Body Count Read Free Page B

But the psychologist in me wants to know more.
    Marco straightens up and motions his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
    I turn off my computer and put the boxed files under my desk. Case closed. And hopefully my mind too, closed against the nightmares.
    â€œI’ve just got to lock up,” Marco says.
    I follow him through the rabbit warren of corridors toward his office. The FBI offices at Quantico take up a small part of the large complex that is the FBI Academy, the national training center for the Bureau. The FBI has three hundred and eighty-five acres at its disposal, and the whole training complex includes three dormitories,a dining room, a library, an auditorium, a chapel, a gym, a large running track, a defensive-driving track, several firing ranges and the famous Hogan’s Alley—a simulated town that agents train in. There are also some centralized departments operating from Quantico rather than the D.C. head office. Our unit, the Behavioral Analysis Unit, is one of those departments, as is the Forensic Science Research and Training Center.
    The BAU takes up the basement of the building and consists of narrow corridors and small offices with not a window in sight. It took me a long time to get used to this place.
    Eventually we take about our tenth left and come to Marco’s office. His room is still set up for the Henley case, the one we’ve just busted, and the decor spoils my sense of closure. The whiteboards are covered with writing, including my messy script, and photos line the room. Lots of dead girls photographed from every angle, a photo of a knife, and photos of the locations where the bodies were found. Christine Henley was the first girl murdered. That was two years ago. But things really hotted up five months ago, a month after I’d become the newest addition to the unit. The killer murdered the mayor’s daughter, and the heat was on. Strings were pulled, and our involvement changed from the FBI’s usual consulting role to Marco and I working the case full-time and in the field. Sometimes it takes a kick in the teeth up high to get the resources together. Particularly these days when the FBI’s number-one priority is terrorism. Serial killers are small stuff after September 11.
    We got Boxley three murders after the mayor’s daughter.
    It’s the last victim in a case that always gets to me. Ithink about her a lot. Could we have got him before her? Should we have got him before her?
    I scan the room, reliving the murders, the chase. Marco watches me.
    â€œI’m not as organized as you,” he says.
    I smile and consider telling him that my filing isn’t really about a neat, orderly personality. But he can figure it out for himself. Or maybe he already has. He comes toward his door and I take a step back into the hall. He flicks the light switch, closes his door and locks it. I notice the closeness of our bodies, and the slight butterflies that I often get around Marco rise in my stomach.
    He turns around. “I’ll file it tomorrow. Let’s go.”
    We walk out of the building and I’m immediately hit by the late-fall wind. I draw my arms in closer to my body and put my head down.
    â€œYou sure you’re ready for your first American winter?” Marco says.
    I rub my gloved hands together. “It’s bloody cold all right.”
    â€œIt’s not even winter yet, you know.”
    â€œI think this is colder than Melbourne ever gets.”
    â€œAustralia doesn’t really have a winter, does it?”
    â€œWe do.” I’m amazed at Marco’s ignorance.
    â€œWhat temperature does it get down to?”
    â€œIn Fahrenheit…” I pause, doing the mental calculation. “It’d be about thirty-five as the low and fifty-five as the high.”
    â€œLike I said, no winter.”
    I push my body into his and he feigns being knocked off balance.
    â€œCome on.” I pick up the