But I’d made more inroads with the man than all the Feds and all the cops in Vice and Homicide in New York City had ever done before. For one thing, he’dalmostadmitted to being a Morelli.
Almost.
Angelo slid my coffee over the countertop and I took a cautious sip. I wasn’t really a coffee drinker, but it was surprisingly good. “Hey, this is okay!” Off his wry look, I gave a sheepish shrug. “Most coffee just tastes bitter to me.”
“Most people make it quite poorly,” he agreed. “I prefer the Italian blends, but there are some very good ones from South America as well.”
“Right on,” I said awkwardly.
Angelo sighed. “Why don’t you tell me anything else that I should know?”
This was it, the moment where I put up or shut up. Was I really going into partnership with a murderer?
I didn’t have any other choice. Whether or not I was an FBI agent, my goal would be the same for the rest of my life. I wanted to stamp out crime in New York City however I could, and if that meant a devil’s bargain, then I’d happily hand over my soul.
“The task force is stuck on the Morellis as the culprits,” I said. “But you and I both know it’s not them.” I glanced up at him, and he gave a quick half nod. Easily deniable.
“Who do you think it is?” Angelo asked, and then sipped his coffee, his eyes half-closed in satisfaction.
“If I had to take a guess, it’s a Morelli enemy. Someone’s setting you all up to take the blame. But the list of Morelli enemies is pretty long, and spans both sides of the law.”
For the first time, Angelo looked intrigued. “You think it could be one of your own?”
The idea troubled me. I didn’t like to think someone had taken the law into their own hands. There was nothing worse than a corrupt officer, except perhaps one who had been untethered from the moral code and ethical principles by which we were supposed to do our jobs. “I think it’s more likely to be LCN.”
Angelo gave a sharp laugh. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just that I didn’t realize you Feds really used that term. It’s strange to hear it in the wild.”
“La Cosa Nostra? Why, what do you call it?” I asked innocently.
He picked up his coffee and wandered around the counter back into the living area, making me swivel on the stool. “Bax, I’m going to be straight with you. But not here,” he added, as I sat up straight. “When we get where we’re going, I’ll speak a little more freely. But let me be clear, if this is some long game to take me in, it’s not going to work.”
“I can assure you,” I said, “I have no interest in taking you in for a crime you haven’t committed. When I charge you, I want the charges to stick.”
Angelo nodded. “Then, for the time being, we’ll put our differences aside.”
“Yes,” I agreed, but I hesitated. Our previous conversation regarding potential suspects had made me remember something small.
“What is it?” Angelo asked, only half-listening. He was checking a news alert that had come through on his phone.
“Well…it’s just something Captain Walsh said to me the other day when I was trying to make him see that the Morelli family had nothing to gain from these killings. He told me I should think hard about what happened to Hanson after he met up with you. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, not seriously. But now I’m wondering…”
Angelo had been reading the linked news story, but glanced up. “You think it was a threat?”
“I don’t know. I know he doesn’t trust me.”
“Why not?”
“Hazard of the profession,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Behavioral analysts aren’t always respected in the field. A lot of the cowboys think we’re all talk and no action. They’re notentirelywrong,” I admitted. “But since BAU is usually brought in in a consultant capacity, we’re not always listened to, and sometimes not given much respect.”
“I can see why,” Angelo said. “Criminal profiling? You might as well draw tarot cards.”
I gave a sad sigh. “Maybe you’d get on better with the Captain than you think,” I said.
Angelo gave a derisive snort as he looked up from the news story he’d been reading. “Hanson,” he began, and I nodded for him to continue. “The first day I met you, with Hanson, he said you’d done a profile on me.”
“Not exactly,” I hedged. “I wrote my master’s thesis on the kinds of personalities attracted to organized crime. You happened to be one of my subjects.” His eyelashes flickered, just for a moment. “And out of that, I submitted a psychological description and biographical dossier of you to the task force for consideration.”
“So a profile.”
