The 7th Victim kv-1

by Alan Jacobson

  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 a
nd 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 been 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.

  “Ma,” Vail said, “we’ve talked about the divorce. Don’t you remember?”

  Emma’s face flickered for a moment, then she turned to Robby. “Oh, I’ve been a terrible hostess. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emma Vail.”

  Robby forced a smile. “Robby Hernandez.”

  “Are you a friend of Kari’s?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” She waved a hand. “Oh, please. Call me Emma.” She turned to Vail, whose eyes were tearing. “What’s wrong, Kari?”

  “Nothing, Mom. Nothing.” She stood and took Robby’s hand. “I’m going to show Robby around, okay?”

  “Whatever you’d like, dear,” Emma said.

  Vail flipped on the large backyard spots and low-voltage path lights. “I knew this day was coming, I just hoped it’d be later rather than sooner. I figured she had a few years before it got this bad.” She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air, then swung her head around and looked inside to see her mother still sitting on the couch, just as they had left her. “I need to get her some help, or move her out. I don’t know what would be best.”

  Robby took her hand and led her through the wooded yard. While the house was small—cozy, Emma had once called it—the land was not: two full acres of mature pines. They walked for a moment in silence.

  “I remember the brown needles crunching under my sneakers when I was a teenager. I used to come back here to clear my mind. Sometimes I’d find a bed of needles and take a nap. If they weren’t so damp, I’d lie down right now and fall asleep. Dream of happier times.” She bent down and scooped up a handful. “My mom taught me to appreciate the beauty of nature. She once told me you never knew when life would deal you an unplanned twist of fate. Enjoy things while you can, she said, because you just never knew.” She sighed. “Little did I know she was talking about herself.”

  Robby took a deep breath. “It’s beautiful here. A private forest.”

  “When Jonathan turned eight, I brought him here to visit. He went shopping with grandma and I spent an entire day out here, whittling away with my knife, making a walking stick. It was as close to a perfect day as I can remember. I wanted to seal the image away in my mind forever. But it wilted real fast once I got back to the office and started staring at grisly crime scene photos. Looking at things like that, the beauty of nature seems to fade pretty damn quickly. You find yourself knee deep in the blood and guts, and the crunch of pine needles beneath your feet is a million miles away.”

  They started walking again. “Didn’t help that the day after I got back I caught a new case, one of the first I profiled on my own. Vic’s body was dumped on a forest floor just like this one. Kind of killed the image for me. Haven’t been able to look at pine trees the same way since.” She opened her hand and let the needles fall to the ground.

  Robby reached into his pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife, then bent down and chose a short, thick branch. Vail reluctantly took the knife and immediately began clearing the nubs from the stick.

  “I didn’t know you liked to carve.”

  “Since I was about ten. See these?” She lifted her left hand and showed him several thin, short, barely visible scars on her fingers. “Cut myself lots of times. My father even took me to the ER for stitches once. It was a nasty bleeder.”

  “I take it your father passed on.”

  “Long time ago. I was twelve. Came home from school and my mom told me he’d had a heart attack. Died in the ambulance.” She stopped carving and stared at the dark landscape ahead of her. “I wonder how Jonathan is.”

  “Want to call the hospital?”

  She shook her head. “I gave them my cell number. I told them, anything happens, I want to know.” She tossed the stick to the ground and closed the knife, handed it to Robby. “Let’s go in.”

  They got back to the house and found Emma seated in front of the television, watching the blank screen intently. Vail took her by the hand. “Come on, Ma. Let’s go make dinner.”

  THE KITCHEN APPLIANCES were the same ones installed when the house had been built. With the exception of the countertop microwave, they were all from the aluminum and Bakelite era. An old pink Frigidaire hummed against the far wall.

  Vail found a large pot in the cabinet, where her mom had always kept it. She placed it in the sink and turned on the faucet. “Do you still see Aunt Faye
?”

  “Yes, of course. She comes by and we have tea.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Oh, it’s been a while, I guess. You know how it is with three kids. She’s busy, busy, busy.”

  Vail figured she would call her aunt after dinner, see about making temporary arrangements to have Emma stay with her until she could get her mother situated in an assisted care facility. Faye was her father’s sister, but the two women had remained close even after he had passed away.

  The shifting in and out of lucidity was frustrating, and Vail felt an urgency to ask important questions while her mother was able to answer them. But under pressure, nothing came to mind.

  Dinner was a conglomeration of spaghetti with Ragu sauce doctored with whatever Emma had in her pantry . . . which wasn’t much: stewed tomatoes, canned mushrooms, and a dash of garlic salt. After eating, Vail took Robby on a tour of the house. “Things are pretty much unchanged, if you can believe that,” she said. They walked into a small room on the second floor.

  “Let me guess. Your room.”

  A large, horizontal glass-faced cabinet was mounted on the far side of the room, which sported sunflower-yellow walls with pink trim.

  “Obviously,” Robby said, surveying the dolls behind the glass, “you’re a collector.”

  “I can tell you where I got each one.” She walked over to the cabinet and let her eyes roam over them—they ranged from tall to petite, porcelain to plastic—with the world’s ethnicities well represented. “Figured I’d give them to my daughter one day.”

  “Until your girl came out a boy.”

  A smile flitted across her lips. “Didn’t think Jonathan would appreciate them.”

  Robby laughed. “I think you’re right.”

  Vail slid the wall closet door aside and found a rolled poster on the top shelf. “It’s still here,” she said. She pulled off the rubber band and unfurled the yellow-aged paper across her bed. “You’ll never believe who my teen heartthrob was.”

  Robby looked at the large smiling face staring back at him. “Kind of looks familiar.”

  “Shaun Cassidy. Every girl I knew fell for him.” She noticed the reference was lost on him. “The Hardy Boys.”