The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [69]
Vail nodded, but she suspected her body language said otherwise as her gaze bounced around the room again.
“Don’t let the surroundings color your opinion of my skills. I live in Great Falls and my home is worth two million dollars. I drive a brand new Jag. But I keep my business overhead low because in criminal defense, fancy furniture and spacious conference rooms don’t do anything for the clientele I represent. It doesn’t ensure them of a not guilty verdict. And anything that doesn’t work for my client I get rid of. My sole focus is getting you off.”
She looked away again.
“I know that language is disagreeable to you, because you’re frequently on the other side of the table. But understand something. When you walk into that courtroom, you’re not Supervisory Special Agent Karen Vail, sworn FBI agent who devotes her life to catching bad guys and keeping society safe. You’re a woman accused of brutally assaulting your ex-husband, breaking his ribs and putting him in the hospital. They’re going to portray you as a tough, mean-spirited cop who’s trained in the use of deadly force, who has a short fuse and a chip on her shoulder. It’ll be my job to show the jury that’s not what you’re about. I’ll be painting a different picture. Point is, you need me. As of this moment, I’m your friend. Your best buddy. You’ll tell me everything and hold back nothing. Because when the dust settles, I won’t just be your best friend, I’ll be your only friend.”
Vail didn’t see any need to discuss the matter further. If he made his case in front of the judge as well as he had just made it to her, she was, truly, in good hands. She read through, and then signed, his fee agreement.
And it was suddenly evident how he was able to afford his two million dollar home and brand new Jaguar.
thirty
“I waited for OPR for forty minutes.” Vail stood on the porch talking to Robby, smoking a Chesterfield she had bummed off Sinclair. “Enough time to sit in my office and think. Think about how screwed up everything is, what Gifford said. Then I got that email, and, well, that’s all I could think about till OPR showed up.”
Robby tilted his head. “What email?”
“Didn’t Bledsoe show it to you guys? I forwarded a screen shot of it to him.”
“Nah, he didn’t mention it. Who was it from?”
“Dead Eyes.”
“He sent you an email? You sure?”
“Pretty sure. I’ve got the lab working it, some sort of self-destructing message. It vanished right before my eyes. But I got a hard copy of it. Subject line read ‘It’s in the.’ Who else could know of that? We haven’t released that to the press, and if it was leaked we’d see it somewhere in some paper, not some obscure email outlining child abuse.”
“Child abuse?”
Vail stuck the cigarette between her lips, reached into her coat pocket, and handed Robby a folded copy of the message. “I thought Bledsoe would show it to everyone, but I should’ve made sure he got it. I’ve been a little . . . preoccupied. My follow-up’s been pretty shitty.”
Robby read through it, studied it a bit, then pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay, so this guy’s real fucked up.”
“I’m hoping for a more substantial analysis from BSU.”
He handed her back the email, which she folded into her pocket. “Any news on Jonathan?”
“Nothing. I wanted to go back there again, but I’m scared. I don’t think I could handle seeing him. I just. . . .” She tossed the butt to the ground and crushed it against the pavement with her heel. Swiped at a tear. “There’s just too much shit going on right now, Robby.”
He reached out and pulled her close. She didn’t resist. “I know.”
“I feel like I should be there, by his side, holding his hand, twenty-four/seven. But with everything on my