The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [145]
In fact, java flowed freely to anyone with a cup. They were now going on twenty-four hours without sleep, with no break in the foreseeable future. As they took in their fill of sugar and caffeine, they analyzed all the information that began rolling in shortly after the clock had struck eight.
They had learned that Patrick Farwell had also been arrested fifteen years ago for aggravated sexual assault of a minor. He had served time at Pocomona Correctional Facility before being transferred to the newer maximum security Greensville campus halfway through his sentence because he had been stabbed by an inmate who took his assault on the minor personally.
But his parole eighteen months ago only served to rid the system of the scourge that had been Patrick Farwell. He broke ties with his parole officer and was never seen again. As far as the Department of Corrections was concerned, Patrick Farwell disappeared. After an extensive search, it was theorized he had left the state and gone underground. But the warden had another theory, and that was that Patrick Farwell had taken on an alias and was still living somewhere in the Commonwealth of Virginia. It was only a hunch, but the warden noted that his hunches, though based only on his limited knowledge of each particular inmate, were usually accurate.
“His pent-up anger boiled over when he got out,” Del Monaco said. “As soon as he disappeared, there were no controls on him anymore. No guards, no parole officers. The guy was unleashed, literally and figuratively.”
Robby nodded. “And his break with parole coincides with the first Dead Eyes murder. My vic, Marci Evers.”
“Any suggestion of computer skills?” Bledsoe asked.
Robby rubbed his eyes. “Like what? Classes, things like that?”
“Anything,” Bledsoe said.
“Nothing I see in the record,” Robby said. “But computer training is available lots of places, and most of it isn’t tracked or recorded anywhere.”
“And the kind of software used for the untraceable email is available online,” Vail said. “Based on what I was told, advanced training isn’t required.”
“Well,” Manette said, “I say we go for it. We’ve got the name, fingerprints, and background on this guy, and from what I’m hearing, he fits nicely. All we need is . . . him.”
Bledsoe clapped his hands together. “Then let’s get moving. Hernandez, talk with the postal inspector. Find out if there was ever a forwarding order submitted for Patrick Farwell. Sin, check with the IRS, see if any W-2’s have been filed. Then check the regional jails. Possible this guy got picked up on a traffic violation or a drunk-in-public. He could already be under lock and key.” Bledsoe looked at the fax. “And I’ll get this circulated. Have the lab send it to every PD and SO in the state.”
“Shouldn’t we go national?” Sinclair asked.
“Can’t hurt to get something out to NCIC,” Bledsoe said, referring to the National Crime Information Center.
Vail shook her head. “Farwell’s local. He’s bold, aggressive, and sure of himself. He thinks he can operate without consequence, and unfortunately we’ve only reinforced those feelings by being unable to generate any substantial leads.”
Robby held up an index finger. “Until now.”
“Until now. Point is, we’ve given him no reason to leave his comfort zone, which is outlined in the geoprofile. For now, I say we keep it statewide. And hope we get lucky.”
sixty-seven
With the investigation now focused and well on its way toward bringing in its first suspect, Vail took a break to run over to the hospital to check in on Jonathan.
She informed the nurse she wanted to talk with the doctor, then sat and held Jonathan’s hand for nearly half an hour before Altman walked in. They exchanged brief pleasantries before he said, “You remember our discussions about the importance of small steps.”
“Have there been any since you last examined him?”
“Yes. Come closer.” He removed his penlight from his jacket pocket and leaned over Jonathan’s face. He turned on the light and brought it