She neglected to mention that she wasn’t technically a field agent, either. Her main purpose here was to come up with a profile of the person who’d killed Teresa Donovan, but she got the feeling Cole wouldn’t appreciate having his psyche poked at by a trained psychologist.
As a profiler with the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, she spent most of her days examining case files and thinking like a killer. Offender profiling was a lot more difficult than television shows let on. It was slow, methodical work, focusing on the analysis of the offense, mainly the choices a certain perpetrator made before, during and after said offense.
Jamie looked at all aspects of the crime, from what may have triggered it, to the method in which it was carried out, to the disposal of the body. In this case she didn’t have much to go on, save for the bare details Finn had provided her.
She watched as Cole moved around the kitchen, getting two ceramic mugs from the cupboard then starting the coffeemaker. Turning around, he met her eyes warily. “Then why are you here?”
“Finn asked me to come. Unofficially,” she added. “He’s not making much headway in the case, I’m afraid.”
The coffeemaker clicked, and Cole lifted the pot and poured the scalding coffee into both mugs. Heading to the table, he handed her a mug, then sat down across from her. “Maybe if he stopped looking at me as his number-one suspect, he’d get somewhere,” Cole said in irritation.
Jamie shrugged. “Maybe.” She rested her forearms on the table and clasped her hands together. “Tell me, how did you meet your ex-wife?”
The question seemed to throw him. He’d probably expected her to open with ‘Did you kill your ex-wife?’ But that kind of aggressive approach was more Finn’s style than hers.
“I was in town on business, two and a half years ago,” he answered. “I ended up at the bar Teresa worked at, and we started talking. I…”
“You fell in love with her,” she filled in. “And married her six months later.”
He nodded.
Jamie took a long sip of coffee. “So why did it lead to divorce?”
“I mistook her for someone else,” he said dourly.
Jamie didn’t respond. She just maintained the eye contact, her expression relaxed. She’d found that in most interrogations, silence was often the best strategy. Stay quiet long enough, and the person on the other side of that table got antsy. Started spilling their guts just to fill the void. Though she hadn’t expected the trick to work on a businessman as shrewd as this one, she was surprised when he continued to talk, his voice taking a faraway tone.
“What drew me to her at first,” he said, rapping the fingers of one hand on the tabletop, “was her fire. Her spontaneity. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, didn’t live to please anyone. She did her own thing, and to hell with anyone else. I liked that. I even admired it.”
He halted, bringing his mug to his lips. “I was wrong. All those things I initially loved about her, they weren’t what they seemed. It wasn’t spontaneity or a lust for life—it was selfishness and greed.”
“Did she marry you for your money?” Jamie asked frankly.
“I think so.” He let out a ragged breath. “She loved being a millionaire’s wife. And she hated that I wanted to live in Serenade, instead of taking her to Chicago or New York where she could live like a queen.”
“Why did you stay here?”
“Because I like this town.” He gave a faint smile. “I’m sure you noticed how beautiful Serenade is. But more than that, it’s…a home, you know? It’s a place where you raise your kids, where everyone knows your name and says hi to you when they pass you on the street. I grew up in a city of strangers. I wanted something different, once I married Teresa.”
Jamie found herself getting caught up in his words. She understood exactly where he was coming from. The oppressive trailer park she’d grown up in hadn’t been a home. More like a prison, if anything. She’d spent the better part of her adult life trying to find her place in the world, somewhere she felt like she belonged. Hadn’t found it yet, either, unless you counted the Charlotte Field Office.
Realizing she’d gotten lost in thought, she gulped down some more caffeine to kick-start her focus and said, “But your ex-wife didn’t want to stay in Serenade.”
“No, she wanted to travel with me, even though I told her she’d only end up sitting in hotel rooms while I did business. After the first business trip—I was only gone for two days—she became petty, childish. She began making ridiculous demands, and eventually, the affairs started.”
“Affairs?”
Bitterness dripped from his tone. “Parker Smith was the only one I knew about for sure—she let his name slip during an argument. But there were others. She taunted me about them.”
“But didn’t reveal any names,” Jamie said, leaning back in her chair with a thoughtful look.
“At that point, I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to get the hell out of that marriage. So I did. I filed for divorce and moved into this house.”