The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [112]
“Yes.” Short answer, to the point. Less trouble that way.
“Hmph.” He stopped rolling the ball and peered over the top at Vail. “Was it true, that you had an argument with her the night she was murdered?”
“Yes.”
Gifford nodded. “And you didn’t see fit to mention this when we were standing in front of her house?”
“No, sir.”
“Why the hell not?” His voice was loud, his brow bunched.
Vail cleared her throat. “Because if I told you about it, you would never have let me view the crime scene. And, because it’s irrelevant. I didn’t kill her.”
He leaned forward in the chair, the springs squeaking with the shift in his weight. “Agent Vail, that has to rank with one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done in your career.”
“Yes, sir. I told Bledsoe and Hernandez—”
“Oh, do they outrank me now? I’m your boss, Vail, and you seem to have a knack for forgetting that lately.”
“Sir, I only meant to help.”
He rolled the ball some more. “Help. Well, I sure need that now, don’t I? Director Knox is on my case. The goddamn director called me this morning and set a meeting for this afternoon. You know what that means? It means my ass is in the sling. My job is on the line.”
“I didn’t mean to involve you. It’s Hancock—”
“Hancock! Yes, it is Hancock who’s the problem, isn’t it? The same guy I told you to back off of, to leave alone and let hang himself.”
“Sir, he went to the media to deflect attention off himself. The task force leaned on him, he’d had an affair—”
“I know all about the affair. When Thurston mentioned it in the car after we left you, I was the one who pushed him to call Bledsoe and tell him.” Gifford put the basketball back down on the stand, stood up, and faced the wall. “We issued an official denial to the story, of course.” He buried his hands in his pockets again. “I don’t know where this is going to lead, but I can tell you one thing: it’s not going to be fun. For any of us.” He turned to face her. “I got seventeen calls from the media this morning. After the Herald broke the story, everyone in the country picked it up. A buddy of mine at New Scotland Yard even heard about it. What’s bigger than the FBI covering up the fact that one of its profilers is a serial killer?”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re not the only injured party here.” She suddenly felt empowered, fed up by the fact that the entire focus was on him. “I’m the one they’re saying brutally murdered seven innocent women. How do you think that makes me feel?”
Gifford did not say anything. He looked away, kicked at an exposed power cord that ran along the carpet to the computer on Bledsoe’s desk. “There’s only one way to solve this problem.” He looked up at her.
“Find the killer,” she said.
Gifford walked past her and grabbed the doorknob. “Find the killer.”
Vail watched him walk out and stood there wondering if that was his unofficial way of telling her to pull out all the stops . . . or merely a self-affirmation that they needed to find the person responsible for making his life a living hell.
As she stood there, she realized it did not matter. Dead Eyes had targeted her, broken into her house, and violated her space. Now he was helping dismantle her career. She needed to find this guy soon, before he killed her—from within.
Now it was personal.
forty-seven
The weather turned for the worse in the space of an hour, with dark storm clouds and high winds moving in as temperatures plummeted. After having spent the past three hours with Jonathan, Vail sat in her study, fingerprint powder still splashed across the door frame. Though she did not plan on staying at her house long, her presence there was enough to satisfy her need to show the killer she would not be driven from her home. Nevertheless, her Glock sat on her lap, ready for action.
The phone had not stopped ringing. News stations and reporters from all over the country, all wanting her take on the accusations made by the unnamed source. She wanted to tell them everything, tell them they were chasing lies, pursuing bad news, being led astray by a manipulator whose only intent was