The 7th Victim

by Alan Jacobson

  Vail looked away in anger. When her eyes met Parker’s again, they were on fire. “You know exactly what I meant. But there you go, illustrating my point. Twisting what I said into meaning something I had no intention of saying.”

  Parker burst out laughing.

  Vail’s anger only rose with his response. “What’s so funny?”

  “I baited you. But you know, showing is always better than telling. I just showed you how good I am at what I do. I knew I couldn’t win our disagreement, so I changed the rules. Smooth as silk. Just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“you were on the defensive.” He smiled, tilted his head.

  Vail chewed the inside of her lip, unsure of what to make of this man. “I’m here not because I want to be here, but because I have to—”

  “Let’s get something straight, Agent Vail. None of the people who come through my doors are here because they want to be here. They don’t want to stand accused of a crime facing a jury of their peers. They don’t want to be getting bills from me. They’re here because they’ve got a problem. As I assume you do.”

  “A problem. Yeah, you could call it that.” She proceeded to give him the details of what had happened. He encouraged her to be completely forthcoming, even if there was something she felt was irrelevant.

  “Tell me everything and let me make the call.”

  So she told him everything. She realized, as she sat back in the chair, that the bloodletting had been cathartic, and she felt better.

  He rocked a bit in his chair, hands again posed in a triangle in front of his mouth. “Let me tell you a little about me. I would imagine you’ve checked me out, beyond what you already know, but I’ll assume nothing. When I’m not defending murderers, I like to dip into the family courts. Domestic violence is an interest of mine. Don’t ask why, I don’t feel like discussing it. Suffice it to say that I’m well respected by the judges and the Commonwealth attorneys. You’ll need that. Dare I say you’ve made a wise choice in coming here.”

  Vail nodded, but she suspected her body language said otherwise as her gaze bounced around the room again.

  “Don’t let the surroundings color your opinion of my skills. I live in Great Falls and my home is worth two million dollars. I drive a brand new Jag. But I keep my business overhead low because in criminal defense, fancy furniture and spacious conference rooms don’t do anything for the clientele I represent. It doesn’t ensure them of a not guilty verdict. And anything that doesn’t work for my client I get rid of. My sole focus is getting you off.”

  She looked away again.

  “I know that language is disagreeable to you, because you’re frequently on the other side of the table. But understand something. When you walk into that courtroom, you’re not Supervisory Special Agent Karen Vail, sworn FBI agent who devotes her life to catching bad guys and keeping society safe. You’re a woman accused of brutally assaulting your ex-husband, breaking his ribs and putting him in the hospital. They’re going to portray you as a tough, mean-spirited cop who’s trained in the use of deadly force, who has a short fuse and a chip on her shoulder. It’ll be my job to show the jury that’s not what you’re about. I’ll be painting a different picture. Point is, you need me. As of this moment, I’m your friend. Your best buddy. You’ll tell me everything and hold back nothing. Because when the dust settles, I won’t just be your best friend, I’ll be your only friend.”

  Vail didn’t see any need to discuss the matter further. If he made his case in front of the judge as well as he had just made it to her, she was, truly, in good hands. She read through, and then signed, his fee agreement.

  And it was suddenly evident how he was able to afford his two million dollar home and brand new Jaguar.

  thirty

  “I waited for OPR for forty minutes.” Vail stood on the porch talking to Robby, smoking a Chesterfield she had bummed off Sinclair. “Enough time to sit in my office and think. Think about how screwed up everything is, what Gifford said. Then I got that email, and, well, that’s all I could think about till OPR showed up.”

  Robby tilted his head. “What email?”

  “Didn’t Bledsoe show it to you guys? I forwarded a screen shot of it to him.”

  “Nah, he didn’t mention it. Who was it from?”

  “Dead Eyes.”

  “He sent you an email? You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. I’ve got the lab working it, some sort of self-destructing message. It vanished right before my eyes. But I got a hard copy of it. Subject line read ‘It’s in the.’ Who else could know of that? We haven’t released that to the press, and if it was leaked we’d see it somewhere in some paper, not some obscure email outlining child abuse.”

  “Child abuse?”

  Vail stuck the cigarette between her lips, reached into her coat pocket, and handed Robby a folded copy of the message. “I thought Bledsoe would show it to everyone, but I should’ve made sure he got it. I’ve been a little . . . preoccupied. My follow-up’s been pretty shitty.”

  Robby read through it, studied it a bit, then pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay, so this guy’s real fucked up.”

  “I’m hoping for a more substantial analysis from BSU.”

  He handed her back the email, which she folded into her pocket. “Any news on Jonathan?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to go back there again, but I’m scared. I don’t think I could handle seeing him. I just. . . .” She tossed the butt to the ground and crushed it against the pavement with her heel. Swiped at a tear. “There’s just too much shit going on right now, Robby.”

  He reached out and pulled her close. She didn’t resist. “I know.”

  “I feel like I should be there, by his side, holding his hand, twenty-four/seven. But with everything on my plate, I’m afraid it would all come crashing down. That I’d fall apart. I need to stay busy, take my mind off things.”

  “You can only do what you can do, Karen. My aunt used to say we have an emotional gas tank. When that tank fills up, it starts running out and spilling over. All it would take is a spark to make everything go up in flames. She said we should always try to keep the tank from getting full.”

  “Emotional gas tank, huh? I guess these days I should be wearing a warning sticker on my back: Danger: highly combustible.” She sighed. “I’ve got to find a way of getting through this.”

  “One day at a time, one issue at a time.” He tipped her chin back with a finger. “And I’ll be there every step of the way to help you through it.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.” She pulled her overcoat around her body to ward off a chill. “I hired an attorney today. Jackson Parker. Excuse me. P. Jackson Parker.”

  “I’ve heard of him. Good things, if you’re a skel.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “What’s the ‘P’ stand for?”

  “Pompous.”

  He laughed.

  She sighed long and loud. “I need to get away, Robby, get reenergized.” He looked at her and she immediately knew what he was thinking. “Yes, I’m running away. But I know myself, and I know when I’ve reached my stress point. Getting out of town for a day will help.”

  “Want some company?”

  She sniffled. “Thanks, but I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.”

  “Where you gonna go?”

  “Old Westbury.”

  “As in Long Island?”

  Vail looked out across the early afternoon sky. It was hazy and overcast, unsure if it should rain or shine. “It’s my mom’s place, where I grew up. I haven’t seen her in . . . well, too long. Our last couple conversations she seemed distracted and I’ve been meaning to pay her a visit, but. . . .” She waved a hand. “It’s about a five-hour drive. I can have a late dinner with her, stay the night, and get back here noonish.”

  Robby looked down at her, thought about it a long moment. “Sure you don’t want some company? I could use a change of scenery myself. I’ll give you your space, I promise.”

  “
Really, I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will. But after all you’ve been through, that knock on the head, then being up all night, sure you want to make a five-hour drive alone?”

  “Bledsoe will never let you go.”

  “Does Bledsoe know? About the suspension?”

  She shook her head. “I better go get it over with.”

  BLEDSOE WENT THROUGH A STORM of emotions in a matter of minutes: from anger over Vail’s suspension and having gotten caught by Deacon’s lies to fury over what Deacon had done to Jonathan, to frustration over her request to leave town when they were in the middle of an active time-sensitive investigation. But when Vail gave Bledsoe her reasons, he reluctantly agreed.

  Before leaving, she asked him if he’d seen the message she’d sent him, but he said he hadn’t read his email in days. She handed him the folded copy of Dead Eyes’s missive, then gave him a quick rundown of how it self-destructed. Bledsoe wanted his people working on it, too, but he knew there was nothing they could do at this point. He checked in with his department, and, sure enough, without the coded routing information, they had to wait for the results of the data recovery efforts the Bureau was conducting on the hard drive.

  “What if he sends you another one while you’re gone?”

  “The lab is screening my unit’s email before they release it to us. Anything comes through, we’ll know about it. They’ve got instructions to notify you immediately.”

  He gently squeezed her shoulder. “See you when you get back.” Vail glanced at Robby, then walked out.

  As the door closed, Bledsoe looked up from a file he’d started reading and noticed Robby was still standing in front of him. “You need something, Hernandez?”

  “I was thinking I should go with her, make sure she’s all right.”

  “Karen’s a tough cookie. She doesn’t need a bodyguard, believe me.”

  “Normally, I’d agree, but—”

  “I’m already one guy short.” He lifted the file back to his face. “I’d have to have my head examined if I let two of you go.”

  Robby cleared his throat but did not move. Bledsoe lowered the folder. “What?”

  “She’s been through a lot of stuff the past few days, assaulted, arrested, thrown in jail—”

  “I know the story, Hernandez.”

  “And she didn’t sleep much last night. You really want her driving five hours alone? We’d be back tomorrow around noon. Not a big deal.”

  “I’ll decide what’s a big deal and what’s not. Of course I don’t want Karen driving herself. Hell, I don’t want her going because I need her.” He dropped his eyes to the report. “But that’s just the way it is.”

  “Well, then this is the way this is: I’m taking some personal time. You don’t like it, take it up with my sergeant.”

  Bledsoe felt the blood rushing to his head as Robby turned and walked out. Tossed the file across the room, took a deep breath, then leaned on the table. “Beautiful.”

  ROBBY JOINED VAIL outside by her car. “Well?”

  “We’re good,” Robby said. “Let’s go.”

  She hiked her brow. “Bledsoe is full of surprises.”

  “We’ll be back tomorrow at noon. Not a big deal.”

  They took Robby’s car and headed up I-95 before switching onto I-495 toward Baltimore. They drove in silence for the first couple hours, which was fine by Vail, since she needed the quiet, and Robby was determined to keep his promise of giving her space. Finally, she fell asleep with her head against the side window and slept until they neared the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

  Vail sat up and rubbed her eyes, then looked around. “How long have I been out?” It was dark and the lights of nearby Manhattan twinkled in the early evening haze.

  “Couple of hours. We’re making good time.”

  “Sorry I abandoned you. The lull of the highway put me out.”

  “Figured you needed it.”

  She pulled down the visor and peered into the mirror. “I look awful.”

  “You never did get back to your place, did you?”

  “I’m looking forward to a long shower at my mom’s.”

  The traffic slowed a bit as they approached the tunnel. Getting through the city wasn’t as bad as they had thought, and half an hour later they were driving down the street where Emma Vail lived. Vail thought of how long it’d been since she had last been here. Too long. Worst of all, her mother hadn’t visited her, either, meaning they hadn’t seen each other in over a year. Shame on me.

  “There,” she said, pointing to a house sunken below street level. “My best friend lived there. Andrea. We used to play together all the time. Drove our parents crazy.”

  Robby slowed the car. “Eight nineteen, you said?”

  “Yeah, right here.”

  He pulled the car into the driveway and killed the lights. “Looks pretty dark,” he said, craning his neck. “Did you give her an idea of what time we’d be here?”

  Vail opened the door and took in a lungful of the fresh night air. “I never called.”

  Robby got out of the car and looked at her across the roof. “Your mom doesn’t know we’re coming?”

  She strained to see the house in the dark. Partially obscured by the tree-canopied setting she associated with Old Westbury, the two-story Craftsman style house fit in perfectly amongst the tall pines and cedars. Vail walked up the path, stepping on each flagstone square as she went, just like she did when she was a kid. One step, one stone. “You can’t put two feet on one square or it’s bad luck,” she told Robby. “At least, that’s what I thought when I was a kid.” Funny how old habits stick with you.

  She stepped onto the last flagstone and found herself at the front door. The tarnished brass knocker was still there, along with the rusted black metal mailbox.

  She knocked a couple times and waited. Brushed a few hairs into place and curled a wisp behind her right ear. Lifted the brass weight and struck the door again, waited, then consulted her watch.

  “Should’ve called,” Robby said.

  The porch light suddenly popped on and the curtain to their right parted. The door opened a crack and an older woman with gray hair and a rumpled face appeared. “Yes?”

  “Mom, it’s me.” Still no response. “Kari.”

  The door opened halfway and Emma squinted at her daughter. “Kari,” she said. “Did you forget something?”

  Vail looked at Robby, who merely shrugged. I should’ve warned Robby about the Alzheimer’s. “No, Mom. I needed to get away and I thought you could use some company. Should’ve called, I’m sorry.”

  Emma’s eyes flicked over to Robby.

  “Oh, this is my friend, Robby Hernandez.”

  Robby bowed his head. “Glad to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am? Please, call me Emma. And come in out of the cold. I need to close the door, we’re letting the heat out.”

  They walked through the barren entryway toward the living room. Emma turned on a couple of lamps and sat down stiffly on the edge of a plush gold chair. The house was half a century old and looked it: worn cocoa-rust carpet, tan walls, and threadbare furniture.

  Vail sat on the sofa beside Robby. Her mother looked thin, the kind of unhealthy thin that accompanied a debilitating disease, like cancer. Her face had more wrinkles and the skin on her neck hung as if it had finally given up the decades-long fight against gravity’s pull.

  “Do you work in my daughter’s office? The FBI? She works for the FBI, you know.”

  Robby smiled. “I’m a detective, with the police department. I’m working with Karen on a case.”

  “Well, I’ve got a case for you right here. A real who-done-it. Someone keeps stealing things from me. First it was a book I was reading, then it was my glasses. I have a good mind to call the police. Stupid neighborhood kids.”

  Vail glanced around. Everything appeared to be in order, from what she could tell in the dim lighting. “Did you leave the door open? Do you think someone’s be
en in the house?”

  “I hear noises,” Emma said, her hands fumbling in her lap, “but I’ve never seen anyone.”

  Vail looked at Robby. “We’ll take a look around, make sure all the locks work, okay?”

  “Well, enough about me. Tell me, how’s Deacon?”

  Vail swallowed hard. “We’re getting divorced, Ma.”

  “Divorced? What happened?”

  Vail’s face was stone. The progression of her mother’s Alzheimer’s had been far more pronounced than she had thought. During their last couple conversations, Emma had been distant and harried. But clearly it was more serious.