The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [110]
“He’s on his way,” Del Monaco said, setting the phone handset on the desk. He was standing in the kitchen doorway.
“You told him she’s here?” Robby asked, his face contorting into a snarl. He started toward Del Monaco, but Bledsoe grabbed his thick arm. Robby shrugged it off and in two strides was in front of Del Monaco, his large hands gathered around the profiler’s suit lapels. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about my job, Hernandez. My boss called me and said he’d tried reaching her. If I don’t tell him she’s here, it’s my ass that’s going to get whooped.” He shrugged against Robby’s grip. “Now, let go of me or I’ll have a chat with your sergeant.”
Bledsoe was behind Robby, his five-eight frame barely putting him up to Robby’s shoulders. “C’mon, Hernandez. We’re all upset by this. Let’s just get a grip on things.” He reached forward and pried Robby’s hands off Del Monaco’s jacket. Del Monaco looked up at Robby and then smoothed out his wrinkled lapels.
Robby turned toward Vail, who gave him a tight nod. Bledsoe was right, and she knew Robby knew it. She took another gulp of water, wishing it was something stronger, like scotch or gin—neither of which she drank. But at least it would deaden her anxiety.
The front door to the op center swung open and in walked Sinclair. He seemed to notice the quiet, the tension on everyone’s faces. “Another vic?” His face went down to his cell, as if he’d somehow missed the code.
“No,” Bledsoe said, then motioned him aside to fill him in.
Vail rested her head in her hands, trying to absorb the impact of what was about to happen. The implications were plentiful and threatened to overwhelm her.
She felt Robby’s hand on her shoulder, just resting there, no doubt his way of telling her she had his support. She knew there was nothing he could say or do to ease the pain of being the focus of a national media lynching. How convenient to have a suspect, a name and face on which anger and outrage could be pinned. All delivered in a front page article that was soon going to be picked up by the international press.
She took a deep, uneven breath and looked up. Everyone was looking away, avoiding the situation. “We’ve got work to do,” she said, her voice hoarse and raspy. She tipped her chin at Bledsoe, who was still leaning against a wall chatting with Sinclair.
He pushed back from the wall. “Yeah. Let’s get to it.” He moved to the front of the living room. “Karen’s got a new theory on what the messages mean. They were all written in blood, so ‘It’s in the’ could mean ‘It’s in the blood.’” He paused, noticed a few raised eyebrows.
“HIV,” Manette said.
Robby remained beside Vail. The warmth of his body, of his presence, made her feel more confident. She couldn’t recall the last time she had relied on anyone else for self-assurance.
“That’s the first thing to look at,” Robby said. “HIV, AIDS, Hepatitis C.”
“Let’s dole out some assignments and get on it,” Bledsoe said. “Manny, get us a list of all area blood banks, and a roster of the organizations and medical facilities they supply. We’ll have to go through each of their databases and cross-reference them with the FBI’s national database to see if we get any hits. We’re looking for males who’ve received donated blood that was tainted.”
“That’s like fishing with a little pole in a big lake,” Manette said. “And I can tell you as a woman, that ain’t no fun, if you get my drift.” A seductive smile spread her lips and she winked at a blushing Bledsoe. “How about we start with the vics? Were any of them infected with HIV or hepatitis?”
“Sexual innuendoes aside, Manette’s right,” Vail said. “I say we look for a connection to the blood through the vics.”
Bledsoe considered this a moment, then nodded. “That would help narrow our suspect pool, wouldn’t it?” He shook his head, as if embarrassed he hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll look into it.”
“He could be finding the women through the blood bank,” Manette said. “Maybe our guy works there and the vics donated regularly. I’d get a list of