Humpty Dumpty: The killer wants us to put him back together again (Book 1 of the Nursery Rhyme Murders Series) (3 page)

Okay, so it was due to the fact that no one else would touch the case with a ten-foot pole, but that didn’t matter to Had. He didn’t have to worry about his “career” with the BAU. He was just thrilled he was getting to work with them.

He
was
glad there hadn’t been anyone around to witness his subsequent happy dance. He’d been floating on a cloud since that conversation had happened.

The real shock had been when his boss had given the okay. Had wasn’t being arrogant by saying that he was the best officer that Ann Arbor had on the force. The competition wasn’t all that fierce, to be honest about it. Had was pretty sure that one of the guys could be a poster child for the dangers of inbreeding.

But the chance to get out and see a little bit of the country
and
work on one of the coolest serial killer cases in the last twenty years? It was too much. The Humpty Dumpty murders had gone into the realm of urban legend. When Coop had mentioned the famous killer the first time, Had’s initial thought had been that she was just playing a prank on the local rube cop. Just talking about it with her had been a thrill.

And now he was going to be
working the case
. He stopped folding another shirt long enough to break into his happy dance again. Hey, he was at home. He was alone. There was no one here to keep him from busting out “The Sprinkler.”

Psycho
rang out again. His mama.

“Wanted to let you know. I invited that girl from the pharmacy over.” Had’s mother had to pick up her prescription every other week, and she couldn’t help but get chatty with everyone there.

“Hold on. Are you talking about the one with the walleye?” he asked, horrified.

“No, no, turtle. It’s the new girl I was telling you about. The one with the red hair and the freckles. And she made perfect change without even checking.”

Under normal circumstances, that would have been more than intriguing. Had loved redheads, and the math angle was a definite plus. Enough to almost make a difference. But this was anything but a normal circumstance.

“It’s going to be really awkward for you when she shows up and I don’t.”

“Honey, please. There’s no way the FBI have you working on a case. You’ve got a record.”

She wasn’t lying. Had had always been a bit of a hellion. At 16 years old, he and a buddy had stolen old Mr. Johnston’s truck and taken it out to Ford Lake with two girls from their chemistry class, hoping to make some chemistry of their own. It hadn’t ended so well.

“Yeah, but that was years ago, and…” He stopped himself. There was no way she was going to believe him. Hell, he didn’t believe it himself. “Mama, I love you but I have to finish packing.” He hit the END button on his cell, tossed the phone on the bed and glanced down at his flight itinerary, which was sitting next to his bags.

The flight left out of Detroit at 6 am, which meant that Had would have to leave Ann Arbor by 3:30 or 4 if he wanted to have enough time to get through security. It was going to be an early morning. No problem. Early summer mornings in Michigan were glorious. Almost enough to make him start jogging. Almost.

Psycho
.

Picking up the phone and answering in one motion, he held the cell up to his ear. “Hope you have enough Tupperware to hold all the leftovers. I’ll call you when my flight gets in.” Flipping the switch to vibrate, Had stuck the phone in his pocket. No more distractions for the night. If his mother got desperate, she’d text him, much as she pretended she didn’t know how.

He’d now spent three hours packing and unpacking and packing again, and it was getting on toward midnight. Maybe he should just stay up all night. He could always catch up on some of his sleep on the plane tomorrow. In fact, he was looking forward to it. For now? Catch up on
Dr. Who
. That would be perfect.

No. Nope. He was going to go back over some of the information on the case that Agent Cooper had sent him. Coop had placed a lot of trust in him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Yes, he had been through the material fifteen times since she’d emailed it to him. But two or three more times through the file wouldn’t kill him.

Well, after he finished packing, of course. Okay, maybe three bags wasn’t such a bad idea. That way he could take his leather jacket, too. Sure, it was summer, but you never knew when you might have to pull out the leather.

Had grinned and went to find another suitcase.

CHAPTER 2

Manhattan stank.

This wasn’t Agent Sariah Cooper’s judgment call on the most densely populated island in the United States. It was a statement of pure fact.

During late summer, Manhattan’s heady bouquet was a lethal combination of putrid garbage, urine and ethnic food. The only variances from area to area were the types of spices that laced their way in and amongst the other, more prevalent scents. Here, it was mostly from the Chinese restaurant next door.

Doing what she could to keep from inhaling, Sariah weaved her way through the narrow courtyard space that snaked behind the Billymark’s West, a rundown bar that spoke to older women looking to pick up younger men in order to cling to a vestige of lost youth. It also was the place of employment for the man Sariah was seeking.

Sariah caught sight of herself in an oil-coated puddle positioned underneath one of the lights placed behind the businesses that faced out onto 9
th
Avenue. A mocha face with sharp angles and full lips, framed by short, almost buzzed hair looked back at her. If only her lack of friends at the BAU could be attributed to race. But she’d gone down that rabbit hole before and didn’t have any desire to return.

According to the taciturn bartender, former agent Joshua Wright was out back, waiting for the bar to close. It closed at 4 am. That meant that Joshua would be waiting for a good six hours yet. His job as a janitor was mostly an after-hours kind of deal, although it seemed he hung out most of the night, waiting for any major spills or issues to come up in the bar.

Once the bartender had realized that Sariah wasn’t there for him, he had become a little more willing to talk. Enough to explain to her that Joshua’s arrangement was that he only got paid cash for the official work he did after the bar closed. For every time he was needed before that, the former BAU wunderkind got a shot of the bottom-shelf stuff. He was only here in the hope that accidents would happen. And in a sketchy bar like this one, that could be several times every hour.

Catching sight of a man slumped in a chair that was leaning against the opposite wall, Sariah took a deep breath. She knew the man’s reputation. She’d read his file. And here he was, head lolling against his shoulder, with what looked like drool dripping down his cheek.

As she neared the former agent, an overpowering scent of alcohol wafted up to assault her nostrils. It was only ten, and from all indicators, Joshua Wright was drunk as a skunk. This meeting was not going to go well.

Sariah cleared her throat. No response.

She did it again, louder. Still nothing.

Reaching out with her foot, Sariah nudged Joshua’s leg. He twitched, lurched, and fell off of his chair, landing with his face in the dirt and his butt pointed toward the sky. Sariah waited, thinking that this, at last, would rouse the inebriated former agent. But he remained in his position on the ground.

This was going to take some serious doing.

* * *

Joshua coughed out water, rivulets running down his face and into his eyes. Wiping the moisture away, he realized that he was sprawled out on the pavement with his face in a puddle of water. He was also soaking wet and freezing.

Wait. Wasn’t it the middle of summer?

Choking and sputtering, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. There was a pair of black, sensible flats in front of his eyes, attached to a pair of tailored slacks. He followed the legs up to their owner, a stunning black woman with an Afro trimmed tight against her head, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheeks and her large, wide-set eyes. She was holding an empty pitcher.

“What the hell?”

The woman crouched down beside him. “Yes, I think that’s a really good question. What. The. Hell. You used to be one of the most brilliant agents with the BAU. Now you’re lying in the dirt behind one of the nastiest bars I’ve ever seen, drunk off your ass.”

Joshua pushed back from the lady. Her voice was very loud. Like, penetrate-to-the-deepest-recesses-of-his-brain loud. An unpleasant taste was in his mouth. Sour milk crossed with
kimchi
. What had he eaten? Wait.
Had
he actually eaten? Joshua couldn’t remember for sure. Whatever. There was a more pressing question at hand.

“Did you just pour a pitcher of ice water on my head?”

The woman leaned back on her heels, her face pressing itself into a new shape. Embarrassment? Chagrin? Maybe just a slight sense of regret? Whatever it was, it didn’t look like an expression she was used to wearing.

“I’m sorry. You were passed out, and I have to talk to you. I…” She passed a hand across her face and chuckled. “I guess I don’t do introductions all that well.”

“The hell you say,” Joshua grunted, lifting himself off the ground and slumping into his chair once more, after missing the seat the first time around. “I think you’re perfectly charming. It’s a hot night, and I’m now feeling quite refreshed. Thank you.” He worked to keep his speech from slurring. After years of practice, it wasn’t that hard. In spite of his throbbing head, Joshua cocked his head and gave her his best glower.

“Humpty Dumpty’s back,” the figure above him said.

Joshua froze for a moment, his stomach clenching up. He then forced himself to uncurl his body, pushing back to lean his chair up against the wall. It took him a few tries, but he finally got it right. Maybe it hadn’t been too obvious.

“How lucky for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said,
how lucky for you
.” He spoke with care, emphasizing each word. “You’re a new”—Joshua looked her up and down—“well, new
ish
agent, and they’re giving you your first big case. Good job. You must have impressed someone. Or pissed them off.”

The woman glanced away from him, her expression nonplussed. Joshua got that look a lot. She glanced back.

“How did you—”

“Know that you were new?” Joshua cut her off. “Please. It’s written all over you. Payless flats that don’t look like they’re falling apart yet. A shitty suit that’s supposed to look like it’s businesslike and elegant, but only manages to scream cheap. You can’t afford the expensive stuff, but you haven’t worn out your first set of clothes.” In spite of the cotton in his mouth and the pounding in his head, he could tell he was getting to her. He tilted his head to watch her expression, waiting for her reply.

To his surprise, the agent reigned in whatever response it looked like she had been about to give. Instead, she sighed and sat down in the dirt in front of him. Joshua’s level of respect for her went up by a tiny notch.

“Yeah, that’s got me pegged,” she admitted. “They said you were one of the best. Guess they weren’t lying.”

Joshua stifled a groan before he could waste the effort on it. Perfect. She was one of those. The burgeoning respect he had started to feel for this woman flatlined. He hadn’t had any in almost a decade, but the groupies had always been the worst part of going into “retirement.”

“Listen, darlin’,” Joshua drawled. “I’m flattered. Really. But first off, I don’t handle hero worship all that well, and B, you’re not my type.”

The woman lifted an eyebrow at him. Her lip twitched. Either he’d really gotten to her, or she was about to laugh. Joshua couldn’t tell for sure one way or the other. Maybe because she kept going in and out of focus. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Trust me, you’re not my type either.”

“No? Please.” He pointed down to himself, “I’m twice your age, and you’ve got daddy issues painted all over you.”

Her jaw muscle rippled. “I’m not looking for affection from you.”

Joshua straightened up as much as he could, peering with more intent at the agent in front of him. “No, you’re not, are you? Approval, maybe? There’s something there.”

The mocha-skinned beauty pushed herself back up from the ground, brushing off her pants. “Can we be done with the whole feeling-each-other-out, tit-for-tat part of this conversation? Tracking you down hasn’t been the easiest task in my career so far.”

“Please,” Joshua shot back. “Finding me shouldn’t have taken you more than five minutes. At least if you were any good.” He glanced up at her, now that she was standing, watching her jaw clench again, locking up whatever was trying to push its way out. “Oh, hey… what’s the matter? Find out that Daddy’s disappointed in your job performance?”

There was a long moment in which he could see the tension leaching out of her body. Whatever she had wanted to say, it wasn’t what ended up coming out. This one knew how to keep her temper in check. At least when she wanted something. And that was the big question mark right now, wasn’t it? What exactly
did
she want?

“I’m sorry,” the woman finally managed. “I’m Agent Sariah Cooper. You can call me Coop.” She extended her hand for him to shake.

Joshua just looked at the hand, then back up at her, then back down to the hand. “What do you want from me, Agent Cooper? You didn’t come slumming for nothing.”

The FBI agent held her hand there for an uncomfortable several seconds before dropping it. “I want you to come with me,” she finally answered. “We need your help.”

And there it was. Now that it had come, the moment of revelation was almost anticlimactic. Joshua looked away, trailing his hand along the brick wall of the back of the bar.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“But Agent Wright—”

He cut her off, his voice a blade cutting through the tension. “I am not
Agent
Wright. Remember that.” He watched as she winced away from him. Ah. That’s what it was. And here was Joshua, more than ready to step into the abuser role for her. Fantastic. His tone softened a bit. “I’m Joshua. Just Joshua.”

She pulled her shoulders back, shook her head and continued. “
Joshua
, you know more about Humpty than anyone else alive right now.”