The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [64]
“If this isn’t a good time—” Vail started.
“No, no. Sit down. Any time’s a good time to meet with one of my agents who’s been—how should I put it . . . arrested? Any time’s a good time to sit and chat about how one of my agents beat the living crap out of her husband, landed in jail, and didn’t even bother to call her superior to give him a heads-up. I’ve gotta get a fucking call from the Fairfax County PD. Some grunt lieutenant tells me he’s got some bad news for me.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the embarrassment to you, to the Bureau—”
“You’re supposed to be working on a task force. Dead Eyes, remember him?”
“Sir, I was going to call you when I got out of jail. Things dragged on, and I didn’t get out till almost two this morning. I was on my way to the task force op center to get my car and my purse, and to leave a message on your voice mail. We got texted en route by Paul Bledsoe. There’s another vic.”
Gifford sat back in his leather chair. “Another Dead Eyes vic?”
Vail nodded.
“Shit.” His eyes roamed his desk for a moment before coming to rest again on Vail’s face. “You look like crap.”
“I know, sir. Haven’t been home yet. While at the vic’s house, I got word my son was in the hospital—” She felt the urge to cry again, but fought it back into her throat. Took a deep breath. “His father pushed him down the stairs. He’s in a coma.” She turned away, wiped at the tears beneath her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She nodded. “I will beat these charges against me, sir.”
He picked up a pen from his desk and stared at it. Vail knew what was coming. The fact he didn’t make eye contact with her made it all the more inevitable.
“I hope you realize that I’m truly sorry about what I have to do. But I’ve got to place you on paid administrative leave, effective immediately. You can keep your creds and gun. But you need to stay away from work. I spoke with OPR a little while ago. They’ll be here at eleven to interview you. Cooperate with them. Remember, they’re on your side in this. Internal review is a formality. At the moment, this is obviously a personal matter. Once they’ve opened their file, they monitor the situation. They’ll only act if the charges stick.”
Vail was looking at the floor. “I understand, sir.”
“Why don’t you go wait in your office, get your desk straightened up. When OPR is ready for you, I’ll let you know.”
She stood from her chair and headed for the door. “Thanks,” she said, without turning to face him. Then she walked out.
twenty-seven
Straighten up her desk, that was what Gifford had told her to do. But her desk was neat. She looked around her office, wondering just how serious this OPR review would be. She was, after all, arrested for assaulting her ex-husband. How would that play out? She was innocent, but was it merely a matter of giving Gifford an excuse to let her go? Did he want her gone? He was sometimes hard to read. Vail challenged him, sure, but she was damn good at what she did. That counted for a lot, didn’t it? She knew the answer to that was, not necessarily.
Vail needed to clear her mind, stop stressing over what might happen. She opened Outlook and downloaded her email, not knowing if they’d allow her to keep accessing her Academy mail while on leave. She paged through the unimportant messages, dashed off a quick reply to a prosecutor on another case that was going to trial, and was about to close down when she saw one that caught her attention. The subject read “It’s in the”—and sent a shiver through her body.
She glanced down at the preview pane, where the text hit her like a brick across the forehead. She opened the message and read:
The hiding place smells like some musty box I once opened when I was looking for his cigarettes. It’s strong and kind of burns