Well, folks, I think we may have ourselves a note. Let’s say we get out of CSU’s way and wait for the lab to fill us in on the findings.”

As we exit the tomb, I begin to tail Cain back to the road, then I spot some movement in one of the ill-tended gardens. When I spy a man in his twenties looking perfectly suspicious, my hand slides down my side toward my holster.

The movement prompts him to flee.

“Stop! FBI!”

I pick up speed, hurtling over bushes and forensics gear, passing the groundskeeper and Severo. Tree branches bat against my cheeks as I snake in and out of the brush.

“FBI! Stop!”

The man continues on, hopping over stone carvings and winding along pathways. The garden is a maze and, clearly, this guy knows it well.

I race forward, gaining on the man, and vaguely hear Severo trailing behind me. His voice warps through the air but I ignore it.

When I see the man hop the fence separating the neighboring apartment building from the church property, I scramble under the wire to make time.

He turns back to check our distance, and with the twist in his body, loses ground and tumbles into a ditch.

“Lemme see your hands!” As I close in on the guy, he gets up and begins to bolt, but I make it to his side just in time.

He swats at me with fury and I duck my head, then hook a foot behind his knee to pull him down. When he hits the ground, he swings his leg and nearly knocks me on my face, but I quickly leap up and hop over it.

Still standing, I pull the man up by the collar of his jacket, and when I do, he uppercuts me and doesn’t miss.

The hit doesn’t slow me, but it does bring his body closer to mine. I don’t miss a beat, wrapping my left arm around his neck in a choke hold while he writhes about, trying to get free.

I slam him against the fence and lean into him, ready to snag him with my cuffs, despite his slippery attempts to escape. One of his arms loosens as I reach to my side, and within a heartbeat I see the knife he has pulled from his pocket. I slide an inch to escape his swift swipe, but when the gunshot goes off it alarms me, and the guy wriggles from my grasp, dropping his weapon as he runs.

“What the hell d’ya do that for?” I yell at Severo, while speeding down the grassy slope.

Severo yells some explanation as to his tactics of protecting me from the knife, but I ignore his annoyance.

Beyond the apartment building’s entrance, I see a tunnel leading to the underground garage. The hunted man darts in, and I run to the opposite side, where the garage roof meets the hill of the cathedral’s garden.

Severo is yelling, “Angie!” He’s trying to get me to follow him through the garage entrance, but I can see the fire escape exit protruding from the east side of the roof.

With my Bauer .25 in hand, safety off, I slow my pace as I walk along the garage roof. I listen closely, feeling the crisp late autumn air hitting my cheek.

As I expected, the man bolts up the fire escape ladder and onto the roof, facing me.

“Put your hands up!”

The guy is freaking out and shouting, “I didn’t do shit, man! I didn’t do nothing!” But no one innocent ever runs.

I go to his side, aiming my pistol, and cuff his wrists before walking him across the roof, back to the garden.

Severo meets up with me and I want to cuff him, too, but I just tilt my head and say, “You think I need you to protect me?”

The guy is read his rights, but it only takes a minute until the gardener runs up to Severo, who seems rather disgruntled at the moment.

“That’s my boy! My boy don’t do no wrong. Please!”

Severo wipes his brow—as if he worked up a sweat out there—and tells the old man, “That’s for us to determine, Mr. Dunbar. Come on, you can ride with me and we’ll get this sorted out.”

“Eh, Severo,” Cain says with a grimace, showing his smoke-stained teeth. “My girl Angie give you a run for your money out there, huh? Didn’t I tell you…”

Severo smirks and turns away, while I yell at him, “Do you always shoot prematurely, Detective?”

He looks back to me, small beads of sweat trickling down his jawline. “Cute. Real cute.”

“Where the hell did ya learn all that kung fu shit from?” Severo asks, handing me a foam cup with black coffee.

“Am I the only person in New York who uses cream?” I suck it up, though, and take in Severo’s Fifth Precinct stomping grounds. I wouldn’t say it’s comparable to the Ritz, that’s for sure. Especially in this contained interrogation room. You’d think we were the bad guys, being holed up in here, but Severo insisted it would provide the most quiet work space for now, instead of having us pile up around his desk in the open concept offices of the Elizabeth Street Detective Squad. I can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic, though.

I find a can of no-name whitener and add a dose to my mug while I inform him, “That wasn’t kung fu. Just common sense.”

Severo drops into a plastic interrogation chair and eyes me. “Here I thought you were trained in some fancy-schmancy karate or something.”

“I was.” I take a seat opposite him and start peering through files I have yet to absorb. “Among other things.”

“Like?”

I attempt to let my heavy sigh inform the detective I’m not particularly interested in swapping macho locker room talk, but he eggs me on.

“Krav Maga, hapkido, Jeet Kune Do. And a little Ninjitsu for good measure.”

“Jesus. I don’t even know what any of that is. Where’d you learn all that razzmatazz?”

My coffee is room temperature, but I’m getting heated. Especially after the gunshot stunt he pulled on the scene. I realize he suspected the guy was about to knife me, but I know what I’m doing, and I know what I’m capable of.

Hell, out of thousands of applicants for my term at Quantico, I was one of few to get accepted, and one of even less to earn a badge. I don’t need a bodyguard or a babysitter. The detective will learn that soon enough on his own.

“My father. Mostly. Some in Quantico,” I say, getting up to reheat my coffee. Severo rolled in a portable microwave cart and all we’d need to make us feel at home in this room, but frankly, I’d have preferred it if we ventured to the other side of Columbus Park to the Federal Plaza. I fare better on familiar ground. “I took a lot of classes, too, but my father’s the one who got me interested in it. Knew his stuff.”

“Does he kick ass, too?”

My eyes lower, but I’m quick to recover. It’s not Severo’s business and I don’t want him—or anyone, for that matter—to see I’m still saddened by my father’s death. My grief could be deemed as weakness, and I can’t afford that interpretation.

“He’s dead.”

Severo starts to get up from his chair, but when my eyes focus on his, he realizes it’s best to stay put. “Sorry. I didn’t know. He wear a badge?”

For the sake of getting it out of the way, I provide enough information to satisfy his curiosity. “Fed. Damn good one, too.” For a moment, I don’t think of his death, but recall his living years. “Great one. Knew his shit. Not just martial arts, either. He was just so amazing. He could sniff out a killer like no one. Great instincts, great control. He was a profiler who knew how to hunt. He always got his way.”

Severo snorts a chuckle and says, “Sounds like you.”

“Well,” I say, sipping at my now hot coffee, letting the stale taste distill my emotions. “He was a great mentor. I couldn’t have asked for better training.”

Before I take a seat across from the detective, I remove my Special Agent ID and wallet. Flopping into my seat, I give an annoyed sigh when Severo reaches across the table to inspect my credentials.

“Agent David?”

I lick my lips clean of the hot coffee. “What now?”

“Angela David?”

Severo’s look is one of confusion, and I’m starting to relate to that emotion. “Yes.” I speak slowly, making fun of the detective and his momentary lapse of sanity. “I am Angela David. Do you know who you are?”

“So your father—” as he ignores my sarcasm, the words come slowly from Severo “—was Joshua David?”

I stand up and grab my badge from the detective. “Did you know him?” My pulse increases as I watch for his reaction, but I have little patience left today. “Severo? Are you saying you knew my father?”

With his head shaking and a softer look on his face, the detective speaks in a calm voice. “Hey, cool down. I know of your father’s reputation. I didn’t know him. Not personally.”

“But you knew enough to recognize his name.”

Sitting back down, urged by Severo’s hand wrapped around my arm, I look into his narrowed eyes to measure his sincerity.

“Of course I’ve heard of him, Angie. How could I not have? He had a reputation that could kick some serious ass around here. That’s good to hear, right?”

“Yeah, no, of course that’s good. It’s just…strange, I guess.”

I take a few deep breaths to put things into perspective. Of course he’s heard of my father. He’s a detective. Anyone on the job would have at least heard of Agent Joshua David. But any time a stranger mentions my dad, it’s as though there is a piece of him left behind, for me to discover, and the feeling is bittersweet.

“Hey, it has to be hard. But bad shit happens to good people all the time. Part of the job. I know that doesn’t make it any easier, but hey, my condolences. No wonder you’re so feisty. You got some big shoes to fill.”

Cain enters the room, so I pull my energy back to focusing on this case. I do have a lot to live up to, with my father’s reputation, but it’s Marcus Cain who’s going to be there for me as I make the right moves to get into NCAVC.

Cain looks at each of us. “I guess we’re up to our asses, uh?”

Severo nods his head knowingly, but I have to ask for clarification. My mind has too much new information to deal with to keep up with subtleties.

Cain leans on the table and explains. “The gardener’s kid? Yeah, he was up to something, all right. But nothing to do with the case.” He slides my files closer to him, glancing over the sparse paperwork. “Just a grower, is all. Planted pot in the garden where his pops wouldn’t blow his cover, but he was all freaked out when he saw us. Too doped up to know we weren’t DEA. Gotta feel bad for his pops, though. Didn’t know what the hell to think of it. Poor sap.”

“He’s taken care of?” Severo asks, which I think is kind of sweet, being concerned for the unfortunate events the gardener had to go through today.

“He’s gone. He’s just relieved his kid’s no murderer, ya know? Speaking of which, where we at?”

Severo straightens in his chair and spreads out the files before us. “It’s all yours, Agent David.” He lays the photos across the table for viewing. “Cain wants you assessing something scandalous, so I guess this is your lucky day.”

I peer at the remains of the scene, captured on film, then look to Severo, knowing this is his case. Cain warned me to be mindful of the turf war, so I have to ask. “You really don’t mind if I look?”

“Knock yourself out. Captain Delaney doesn’t mind me sharing, and it’s all right by me. I’m going to call the lab and see if any results have come in to verify these two scenes match up.”

As I watch the detective pass through the door, Cain fills me in on the process. “Severo’s got them looking at the bits of stone found on the body, to make sure it does come from the crematorium. It doesn’t look like we’ll get much other trace from that scene, which tells us what, kiddo?”

“The doer knew what he was doing.”

“Right. Which doesn’t always make it easy, but it most certainly makes it interesting,” he says, before slurping coffee from his mug. Cain dabs at his chin with his cuffed sleeve and then glances at me. “You hurt?”

“Excuse me?”

“From that little chase out there with the gardener’s kid. You got a bit of a bruise coming through,” he says softly, placing the edge of his thumb against my chin, right where the kid landed an uppercut. “You know Severo was only trying to do right, out there. Don’t be mad he tried to save your ass.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”

“Like I said, you can’t be making enemies around here, so lighten up a little and try to warm up to the detective. He’s a good guy with a good heart. He may seem like a horse’s ass some days, but he’s a team player. Give him a chance, Angie.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, taking in my first scolding.

“I hope so. Now, tell me what you see.” Cain pushes aside his mug, making room to spread out the crime scene photos.

Inspecting them closely, I try to look beyond the obvious and open my mind to discovery. I realize Cain wants me to find my own way, which I appreciate. It’s nice to have the opportunity to work with a reputable profiler, but it’s even better when that person really accepts his position as mentor and doesn’t incessantly impose his own theories. Guess I got lucky being matched up with Cain.

“Come on,” he urges, tapping the photos. “What does Killarney’s body tell you?”

I edge off of my seat to get closer to Cain as we review the black-and-whites. “He’s burned.”

“Look harder.”

Cain slides a close-up of Matthias Killarney directly in front of me. I take in the details and am a little surprised. “His foot. It kind of looks like a stab wound.”

“Now what would Killarney be doing with a stab wound?”

In the center of the victim’s right foot is a delicate slice, easily made by a pocketknife or other small weapon. It’s barely noticeable in the photo, but definitely strange.

“The killer messed up?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Cain retorts.

“I’m not sure,” I say, which is true. It seems strange that the killer would make a superficial cut on the victim’s foot. If he was burning the man to death, why bother?

As I get up to circle the table and walk through my thoughts, I see Severo outside the doorway, hanging up from his telephone conversation. He catches my stare when he enters the room, but Cain speaks before he does. “Well?”

The detective crosses his arms across his chest, looking to me first, then smiling at Cain. “They’re still working on the bulk of things, but it looks like we’ll have an ID.”

“On the killer?” I ask, intrigued to peg our man.

“They pulled two sets of prints from the crematorium. My guess is when the killer was roasting our victim, he got caught in the flames and lost a little flesh of his own.”

Cain gets up to stretch out his muscles. “Good job. Did AFIS bring anything up?” I look to him, knowing I should recognize the acronym, but he quickly clarifies. “Automated Fingerprint Identification System.”

“They’re running the prints now,” Severo says, topping up his stale office coffee. “If this guy’s got priors, we’ll get a name, address and anything else you want to know about him. Just one thing we need to figure out though… Why?”

Cain wraps an arm around my shoulders, grinning. “And that’s where you come in, my dear protégée. Welcome to the land of profiling.”