The Profiler

THE PROFILER

Book One of the Munro Family Series

Chris Taylor

A psychopathic killer is stalking the women of Sydney…

Federal Agent Clayton Munro, a criminal profiler with the Australian Federal Police (AFP), has been called upon to assist in hunting down a vicious murderer who is intent upon carving up his victims whilst they’re still alive. Guilt-stricken over his wife’s suicide, Clayton’s forced to set aside his personal issues in order to focus on the case.

Detective Ellie Cooper is also no stranger to heartache. Pregnant and abandoned at the altar by a fiancé intent on pursuing a career with the AFP, her opinion of the elite body of officers is anything but favorable. Angered when her boss orders her to partner with the Fed, she’s determined not to cut him any slack.

But women are dying on the streets of western Sydney and the pressure is mounting to find the person responsible.

Will Clayton and Ellie be able to put aside their animosity and work together to catch a killer before it’s too late? And what about the special fascination the killer seems to have with Ellie…

This book is dedicated to the late Len Wilde who was my most ardent supporter and to my husband Linden, who has never stopped believing in me.

PROLOGUE

Bradley Cole smoothed the doll’s silky, blond hair with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. He loved the fair ones. They were his favorites. They were the ones he tucked in beside him in bed at night. The ones that kept him safe.

Sometimes.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the hard, plastic forehead.

The door to his bedroom flew open and slammed against the wall. He cringed at the look on his mother’s face. With surreptitious movements, he pushed the doll further under the bedclothes and prayed she wouldn’t notice.

“What have you got there, you disgusting little boy? Don’t tell me you have one of those filthy dolls in your bed. How many times have I told you boys don’t play with dolls? Bradley Cole, you are a naughty, naughty boy.”

She stumbled closer, close enough so that he could see the redness that rimmed her eyes. He almost gagged on the stench of alcohol and stale body odor.

Her cheap cotton nightdress flapped around her large frame. She collapsed onto the side of his bed and the steel frame groaned in protest. She reached out and tore off the bedclothes, exposing him to her sharp-eyed gaze.

“What have we here?” she crooned. Her gaze landed on the collection of dolls beside him. Her eyes went wild with excitement.

Terror liquefied his limbs. His stomach clenched.

“Well, well, well. You
have
been a naughty boy.” Her fist caught him plumb on the cheek. He gasped from the pain. Tears burned his eyes.

“And now we have tears from the sissy boy. A ten-year-old who plays with dolls and cries like a girl. What am I going to do with you?”

She tut-tutted and then hauled herself to her feet. When she turned back to face him, her expression was as icy as her voice.

“Down to the basement. Now.”

Bradley froze. He thought fleetingly of making a dash for the phone that sat amidst the clutter on the hall table and then remembered the other times—lots of other times—when he’d dialed the police only to be told not to waste their time and if he made a nuisance of himself again, there’d be consequences.

“I
said
, get up.”

She loomed over him. Her fetid breath turned his stomach. Her fist poised for another strike and his fear ratcheted up another notch. Moments later, his bladder gave way.

“You stinking little boy. You’re going to pay for that. Do you think I have nothing better to do than to wash your stinking sheets?”

With vicious fingers, she dug into his shoulder and hauled him from the bed. He blinked away the pain, knowing it was nothing to what he’d be forced to endure in the basement.

“Now, get down there like I told you and make it quick. Real quick.”

CHAPTER ONE

Detective Ellie Cooper climbed out of the unmarked police car and waited for her partner, Luke Baxter, to come around from the passenger side. Drawing her jacket tighter around her slight frame, she tucked an errant strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. The afternoon was cold and dreary, just as it had been the day she’d buried her son. Three years today. It felt like yesterday.

Memories she’d tried hard to hold at bay all day threatened to bring her undone. Familiar pain and anger, combined with deep loss and a yearning for answers surged through her. She compressed her lips against the sudden rush of emotions and made an effort to push the thoughts aside. She was at work. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

As usual, she took refuge in her job. She flashed her badge at the huddle of fresh-faced, uniformed policemen who stood inside the blue and white, checked crime scene tape that cordoned off part of the scrubby bank of western Sydney’s Nepean River. Not far away, photographers and TV crews haggled over positions.

“We’re Detectives Cooper and Baxter. Penrith Local Area Command,” Ellie said to one of the young officers. “We’re here about a head.”

The officer nodded and offered his hand. “I’m Constable Jacobs, Richmond Police Station. I took the call from Griffin.”

“Griffin?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah, the bloke who found it.” His gaze flicked toward the crowd and his voice turned dry. “And presumably the one who called the media.”

“Where is he?”

“I put him in the back of the squad car. I thought he’d gotten enough camera exposure for today.”

Luke and Ellie looked toward the police cruiser. The profile of a man seated in the back seat could be seen in the late afternoon light.

“What’s his story?” Luke asked.

Jacobs consulted his notebook. “He came down after lunch for a spot of fishing. Apparently, the fish were biting, so he didn’t notice the bag right away.”

“The bag?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah, the head’s wrapped in a trash bag.” He glanced at his notebook again. “Anyway, he was here about an hour when he had to take a leak. Walked over there a bit.”

Jacobs pointed in the direction of a stand of bottlebrush trees nearby. Their scrubby branches provided effective cover from the road twenty metres away. “That’s where he says he found it.”

Ellie was relieved the area had been included within the taped barrier and nodded toward the young constable. “Good work on securing the scene, Jacobs.”

He flushed. “Thanks, Detective.”

She looked at Luke. “Let’s go and talk to our fisherman.”

“I’ll get the camera from the car,” he responded. “We need to get a few pictures before we lose the light.” He glanced back at Jacobs. “Anyone call the morgue?”

“Yes. I got onto them straight after I called it into the station.”

“Good thinking, Constable. Shows initiative,” Ellie said. “Why don’t you join me while I talk to our witness?”

Eagerness lit up the young constable’s eyes. “That would be awesome. I can’t wait to apply for the detective’s course. I know I’ve only just come out of the Academy, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do and—”

“Jacobs,” she interrupted gently, “let’s just get on with it, okay?” Ellie hid her amusement. She wasn’t
that
old that she couldn’t remember feeling exactly the same way.

Even in the fading light, Elle saw the mortification that flooded his expression and felt a twinge of guilt, but they were wasting time, and in homicides, every second counted.

Turning abruptly, she made her way through the tall grass toward the squad car that was parked a short distance away. Jacobs stumbled behind her.

Ducking under the police tape, she came up to the vehicle and rapped her knuckles on the glass.

The man she presumed was Bill Griffin unwound the window and stared up at her with wary blue eyes. His wild gray hair was windblown and in desperate need of a shampoo. Grizzled cheeks covered in a rough beard emphasized the belligerent thrust of his chin. He smelled like fish, river mud and body odor. A damp hessian bag lay on the ground near the car, along with a fishing rod and tackle box.

“Mr Griffin? I’m Detective Cooper.” Ellie indicated Jacobs behind her. “I think you’ve already met Constable Jacobs?”

“Yeah. I already told ’im everythin’.”

“Okay, but we’ve got a head lying in a trash bag over there and so far, you’re the only witness.”

He shot a furtive glance at the hessian bag and suddenly his reticence made sense.

“I’m not from fisheries,” she added. “I couldn’t care less whether you have a license, how many fish you have in there or how big they are. That’s between you and them. All I’m interested in is how a woman’s head came to be lying in a bag under a tree near the river.” She gave him a hard look. “You got that?”

Griffin gave a reluctant nod and his gaze slid away. “It’s just like I told ’im.” He gestured with a dirty finger to where Jacobs stood beside Ellie. “I was doin’ a spot of fishin’, like I always do. Right ’ere, every Friday. Fish were bitin’ good. I’d gone through ’alf me bait already and I’d only been ’ere an hour.”

He paused to scratch a scab on his arm. “I ’ad to take a piss, just like I told the constable. I pulled in me line and left it on the bank with me tackle box. Then I wandered over to them trees over there. That’s when I found it.” He gave a shudder. “Frightened the shit outta me.”

“What made you open the bag?” Ellie asked, pulling out her notebook.

Griffin shrugged and looked away. “I dunno. Just thought I’d take a look.”

Ellie knew the area was renowned for break and enters and petty thefts. More than likely, he’d hoped to find something he could sell.

She gave him another hard look. “What did you do then?”

“I picked it up. It was bloody ’eavy. Carried it a ways over there, toward me gear.”

“Then you opened it.”