The 7th Victim

by Alan Jacobson

  Vail looked up at the ceiling and did the math. “That’s probably about right.”

  “Thought so.” A self-satisfied smile thinned his lips. “So, working on that assumption, I first enlarged your mother’s face to this,” he said, then clicked the mouse. “Then I began aging it. Here’s about age twenty.” The computer morphed the facial features and a mature woman stared back at her. “Then, if I keep going, we can see her age through the years.” He struck another series of keys and the image subtly shifted, changed, evolved.

  “What a horrible thing to see. Bad enough watching the aging process in the mirror. At least it happens gradually. This thing makes it happen in a matter of seconds.”

  He looked at her. “Happens to all of us. Wrinkle here, sagging there, some age spots thrown in for flavor.”

  She frowned. “See this one?” Her finger found the exact spot on her cheek without having to look in a mirror. “This isn’t flavor, Tim. It’s aggravation.”

  The computer beeped and they turned to look at the screen. “Ah, very good. There she is. That’s your mother, aged to about sixty.”

  Vail stared at the screen. She immediately recognized the face. “Holy shit. . . .” She pried her eyes away and rested them on Meadows, who was smiling at her.

  She swallowed hard. Her eyes were pulled back to the image as if drawn by an unseen force. “Can you make a print of that?”

  “You betcha.” He clicked with his mouse. “It’ll take a few minutes.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Thought you might.”

  “How accurate is this thing?”

  “You questioning my work?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Pretty accurate. But not a hundred percent. Things happen to people, stress and other environmental factors come into play that influence the result. I’d use it as a guide.”

  But Vail knew the answer before he’d responded. It was a very accurate result.

  “By the way you’re looking at the screen, I take it you recognize her. Shit, I recognize her.”

  Vail nodded, but couldn’t pull her gaze from the screen.

  “Whatcha gonna do?”

  The Andreas Vollenweider CD ended just as she was about to answer, and an eerie silence permeated the room. “I’m not sure.”

  VAIL’S FIRST COURSE OF ACTION had been to return to the FBI Academy. It was now approaching midnight, but she still felt no signs of fatigue. She was a bloodhound, nose to the ground, sniffing her trail. Her prey was near, so near she’d actually seen it. Now it was a matter of gathering information before going in for the kill.

  There was no one around this time of night, other than a few new agents sitting in the commemorative hall, telling stories of their days as a beat cop or detective or attorney . . . now in training to become one of the elite law enforcers in the world.

  Vail found the maintenance engineer and sweet-talked him into letting her into the library for a while. She told him the truth about locating the mother who had abandoned her, and being the sap that he was, he felt sorry for her and pulled out his ring of keys. That was forty-five minutes ago, and rather than stopping to read through the results popping up across the screen, she printed the pages to make the most efficient use of her time. Even at that, it was taking longer than she had anticipated.

  While waiting for the computer to finish the last search, she pulled her cell phone and dialed the hospital. Nothing new to report, she was told by the desk nurse. Jonathan had continued to open his eyes, and had moved them a bit—more “incremental improvement”—but that was all she could tell her. Vail thanked the nurse and watched the last of the search results flicker across the monitor.

  She hit PRINT, then waited by the mammoth HP LaserJet for the document. As the papers emerged, a wide yawn spread her lips. Fatigue had finally set in. She would go home, get some sleep, and review the paperwork in the morning.

  There was nothing else demanding her time at the moment.

  thirty-six

  Go ahead, grab her hair and stab the eyes. Stab, stab, stab! Do it!

  Grasp a handful of straw dry hair, lift the head, then plunge the knife down into the eye. Squish!

  Look at yourself, don’t be blind. Look up, into the window, and see. See for yourself.

  After letting go of the knife, the slime from blood and eye juice spatter trailed off the fingertips like saliva from a hungry wolf salivating over its prey. Straightened up . . . looked into the dark window across the room. It was her. Again. Karen Vail in the reflection.

  You killed your mother. How does it feel?

  Vail craned her head down and tried to look beyond the knife protruding from the right socket, but she couldn’t see the face. She moved closer for a better angle. She killed her mother?

  Yes, the bitch had to die. You did it, you did it, you did it. . . .

  THE MORNING SUN burned away the clouds that had been hovering over the region the past couple weeks. Vail couldn’t help but think the lingering haze had become a symbol of her misfortune. Perhaps the break would bring the promise of new opportunities, of a reversal of her bad luck.

  Of course, first she had to get past the image of having murdered her mother. She needed to do something, talk to someone about it. These dreams had to stop.

  While driving to the hospital, she called her Aunt Faye, who had taken on the task of finding an assisted care facility in the Alexandria region. Based on Emma’s long-term care coverage, Faye had narrowed the list of possibilities to three, and it was now in Vail’s hands to investigate each one to determine which would best accommodate her mother’s needs. In the meantime, rather than move Emma out of her familiar surroundings, Faye’s three daughters were taking turns staying at the house to make sure Emma ate regularly and did not wander off. With a backyard as large and wooded as hers, she could get turned around fifty feet from her house and forget how to get home.

  Vail arrived at Fairfax Hospital and carried in with her a sampling of Jonathan’s favorite childhood books: The Hobbit, Old Yeller, The Phantom Tollbooth, and one he had been in the middle of when he was hospitalized: the seventh Harry Potter tale. She brought a thermos of coffee and sat beside him, at first just looking at him, his eyes opening and closing, tracking back and forth, as if his brain was taking in the surroundings but not processing what it saw.

  She read to him for an hour, then took a break and dove into the task of making screening calls to the three assisted care facilities. Based on the attitude of the staff and level of service provided, she immediately eliminated one of them. The other two would work, subject to a records search for pending complaints and violations.

  She gave Jonathan a kiss, told him she loved him, and headed out for lunch with Bledsoe. They met at a Subway restaurant a mile from the op center. His face was long, but when she walked in his expression brightened. He stood as she approached the table.

  “Whatever you want, it’s on me,” he said.

  “Tuna on wheat, everything on it.”

  He nodded, turned to the counter person and put in the order. Bledsoe watched through the display case glass as the woman slapped on tomatoes and sprinkled oil. “How was your visit with your mother?”

  “She’s got Alzheimer’s. It’s bad, I’ve got to move her to an assisted care facility.”

  Bledsoe sighed. “Sorry.”

  “Me, too. I wasn’t prepared.”

  “Must’ve been tough.”

  “Add it to the list.” She considered telling him about Nellie and Emma, then thought better of it. “I thought I needed some time by myself, but given everything that happened, I’m glad Robby was there. Thanks for letting him go.”

  Bledsoe eyed her obliquely. “I didn’t.”

  “You—”

  “We didn’t quite see eye-to-eye on the matter. He told me he was taking some personal time and walked out.”

  Vail chewed on that one. Robby had led her to believe Bledsoe gave his blessing.

  “Don’
t worry about it,” he said. “He and I had a chat. It won’t be a thing between us. We’ve got bigger issues to tackle.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . sorry I didn’t show up this morning,” Vail said.

  He turned his head to face hers. “You’re on leave.”

  “From the Bureau, not from the task force.”

  Bledsoe moved a few steps down, paid for the sandwiches, and loaded them on a tray. “Linwood and the police chief wanted you off the case.”

  Vail slid into a booth and sat down. “Guess I’m bad publicity. Beating up your husband doesn’t play well in the papers. Too much fallout.”

  Bledsoe unwrapped his sandwich and pulled off the pickles. “I told her no pickles. You heard me say that, right?” He shook his head.

  “You have to close this case,” Vail said. “I make your job easier—and probably faster. And a faster resolution means fewer women die. You need me.” Vail bit into her sandwich and let her comment ride on the wind for a moment.

  “They made it pretty clear they want you to stay away.”

  “Do you want me to stay away?” She had stopped chewing and focused on his eyes.

  “No.”

  “I work for the victim, Bledsoe. Not the government, not you, not the police chief.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then to hell with ’em all. Let me work the case. I’ll do it at home. Get me a copy of the file, we’ll work it together.”

  Bledsoe took a bite and looked at Vail as he chewed. She returned the gaze. Pleading without speaking. He finished off his sandwich a few bites later, then took a long pull from his Coke.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “You’ll get me a copy of the file?”

  “I’ll bring it by your place myself.”

  She nodded. “Keep me up on what the task force does.”

  He wiped his mouth, then got up. “Thanks for meeting me for lunch.”

  “Thanks for paying. And for sticking with me.”

  Vail watched Bledsoe walk away, knowing she had done the right thing for the victims. But she couldn’t help wondering if it was the wrong thing for her career.

  thirty-seven

  There was a sunset for the first time in weeks, and Vail pulled over to the side of the road to watch the reds burn into oranges, then fade into an expansive horizon of pale pink, as if God had blown brilliantly colored chalk dust off the palette. She pulled down on the gear shift and yanked it into drive, then got on I-495 toward 193 and Great Falls, Virginia.

  She turned on the radio, not bothering to change the station—it didn’t matter what was playing, because she wasn’t listening. It merely served as background noise to take her mind off where she was headed, and what she would say when she got there. As dusk descended, she turned on her headlights and exited at Georgetown Pike. The area of Great Falls was a sprawling community set amongst rolling hills, forests of mature oak and helm, and million dollar homes.

  As Vail drove down Potomac River Road, darkness’s arrival seemed to accelerate, the remaining light filtered by the dense blind of branches and leaves. She hung a right onto a shoulderless single-lane residential road and flicked on her dome light to check the directions she had scribbled on a piece of paper. The house on the left was an Early American three-story brick mansion. Vail squinted at the lamppost, which lit an address sign surrounded by well-manicured hedges. She turned onto the gravel driveway that cut through an expansive lawn and led straight to the entrance of the home.

  Security lights popped on as her car approached the circular turnaround. She parked and got out, walked up to the door, and pressed the bell. A hearty chime sounded up and down the scale. Ten seconds passed, but it seemed like minutes before the hand-tooled oak door finally swung open.

  Chase Hancock stood there, eyebrows raised slightly. “Vail, what are you doing here? Come to beg your way back onto the task force? Or did you come here to kick my butt?”

  “That’s funny, Hancock. I’d prefer the latter, but it’s none of your business why I’m here. Is Senator Linwood in?”

  Hancock squinted. “Are you here on official business? Otherwise, call ahead and make an appointment.”

  Vail forced a smile. “Thanks so much for that thoughtful bit of advice, but I’m not in the mood for your bullshit. My business is with the senator, not with you. Now move aside or I’ll move you myself.”

  Hancock stepped forward and threw his chest out. “You’re trespassing, Vail. I suggest you turn around and leave with your tail between your legs before I arrest you. Citizen’s arrest, I can still do that.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” The voice came from behind Hancock. Vail craned her neck around his wide body and saw Eleanor Linwood standing there, still dressed in her business suit.

  “I’m sorry we made so much noise, Senator,” Hancock said. “I’ll take care of this. Agent Vail was just leaving.”

  But Linwood continued to move forward and was now standing beside her head security agent. “That’s okay, Chase, I’ll take it from here.”

  “But—”

  She turned her head to face his. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

  Though it was a moment Vail wanted to savor—she hadn’t had many of those lately—she struggled to contain her smile.

  As soon as Hancock walked off, Linwood’s face hardened. “You wanted to see me, Agent Vail.”

  “Yes, Senator. I wanted to speak to you about . . . a private matter. Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  Without comment, Linwood turned and walked down the wood plank hallway, her heels clicking as they struck the floor. Vail followed, her head rubbernecking in all directions as she took in the décor: the high ceilings and ten-foot windows of the formal dining room, rough-hewn beams, stone fireplace, and lace curtains of the living room. They turned left into a smaller room with a paisley sofa and hardwood plantation shutters. Linwood sat on the edge of the couch and motioned Vail to do the same. Vail reached over and shut the door, an action Linwood found suspicious, judging by the squint of her eyes.

  “What can I do for you, Agent Vail? Or is it your policy to drop in on elected officials’ homes unannounced?”

  She put Vail on the defensive with practiced ease. “I apologize, Senator. I didn’t think you’d see me if I called ahead.”

  “Perhaps you’re correct.” She glanced at her watch. “And unless you provide me with a compelling reason for this visit in the next thirty seconds, I’ll have my very efficient security agent show you the door.”

  Vail bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t care for the senator’s smug attitude, but at the moment, she tried to see it from her point of view. Vail hadn’t yet given her an explanation.

  “If this is about being removed from the task force, I’m afraid that’s something you’ll have to take up with the police department. Contrary to what you may’ve heard, I have no influence over the machinations of the Fairfax County PD.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t believe that for one moment. However, that’s not why I’m here.” Linwood started to object, but Vail held up a hand. “I want to tell you a story about two women born—”

  “I don’t have time for bedtime stories, Agent Vail. I’ve got—”

  “You’ll want to hear this one, Senator.” Vail had leaned forward, her eyebrows hunched downward. “It’s a story about two sisters born in Brooklyn. One of them, nine years older, always seemed to be the one who made the correct decisions in life. The younger one went out of her way to be different and often got into trouble.”

  Linwood rose from the couch. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything—”

  “I’ll get to the point,” Vail said, then began speaking faster. “The younger sister—we’ll call her Nellie—got herself pregnant. This angered her parents, a good Catholic family who didn’t believe in premarital sex. They disowned her. Depressed and unprepared for dealing with a newborn, Nellie showed up at her older sister’s house. She asked her sister to watch the baby
for a couple of hours while she went to a movie. Nellie never returned, and the baby was raised by the aunt and uncle.”

  Vail detected tears in Linwood’s eyes. The senator sunk down in the couch and Vail continued: “Nellie, out on her own, got a couple of low-paying jobs before realizing she needed to straighten herself up. She met someone, an up-and-coming heir to a booming family business that supplied shipping containers to international transportation companies. Having just graduated from Harvard with his MBA, the man met Nellie and fell in love. Now here’s the interesting part,” Vail said, leaning forward. “Her knight in shining armor helped her get a new social security number, new name, new background, new identity. Nellie ceased to exist.” Vail reached into her shoulder-slung portfolio case and removed a hunk of papers. She dropped them on the couch beside Linwood. “It’s all in there.”