The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [59]
Vail stepped forward. “That’s not the way it happened—”
“Just a moment, Agent Vail,” Harrison instructed through the glass. His voice was tinny through the speaker, but his wrinkled brow and extended index finger were quite clear. “You’ll have an opportunity to give your version in a moment.” He turned back to Greenwich. “Continue.”
“After getting kicked in the face, Mr. Tucker fell. He alleges that Agent Vail then delivered two kicks to his torso. She left the scene and complainant was taken by ambulance to Virginia Presbyterian with multiple broken ribs. He was treated and released four hours later.”
The magistrate reclined in his high-backed chair. “Anything else?”
“Computer picked up a PD forty-two in the file from eighteen months ago.”
“Same complainant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s a PD forty-two?” Vail asked.
Harrison removed his glasses and leaned forward. “It’s what’s called a suspicious event. If there’s a violent altercation between spouses but insufficient evidence to make an arrest, the incident is logged and held inactive in the file.” He replaced his glasses and opened a folder, then rifled through some papers. He pulled a document and looked it over.
Vail shifted her feet. Eighteen months ago. That was when Deacon hit her with his fist and she hit him back with an iron skillet, opening a gash on his forehead. He called the police and attempted to have her arrested. But because she had also had physical signs of an injury—a swollen and bloody lip—and no eyewitnesses, the officers were unable to identify the primary aggressor and could not take any action.
“Well,” the magistrate said without lifting his eyes from the sheet, “there seems to be a pattern of violence here, Agent Vail.” He slowly met her gaze. “Do you have anything to say?”
“I do, Your Honor. The incident eighteen months ago was perpetrated by my ex-husband. He hit me and I hit him back with a pan. I took my son with me and we left that night. I filed for divorce the next morning. Today’s incident was an extension of something that happened a few days ago. Deacon Tucker assaulted me—”
The magistrate’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Is there a report on file with FPD?”
“No, Your Honor. I didn’t report it. I should have, but he’d knocked me unconscious and I wasn’t thinking straight. But I told Detective Paul Bledsoe about it right after that and he’ll corroborate my story.”
Harrison looked away, which Vail interpreted as a bad sign. “Paul Bledsoe is a fine detective, but he didn’t directly witness anything. I’m sure you understand, Agent Vail.”
Of course I understand, but understanding won’t end this nightmare. “As to the incident this morning, Deacon summoned me to his house to pick up a book for my son. He refused to bring it to school—”
“Cut to the chase, please.”
He was getting impatient, another bad sign. “We got into an argument, Your Honor, and tempers flared. He was gloating—”
“According to Officer Greenwich’s statement here,” he said, searching for the right document, “you claimed it was self-defense. Did he ever take a swing at you?”
“When I saw he wasn’t going to give me the book, I turned to leave. I didn’t want to get into it again with him. He grabbed my arm and pulled and . . . I swung at him.”
Harrison sighed. “I’m not a trial judge, and this isn’t a trial, Agent Vail. My purpose here is only to determine probable cause, and I believe I’ve got more than enough for that. You’re in a tough spot. I hope it gets resolved to your satisfaction.”
Vail bristled while watching the magistrate scribble his signature on a document, then pass it through the slot. “Officer, you’ve got your warrant.”
Greenwich took the paper and signed it, then handed it to Vail. “Your Honor, I’m required to request an EPO on behalf of the complainant.”
“An Emergency Protective Order? Against me?”
Harrison stared back at Vail. “Agent Vail, when you make bond and are out roaming the streets,