The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [55]
“It’s not, ma’am. I’ve got some questions. Can you step out of the car? I just need a minute of your time.”
As Vail got out, another cruiser pulled up to the curb across the street. She stood and faced Greenwich, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or so. African American, head shaved bald, and large eyes, he exuded confidence. Maybe he was all jacked up about hassling an FBI agent. “Ask away, just make it quick.”
The other officer, gelled brown hair and medium build, took a position ten feet away, to Greenwich’s left. He hooked both thumbs in his utility belt but did not say a word. Vail did not like the look of this.
“Ma’am, mind telling me where you were at noon today?”
Then it hit her. This was about Deacon. “Why, what’s the problem?”
“It’d be easier if I ask the questions. Now, noon today. . . .”
She folded her arms across her chest. “At my ex-husband’s house. Deacon Tucker. I was picking up a school book for my son.”
“Can you tell me what happened while you were there?”
“Look, Officer. This all goes back—” and then she stopped herself and realized she should just shut her mouth and say as little as possible. “Has he sworn a complaint against me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the young officer said, his posture erect and confident. “I just came from the hospital. He’s being treated for two fractured ribs and a broken nose. Did you strike Mr. Tucker, ma’am?”
Jesus. This rookie is going to run me in. Goddamn you, Deacon. She bit her lip, then shook her head out of disbelief. Time was ticking. She needed to get to Jonathan’s school. “Yes, in self-defense.”
He tilted his head from side to side, looking her over. “I don’t see any bruising on your person. Do you have any bruises, ma’am?”
“No, Officer, I don’t have any bruises.”
“Self-defense, but you don’t have any bruising?”
Was it self-defense? He taunted me, grabbed my arm, but I took the first swing. I took the only swing. Goddamn you, Deacon.
“Can you show me any evidence that he injured you?”
Through a tightened jaw, she said, “No.”
“You said it was in self-defense. What exactly did he do that made you feel as if you needed to defend yourself?”
“He grabbed my arm.”
“Mind rolling up your sleeve?”
Vail thought of the bump on the back of her head, but with her dense hair, what was he going to see? Besides, that was hardly proof Deacon had hit her. In truth, she didn’t even know how it happened. She noticed Greenwich was waiting, so she did as requested and pulled back the loose sleeve of her sport coat. “He grabbed my forearm, right here.” She pointed; the officer stepped closer, tilted his head and examined the area. “I don’t see anything.”
“I told you. No bruising.”
Greenwich glanced at his colleague, then back at Vail. “Ma’am, are you carrying a weapon?”
“Of course I am—”
“Where is it located?”
Vail moved her suit coat back, about to expose the shoulder harness—
And Greenwich held out a hand. “No, no. That’s okay, just tell me where it is.”
“In my shoulder holster.”
“Any other weapons on your person?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Protocol, ma’am. Have to follow protocol,” he said as if she would immediately understand.
In fact, she did understand. But it didn’t make it any easier.
Greenwich removed her Glock from its holster, then handed it to his partner. “Ma’am, according to eighteen-two-fifty-seven point two of the Virginia Code, in a domestic violence case I’m compelled by law to make an arrest.”
“The bastard knocked me unconscious and took my handgun! I wasn’t going to let him do it to me again—”
“Hang on a second,” he said, holding out a hand. “Now you’re saying he knocked you unconscious? Your story seems to be changing—”
“No—it’s not. Look, Officer, let me explain—”
“I think at this point I’ve got to advise you of your right to remain silent—”
“No, no. Listen to me. You don’t have to do this—”
“In fact, ma’am, I do have to do this. You’ll have your say, I promise you that, but I’m going to need to take you in. I’ll be as discreet about it as I can.” He pulled a set of cuffs from his belt and held it out in