The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [47]
“Theories and methods. . . .” A smile crept across her lips. “Okay. I like theories and methods. Reminds me of my favorite course at the Academy. Dinner tonight, six o’clock?”
“Great.”
“Something casual. Meet me at the office, we’ll go from there.”
“Sure, great.”
“Oh, and Art Rooney, another profiler, may want to join us. That okay?”
Robby’s face drooped a bit, though he seemed to try to keep it propped up. He shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Yeah.”
Vail smiled, squinted against the sun that had poked through the clouds. “You know what, forget Rooney; he’s probably got other plans. Can’t discuss theories and methods with more than just a couple of people anyway, right?”
Robby winked. “Exactly. Pick you up at six.”
ROBBY POURED A GLASS of chardonnay for each of them and set the bottle back on the table. “So you never told me how a nice detective like you got stuck in a gross profession like profiling.”
“It was one of the safest jobs in the Bureau. I had a scare about seven years ago when I was caught in the cross fire during a botched bank robbery.” Her mind flashed back to Alvin in the bank a few days ago. Different scenario, but the setting was all too familiar. “It was just the way things went down. We were following a tip, moving on these guys fast, and I got there first. While I was waiting for backup, the perps came out of the bank. Another couple agents arrived on scene and didn’t know what hit them. The scumbags took out one agent and put the other down with a shot to the chest. I was pinned down but eventually got out of it.”
Robby’s eyes were narrow with interest. “How?”
She took a gulp of wine. “I thought we were going to discuss theories and methods.”
Robby’s eyebrows rose. “We are. Karen Vail’s theories on getting out of a tough spot with only her brains and bare hands—”
“Try a Glock and a spare magazine. And they had MAC-10s. Sprayed the shit out of my car. Windows were blowing out all over the place. We were hunkered down returning fire.” She shook her head. “It was war, right there on the street in the middle of suburbia. . . .”
Robby edged forward on his seat. “And? What happened?”
She took another drink of chardonnay, then looked up and found Robby’s eyes. “What?”
“How’d you get out of it?”
“I got down low, under the car, and shot the perp in the ankle. He went down, the other agent survived, all the scumbags died, and everything turned out okay.” She let the words linger in the air for a moment, staring at her nearly empty wine glass.
“So, the safest job in the Bureau,” Robby prompted.
“After that lovely episode, I realized it wasn’t something I should be doing while trying to raise a child. Jonathan was seven at the time. The thought of him growing up without a mother made me think long and hard about what I was doing with my life.” She laughed a hollow chuckle. “I make it sound as if it was a rational, one-night decision. It wasn’t. It took me weeks to decide what I was going to do. I even thought of leaving the Bureau.”
“Instead you ended up in the profiling unit?”
“While OPR investigated, my ASAC felt it was best to give me a break from my usual surroundings. He loaned me out to nearby police departments to help them solve a few dormant cases. The trails were so cold you could get frostbite just by handling the case folders.”
Robby leaned back in his chair. “Ouch. You think he did that on purpose, to kill your career?”
“Nah, he was a good guy. Besides, if that was what he had in mind, I screwed up his plans big time. I solved almost every one of the cases. Word traveled fast. Got a rep around the Bureau.”
“I can see why.”
“My ASAC sent a memo to the Division Two unit chief at BSU, and next thing I knew I was the profiling unit’s Eastern District liaison. A month later, I was competing with Chase Hancock for the one vacant spot in the unit. Rest is history.”
Robby’s head was tilted and his gaze was fixed on Vail’s face.
She finished off her glass of wine and waited for a response. “You okay?” she finally asked.
“Fine,” he