The 7th Victim

by Alan Jacobson

  “There’ll be a cup of water on the podium. Do not touch it. You have to tell the viewers you’re working to the exclusion of everything else to keep them safe. You’re not even going to stop for a glass of water.”

  “That’s a bit over the top, Levar.”

  “Now,” he said, ignoring her objection, “set the papers down and grasp both edges of the podium. I hope you don’t mind borrowing a bit from the Democrats, but Bill Clinton had this down to a science. He has these large hands and he curled them around the edges of the podium, caressing it, symbolizing that he had a full grasp of the situation.”

  “Levar—”

  “Go with me on this, Senator. It’ll work.”

  She sighed her consternation, then dropped her papers on the podium and took hold of its edges.

  “No, no—stand at ease, the podium is merely a prop. Here, picture it this way. The edges of the podium are a woman’s shoulders. Pretend it’s your daughter—”

  “I don’t have a daughter,” she said firmly.

  “Pretend, Senator. Please.”

  “Very well.”

  “Hold her shoulders gently, but with authority. She’s upset about something, and you’re about to give her some comforting advice. Look into her eyes. In this case, the camera. Tilt your head,” he said, doing the same with his and waiting for her to follow. “That’s it, now pause for a second. You’re thoughtful, but deliberate. Explain to your daughter that she’s safe and that you’re going to do everything possible to look after her safety.”

  Linwood’s eyes softened a bit. Wilson nodded his approval. “Good, perfect. Now, back to your papers. Pick up with the sentence, “And I promise. . . .”

  THE TELEVISION ZOOMED IN on the senator’s face; this was true drama, in primetime. And it was all because of him. How flattering. Not his intention, but what the hell. We all got our fifteen minutes of fame sooner or later.

  “And I promise to do my best to make sure no woman has to worry about being safe in her own home. My representatives and I are working hand-in-hand with the police to catch this madman. And I assure you, we will catch him.”

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He pressed the mute button and she had no choice but to listen to him. “Now, wouldn’t that be something . . . a remote control to make all the bitch-whores shut up on my command!”

  Madman, she called me a madman. I’m not mad! I may be angry, but I’m not mad. Only a dog can be mad, not a person! Stupid bitch.

  He hit the remote and her voice came alive again.

  “The police and the FBI are poised to act on several leads. I expect we’ll see a major break in the case any time now.”

  “Several leads . . . major break. . . .” Why can’t people tell the truth? They got jack. “Admit it! You don’t know who you’re dealing with! You’ll never find me!”

  VAIL WALKED INTO the task force’s operations center and heard the measured drone of a television emanating from the kitchen. She was jumpy yet exhausted, remnants of her latest run-in with Deacon. She had dropped off the book at Jonathan’s school and gone home to straighten herself up before heading to the op center.

  She laid her purse atop her makeshift desk and picked up a note clipped to a folder. As she started to read it, someone tapped her shoulder. She turned, saw Bledsoe, and winced as pain cut through her left leg. When Deacon had grabbed her ankles, he’d twisted the knee she had injured in Sandra Franks’s yard. It had been killing her since leaving Deacon’s a couple of hours ago.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Knee’s a little sore. What’s up?”

  “Linwood’s on TV. Dead Eyes press conference.”

  “What press conference?”

  “You already know as much as I do. Far as I know, she’s doing this on her own.”

  Bledsoe followed Vail into the kitchen. Manette and Robby were huddled around a scarred, faux wood-encased Sony television with fuzzy reception.

  Vail moved in beside them to get a clear view of the screen, which showed Linwood standing behind a podium.

  “. . . and to the Dead Eyes killer, I say your days are numbered. We’re on your trail, and we will persevere until we find you. You will rot in hell, your soul hung out to dry in front of everyone, for society to see who and what you are—”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” Vail said, grabbing the back of her neck. “Incite him.” She turned to Bledsoe. “How can she do this—shouldn’t she need clearance from us to go on TV?”

  “Politics,” Robby said. “That’s what this is about.”

  Vail looked around the room and noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Hancock?”

  “I texted him,” Bledsoe said. “Haven’t heard back.”

  “I bet he’s behind this,” Vail said. “Doesn’t she realize what’ll happen if the offender sees this?” Vail asked. “We can’t have loose cannons—”

  “She challenged him,” Manette said. “Right on network TV. It’ll be shown in sound bites on every major channel for the next several days.”

  “Not to be cynical, but I bet that’s exactly what she’s counting on,” Robby said. “Prime-time exposure, for free. Leading up to an election, getting in the offender’s face, and showing him who’s boss is a powerful political statement. Brilliant strategy, really.”

  “She won’t look so smart when he uses it as an excuse to kill again,” Bledsoe said.

  Manette rose slowly from her chair. “As if he needed an excuse.”

  “Whether he did or not,” Vail said, “she’s just given him one.”

  I KNOW THOSE EYES. He paused the recording and stared at Linwood’s face. Oh, yes . . . evil, evil eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the image until it suddenly sputtered back to life.

  “You will rot in hell, your soul hung out to dry in front of everyone, for society to see who and what you are: a monster. A wart, a sin on the face of God.”

  He grabbed a gob of clay and hurled it at the TV. It stuck to the screen as if clinging for its life. “I’ll rot in hell, huh?” He threw his tools off the table. Pulled at his collar. Hard to breathe. Fucking bitch. “Whore!”

  The clay suddenly lost its grip and fell with a light thud to the floor.

  “Rot in hell? I’ll rot in hell? How dare she talk to me like that? How dare she, how dare she? If I’m a wart on the face of God, she’s a fucking boil!”

  He laughed. Laughed so hard he couldn’t stop. He bent down on one knee and gathered himself. He felt the blood rushing to his head, pounding, pounding, pounding. Finally it eased and he sat on the floor, leaned against the wall.

  But this was not a laughing matter. He wasn’t laughing because it was funny. He grabbed his new tool, got his keys, and headed out. Someone was going to pay.

  MANETTE left the op center shortly after Linwood’s speech had ended. Robby walked Vail to her car and watched as she searched her purse for her keys.

  “I had a good time last night,” he said.

  She pulled her empty hand from her purse and looked toward the house. “Me too.” She was not in the mood for flirting, not with Deacon’s sneering face still branded in her mind—and on the bottom of her shoe.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Left my keys in the house.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “To me it is.”

  She studied his face for a moment, then turned and leaned back against her car. “Problems with my ex,” she said, then gave him an abbreviated version of her last two encounters with Deacon.

  Robby’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his foot tapping furiously. “I’ve never met this guy. But I’d like to, just to talk to him, you know?” His fists were clenched and his shoulder muscles were bunched in anger.

  Vail placed a reassuring hand on his taut forearm. “I’ve got it handled, Robby. I don’t think he’ll bother me again.”

  “And what about your son? This asshole is gonna take out his beating on Jonathan. Do
you have him tonight or does Deacon?”

  “Deacon.”

  “Then I suggest you go by his school and pick him up. You want, I’ll call Deacon and tell him you’ve got him, after the fact. He won’t give me any grief. Better yet, I’ll go with you.”

  Vail shook her head. “He wouldn’t hurt Jonathan. He did, I’d kill him. He knows that. And after today, he knows I’m capable of it.”

  “Probably true. But I still think it’s best to err on the side of caution. Pick him up, keep him at your place till Deacon cools off.”

  Vail nodded slowly. “What day is today?”

  “Twenty-third.” Robby’s cell phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket.

  Vail’s eyebrows crumpled, then she consulted her watch. Four thirty. Jonathan had a chess club meeting today, which meant he would be out at five.

  Robby flipped his phone shut. “I’ve gotta go, something came up on one of my old cases. Break-and-enter on this rich guy’s condo. I know the perp they like for it, busted him a couple of times before. He’s holed up in a house, took a kid hostage. EST’s on the scene, but the perp’s asking for me.” He dropped the phone in his pocket and started to back away. “You want me to get someone to go with you, I can arrange it. Hell, ask Bledsoe.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later. You need any help, let me know.”

  While Robby got into his car, Vail ran back into the house to retrieve her keys. She waved to Bledsoe, who was in the kitchen with the phone handset tucked beneath his chin. She grabbed her keys and ran outside, where a Fairfax County police cruiser was pulling up behind her Dodge Stratus. She nodded at the officer as he got out of his car.

  “Karen Vail?”

  Vail glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yeah.” She unlocked the door and opened it, tossed her purse on the passenger seat.

  “Ma’am, I’m Officer Greenwich, County Police. I need a moment of your time.”

  “Wish I could help you, Officer, but I’ve got an appointment. Detective Paul Bledsoe is in the house—”

  “Ma’am, he won’t be able to help me. I need to talk to you.”

  “I really do have to run. If this is about Dead Eyes, Bledsoe heads up the task force.” She sat down in her seat and started to pull the door closed, but the cop grabbed it and held it open.

  “Excuse me?” she said. “Let go of my door.”

  The cop removed his hands. “Ma’am, I really need your assistance. Police business.”

  Vail squinted at the cop, forgot his name. Glanced at his name tag. “Look, Officer Greenwich, if this is some kind of joke—”

  “It’s not, ma’am. I’ve got some questions. Can you step out of the car? I just need a minute of your time.”

  As Vail got out, another cruiser pulled up to the curb across the street. She stood and faced Greenwich, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or so. African American, head shaved bald, and large eyes, he exuded confidence. Maybe he was all jacked up about hassling an FBI agent. “Ask away, just make it quick.”

  The other officer, gelled brown hair and medium build, took a position ten feet away, to Greenwich’s left. He hooked both thumbs in his utility belt but did not say a word. Vail did not like the look of this.

  “Ma’am, mind telling me where you were at noon today?”

  Then it hit her. This was about Deacon. “Why, what’s the problem?”

  “It’d be easier if I ask the questions. Now, noon today. . . .”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “At my ex-husband’s house. Deacon Tucker. I was picking up a school book for my son.”

  “Can you tell me what happened while you were there?”

  “Look, Officer. This all goes back—” and then she stopped herself and realized she should just shut her mouth and say as little as possible. “Has he sworn a complaint against me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young officer said, his posture erect and confident. “I just came from the hospital. He’s being treated for two fractured ribs and a broken nose. Did you strike Mr. Tucker, ma’am?”

  Jesus. This rookie is going to run me in. Goddamn you, Deacon. She bit her lip, then shook her head out of disbelief. Time was ticking. She needed to get to Jonathan’s school. “Yes, in self-defense.”

  He tilted his head from side to side, looking her over. “I don’t see any bruising on your person. Do you have any bruises, ma’am?”

  “No, Officer, I don’t have any bruises.”

  “Self-defense, but you don’t have any bruising?”

  Was it self-defense? He taunted me, grabbed my arm, but I took the first swing. I took the only swing. Goddamn you, Deacon.

  “Can you show me any evidence that he injured you?”

  Through a tightened jaw, she said, “No.”

  “You said it was in self-defense. What exactly did he do that made you feel as if you needed to defend yourself?”

  “He grabbed my arm.”

  “Mind rolling up your sleeve?”

  Vail thought of the bump on the back of her head, but with her dense hair, what was he going to see? Besides, that was hardly proof Deacon had hit her. In truth, she didn’t even know how it happened. She noticed Greenwich was waiting, so she did as requested and pulled back the loose sleeve of her sport coat. “He grabbed my forearm, right here.” She pointed; the officer stepped closer, tilted his head and examined the area. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I told you. No bruising.”

  Greenwich glanced at his colleague, then back at Vail. “Ma’am, are you carrying a weapon?”

  “Of course I am—”

  “Where is it located?”

  Vail moved her suit coat back, about to expose the shoulder harness—

  And Greenwich held out a hand. “No, no. That’s okay, just tell me where it is.”

  “In my shoulder holster.”

  “Any other weapons on your person?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  “Protocol, ma’am. Have to follow protocol,” he said as if she would immediately understand.

  In fact, she did understand. But it didn’t make it any easier.

  Greenwich removed her Glock from its holster, then handed it to his partner. “Ma’am, according to eighteen-two-fifty-seven point two of the Virginia Code, in a domestic violence case I’m compelled by law to make an arrest.”

  “The bastard knocked me unconscious and took my handgun! I wasn’t going to let him do it to me again—”

  “Hang on a second,” he said, holding out a hand. “Now you’re saying he knocked you unconscious? Your story seems to be changing—”

  “No—it’s not. Look, Officer, let me explain—”

  “I think at this point I’ve got to advise you of your right to remain silent—”

  “No, no. Listen to me. You don’t have to do this—”

  “In fact, ma’am, I do have to do this. You’ll have your say, I promise you that, but I’m going to need to take you in. I’ll be as discreet about it as I can.” He pulled a set of cuffs from his belt and held it out in front of him long enough for her to see what was going to have to happen. He cocked his head, waiting for her to turn around. “You have the right to remain silent—”

  “I’m a fucking FBI agent, I know my rights!”

  But he continued on nonetheless.

  “Bledsoe!” she shouted at the closed door to the house. Would he hear her? What could he do, anyway? She felt the cold metal touch her wrists and the deputy’s voice disappeared in her mind. Tears filled her eyes. This can’t be happening. “I need to get my son. I need to—ow!” The hard cuffs bit into her skin. “You don’t need to make the damn things so tight. Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy?”

  Greenwich swung the cruiser door open and nudged Vail toward the backseat. She more or less fell in as he guided her head past the door frame.

  “Can I at least make a phone call?”

  He looked down at her. “After you’
re processed, I’ll make sure you get access to a phone.”

  And then the door slammed shut.

  She looked at the front door to the house, willing Bledsoe to walk out and save her from this nightmare. “Bledsoe!” she screamed.

  But the cruiser windows were closed. She glanced at the clock: it was ten minutes to five. Even if she was able to reach Robby—who was in the middle of a crisis of his own—he wouldn’t be able to get someone to the school in time.