The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [164]
“THIS IS PAUL BLEDSOE,” he shouted into the handset in his car. Robby’s hands were locked on the dashboard as Bledsoe maneuvered through the traffic. “Get out an APB on Chase Hancock. Info’s in the computer. There’s an active case open under my name.” He handed Robby the mike and put his other hand on the wheel just in time to swerve away from a pedestrian. “Shit. What the hell’s going on here?”
Robby chewed on his lower lip, holding his thoughts.
Bledsoe accelerated. “Who could’ve gotten hold of the profile?”
“We know who got hold of it,” Robby said. “Dead Eyes.”
“We got Dead Eyes. He’s deader than a doornail.” He glanced at Robby. “No. Someone broke into Karen’s house and stole it. Someone left a message on her wall. We just assumed it was Dead Eyes.”
“Who the hell else would it have been?”
“I don’t know, Hernandez, I don’t know. Her ex? Screwing with her head? Hancock? Same reason?”
Robby sighed. “Whoever broke in is whoever stole the profile. Same person rolled it up and shoved it into Laura Mackey.”
“So who are our suspects?”
“Hancock. Deacon Tucker. And an UNSUB.”
Bledsoe swerved onto the shoulder of the roadway and passed several cars waiting to make a left turn. He was on surface streets, headed to the Interstate, trying to make the best time possible.
“Try Karen again.”
Robby pressed redial. “No answer.” He shook his head. “The line must be cut.”
“Maybe she’s just not home.”
“She’s home. Her knee’s real bad. She’s got surgery tomorrow morning, she wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, she’s got a machine.”
Bledsoe gripped the wheel tighter.
Robby tried the line again, cursed under his breath, then slammed the phone shut. “Can’t this car go any faster?”
VAIL MOVED INTO HER BEDROOM and saw the holstered Glock sitting atop her dresser. She strapped the shoulder harness across her body then flipped on the overhead light. Everything was as it should have been. She left the light on and moved into Jonathan’s bedroom and glanced around. Nothing unusual.
Next she checked her study, where the message was still scrawled on the wall. She would have to get some paint and get rid of that, and soon. It gave her the creeps. It reminded her Dead Eyes had been here, had violated her space.
She moved back down the hallway, using the walls for support. As she stepped into the great room that contained the kitchen at one end and the family room at the other, she wondered if she was just being paranoid. Noises in the house. She hadn’t spent the night here in several days, ever since the profile had been stolen. She was unnerved, is all. A killer had been in her home, touched her things. Now she was back here at night and got spooked.
She hobbled through the living and dining rooms, turning on lights. Everything was in its place. There were no messages scrawled across the walls. She chuckled silently, amused at letting herself get so worked up over nothing. Shame on you, Vail. You should know better.
She sat back down at the kitchen sink and continued washing the pots.
“WHAT’S OUR ETA?” Bledsoe asked.
Robby looked around at the dark landscape flashing by outside the car. “Man, I don’t know. I never go this way. If I had to guess, five minutes, maybe ten.”
“When are they going to invent flying cars, huh? Make our jobs so much easier.”
“Were there any available units in her area?”
“Different jurisdiction. Dispatch was putting out the word. Did you try her mobile?”
“I texted and called her three times. I was kicked right into voice mail.”
“Try the landline again.”
Robby hit redial and waited. A moment later, he closed the phone. He didn’t need to say anything. Bledsoe already knew there was no answer.
THE SMELL OF BURNT WAX and smoldering wicks irritated Vail’s nose. A draft must have blown out some of the candles. She hated that odor—she always tried to put a cup over the candle before it had a chance to burn out. Vail shut the water and reached for the dish towel to dry her hands.
But it was not where she always kept it.
A noise behind her, in the family room—and she grabbed