Vail 01 - The 7th Victim (14 page)
Vail thought of Jonathan and remembered she had an appointment with an attorney in the morning. She had already called in to get the time off, and she would have to pull Jonathan out of school. But it was the first step in getting him out of Deacon’s reach.
“Our guy struck again this evening. Vic named Sandra Franks. Dental hygienist with a doc on the west side. Hey, Hernandez, you’re tall. Why don’t you write all this down on the whiteboard?” He tossed Robby the bunch of rubber-banded colored markers.
“What does being tall have to do with—”
“It’s late, let’s just get through this so we can go home.”
Robby stepped up to the whiteboard and wrote, “Sandra Franks, dental hygienist.”
“Dental hygienists are weird. They work P-T at lots of different offices,” Manette said.
Bledsoe nodded. “Which means our workload just increased. Sin, find out what other docs she works for and while you’re at it, round up their patient lists. Perp might be on there.”
“Will they give us their patient lists? Confidentiality—”
“Come on,” Manette said. “Who’s gonna get bent outta shape over a freaking root canal? They give you problems, lean on ’em. They’re dentists, they don’t want no trouble. Besides, we’re not asking for their records, just a list. You want, I’ll do it.”
Sinclair’s bald head flushed with anger. “I can handle it.”
“Good,” Bledsoe said. “There’s a bunch of things we’re working on, so I put together a quick summary of what’s going on and who’s doing what. You can add Sin’s assignment to the bottom.”
“How do you want to handle the perp’s message?” Manette asked.
Bledsoe pulled a small spiral notepad from his sport coat pocket, flipped a couple of pages. “‘It’s in the . . . ,’” he mumbled. He shook his head, then said, “I think we should attack this like we would any other piece of evidence. Karen, you have any new thoughts on this?”
“Nothing I’m willing to share just yet.”
“Look, I know you don’t like to guess, but right now we’ve got nothing to go on. Even a guess would send us in a direction. Might be the wrong one, but it could also be the right one.”
“I’ve got one,” Hancock said.
Vail rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“I think it means he’s playing with us, taunting us, daring us to find the severed hand.”
“And?” Bledsoe asked. “Did you find it?”
“Not yet, but—”
“Look, Bledsoe, you wanted my opinion, I’ll give it to you,” Vail said. “Right now there are too many possibilities. So I’ll tell you what my gut says. This message meant a lot to this offender. He took great risks to leave it for us. I don’t think it’s taunting per se, but I think he’s trying to tell us something without directly telling us. He doesn’t want to make it too easy. But bottom line is, there is meaning in it. Just what that meaning is, I don’t have a clue and a hunch wouldn’t be worth anything. Hancock’s got a hunch and it means nothing.”
“To hell with you, Vail,” Hancock yelled. “You’ve been on my case since the minute I walked through the vic’s door. What did I ever do to you?”
Bledsoe shook his head in disgust. “Okay, all right, enough.” He turned to Vail. “He’s right, Karen, lose the attitude.”
“Damn straight,” Hancock said.
“I’m consulting VICAP, see if we get any hits on similar cases,” Vail said calmly.
“Who’s got the vic’s employers?” Sinclair asked.
“Hernandez,” Bledsoe said, “that’s yours. Check out the people the vics worked for. Then check out their customers. Anything pops up that’s even possibly suspicious, let’s all discuss it.”
“Got it, boss.”
They spent the next two hours running scenarios and making phone calls and assembling lists. The usual bone-grinding police work. As they rose to disperse, Bledsoe gave a quick whistle. “Before I forget. Expenses. Save your receipts, give ’em to me in an envelope marked with your name every Monday for the previous week. Make sure you write down what each receipt is for. I’ll get them to admin at my house and they’ll send it through internal review. So don’t be ordering no three-course meals. Now go home and get some rest. We’ll meet here every morning at eight. You can’t make it, let me know. We’re on flex time, but I don’t want anyone taking advantage. We got us a killer to catch, and each day, each hour, each minute that passes we don’t get something accomplished means some other woman is closer to being cut up. Clear?”
Everyone nodded, then dispersed. Vail walked over to Hancock, who tilted his chin back and looked down his nose at her. She said, “I think you were right, Hancock. About the artistic feel to the murals. Just wanted you to know.”
Hancock regarded her for a few seconds before responding. “You know, I could’ve done your job, Vail. I could’ve been a profiler.”
Vail pulled a stick of gum from her pocket and folded it into her mouth. “What do you want me to say? Wasn’t my decision.”
“That’s what you want to think. No guilt that way. But I’m over it, I’ve got a good job. And I’m in charge. I don’t need to take any orders from superiors. I call the shots.”
“Glad it worked out.” Vail turned to gather her papers, but Hancock grabbed her arm.
“I know you said some bad things about me.” His voice was low, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I won’t forget that.”
Vail’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t threaten me, Hancock. Nothing you say or do scares me. You come at me, I’ll crush you under my heel. Don’t you forget
that.
”
that.
”
Vail grabbed her leather messenger bag and winked at Robby, then walked out the door.
fourteen
C
harcoal gray thunderclouds threatened a downpour, but thus far they had held their load. Karen Vail had a ten o’clock appointment with her family law attorney but stopped at Deacon’s house on the way. If there was an amicable solution to the custody issue—meaning no attorneys involved—she wanted to find it. She liked her attorney but had no desire to fund another of his five-star resort vacations.
harcoal gray thunderclouds threatened a downpour, but thus far they had held their load. Karen Vail had a ten o’clock appointment with her family law attorney but stopped at Deacon’s house on the way. If there was an amicable solution to the custody issue—meaning no attorneys involved—she wanted to find it. She liked her attorney but had no desire to fund another of his five-star resort vacations.
She didn’t think Deacon would go for it, but she was prepared to make a Mafia-style offer: one he couldn’t refuse . . . one that would waive her rights to the house. If there was one way to get at the armored organ Deacon once called a heart, it was through his wallet.
Vail stood at the peeling steel gray wood door and felt like a trespasser. It’d only been eighteen months since she had moved out, but in that time she had become a different person. A person who couldn’t stand the man who owned the house she used to call her own. She put her hands on her hips and glanced down at her feet. Did she really want to ring this bell? Did she really want to see Deacon?
She could go through her attorney, have him handle everything, and never have to see her ex’s face again. But if she could appeal to the side of him she used to love, the good-natured, hard-working soul that shriveled into oblivion, maybe get him to agree—
The wood door swung open and revealed a disheveled forty-year old man, leather-grained face and wild, pepper-colored hair. A stained white T-shirt hung over faded jeans. He may have stood near five-eleven, but his large-boned frame and new paunch made him look larger than that. He stepped closer to the screen door. “The fuck you doing here?”
Vail immediately marveled at how an individual could descend so quickly, and completely, into Dante’s Inferno.
“You knock? Didn’t hear a knock.”
“I was about to ring the bell.”
“You didn’t answer me. What the fuck do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Jonathan.”
“What about?”
“Can I come in?”
Deacon pushed the screen door open and nearly struck Vail in the face. He turned and headed into the darkness. Bargain basement furniture adorned the living room. It was the same assortment of couches and recliners Vail had wanted to throw out—Good Will and Salvation Army turned her down—but after being out of work awhile, Deacon didn’t want to spend money on new pieces. “These work just fine for me,” he had said at the time. As if he was the only one who lived there.
Vail glanced at the issues of
Penthouse
and
Jugs
strewn across the coffee table and cringed at the thought that Jonathan was being exposed to this on a regular basis. These were things she would mention should they end up in court, to paint a picture of the home environment Deacon provided.
Penthouse
and
Jugs
strewn across the coffee table and cringed at the thought that Jonathan was being exposed to this on a regular basis. These were things she would mention should they end up in court, to paint a picture of the home environment Deacon provided.
Deacon bent over and turned off the television. “So?”
“Jonathan’s not happy here, Deacon. From what I gather, you’re not happy having him here, either.”
“Don’t be speaking for me. He’s my boy, a man needs his boy around. A boy needs his father.”
Normally, Vail wouldn’t argue with that statement. But since Deacon was the father—
“So if that’s all you came to talk to me about, I’d say we’re about done.”
But Vail didn’t like being dictated to, and she despised his flippant attitude. Her heart began pounding. Anger swelled. No, not just anger. Hatred. Where had the man gone she’d loved so many years ago?
“I came to offer you something,” she said. “For Jonathan. Give me full custody and I’ll waive all my rights to the house.”
Deacon walked over to her and stood three inches from her face. A common intimidation tactic used during interrogation was to invade someone’s space. Vail had been taught the technique by a seasoned NYPD detective. For Deacon, it came naturally.
Vail was not about to yield her ground. She knew how the game was played, so she stood there and stared into the man’s dark eyes, his beer breath battering her nose.
He rested his hands on his hips and looked down at her. “You have a lot of nerve, coming here, thinking you can buy my son from me.”
“He’s not happy, Deacon. If you want what’s best for him, take my offer. Full custody for me, the house is all yours. No strings.”
Deacon clenched his jaw. “I don’t think you heard me, Karen. Answer’s no.”
“What possible reason would you have for wanting him around, if all you’re going to do is put him down all the time?”
“Is that what he says?” Deacon shook his head. “Fucking kids. None of ’em tell the truth. It’s like a disease.”
“I believe him, Deacon. Jonathan has no reason to lie to me.”
“Well, whoop-dee-do for you, Miss Perfect Parent.”
“If you won’t take my offer, I’m gonna go back to court, let the judge decide.”
Deacon’s face curled into a snarl. “You bitch. Do that and you’ll be sorry.”
Vail smirked and shook her head. “I don’t respond to your threats anymore, Deacon. There’s nothing you can do to hurt me.”
With that, Vail felt something hook behind her right foot—and Deacon’s right hand push against her chest. She was moving backward faster than she could react, and a second later her head struck the wood floor in an explosion of blinding pain.
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