The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [68]
She realized she was still standing, looking at the room’s disarray, while Parker was seated, his long, delicate fingers pressed together in a triangle in front of his lips.
“Please, take a seat.”
Vail sat. She was on the edge of the chair, her back rigid, her eyes still moving.
“You know, I took some courses in body language many years ago. The courses taught me how to read juries, to evaluate what they were thinking. And it proved to be as important as any courses I took in law school. Maybe more so. But it had an added side benefit, Agent Vail.” Her eyes met his at the mention of her name. “It also taught me how to read my clients. And in criminal defense, it’s nice to know when your client is lying and when he’s telling the truth. We don’t always get the straight scoop, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I can gather the meaning.”
“You’re uncomfortable, apprehensive.”
“The attorney profiling the profiler.”
“Sometimes we wear many hats. I’ve been a counselor, a psychologist, a tax advisor, a conscience. I do what it takes.”
Vail nodded.
“You’ve got something on your mind. Why don’t you say it?”
“What’s there to say?”
“That you don’t like me.”
Vail squirmed a bit, then moved her buttocks back into the chair to cover her apparent fidgeting. “I don’t think that’s a fair statement. I don’t like criminal defense attorneys. You just happen to be one.”
“I see. I guess that’s a common malady amongst your kind.”
Vail conceded that point with a nod. “You might say we perceive ‘your kind’ as the enemy.” She forced a smile.
“We’re not the enemy, Agent Vail. We’re purveyors of justice. We try to make sure the laws of our land are enforced. Our constitution provides for protection of the accused, to make sure the ‘innocent until proven guilty’ get a fair trial.”
“I don’t have a problem with fair trials. I have a problem when your kind manipulates facts into false truths, manipulates our statements, our witnesses, into making it appear as something completely different from what it really is.”
“I see. And you’re telling me the police, the prosecutors never do that? Planted evidence, hidden documents that surface years later—”
“I can’t sit here and tell you it doesn’t happen. But it’s rare. You people do it all the time.”
Parker’s eyebrows rose. “By ‘you people,’ do you mean people of color? African-Americans?”
Vail looked away in anger. When her eyes met Parker’s again, they were on fire. “You know exactly what I meant. But there you go, illustrating my point. Twisting what I said into meaning something I had no intention of saying.”
Parker burst out laughing.
Vail’s anger only rose with his response. “What’s so funny?”
“I baited you. But you know, showing is always better than telling. I just showed you how good I am at what I do. I knew I couldn’t win our disagreement, so I changed the rules. Smooth as silk. Just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“you were on the defensive.” He smiled, tilted his head.
Vail chewed the inside of her lip, unsure of what to make of this man. “I’m here not because I want to be here, but because I have to—”
“Let’s get something straight, Agent Vail. None of the people who come through my doors are here because they want to be here. They don’t want to stand accused of a crime facing a jury of their peers. They don’t want to be getting bills from me. They’re here because they’ve got a problem. As I assume you do.”
“A problem. Yeah, you could call it that.” She proceeded to give him the details of what had happened. He encouraged her to be completely forthcoming, even if there was something she felt was irrelevant.
“Tell me everything and let me make the call.”
So she told him everything. She realized, as she sat back in the chair, that the bloodletting had been cathartic, and she felt better.
He rocked a bit in his chair, hands again posed in a triangle in front of his mouth. “Let me tell you a little about me. I would imagine