The 7th Victim

mounting fatigue and stress were wreaking havoc on her body.

As the car lurched out of the toll booth on I-95 near the Maryland border, Vail’s head popped up. Her hands flailed in front of her, as she fought to orient herself.

“Welcome back to Earth,” Robby said.

She squinted against the bright sunlight. “Where are we?”

“About to cross into Maryland.”

“I think I just figured out how to link victim three to Dead Eyes. Where’s your file?”

“You figured that out while you were sleeping?”

“My mind’s pretty much ‘on’ twenty-four/seven these days. The file?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Backseat.”

Vail grabbed his leather shoulder bag, reached inside, and pulled out the thick Dead Eyes folder. She paged to victim number three, Angelina Sarducci, and found the crime scene manifest. Her finger stabbed at one of the entries. “A package,” she said, curling a lock of hair behind her right ear.

She dug out her phone and dialed UPS. She entered the tracking number listed on the crime scene manifest, then waited while the automated system processed her request. She pressed “end” and handed the phone back to Robby.

“It was delivered at 6:30 P.M.” She turned some more pages.

“So what?”

Her finger traced the lines of another document. “ME estimated time of death to be between 6 and 7 P.M.” She looked over at Robby, whose eyes were still on the road.

“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?”

“Here’s the scenario: vic lets offender in, he kills her, then starts to do his thing with the body. But at six- thirty, the UPS guy comes to the front door and rings the bell. Offender freaks, goes out the back door. Leaves vic as is. He never had a chance to engage in his postmortem behavior, like severing the left hand and stabbing the eyes.”

“Okay, I see where you’re headed.” He chewed on this for a moment, then shrugged. “Works for me.”

Vail nodded slowly. “Me, too.”

AT 12:15 P.M., Robby pulled behind Vail’s Dodge at the task force op center.

“You coming in?” he asked.

“Going right to the hospital, check in on Jonathan. Then I’ll shoot over to the office, run this victim three theory by my unit. Tell Bledsoe I’ll talk to him later.” She placed a hand on his and squeezed. “Thanks.”

As she got in her car, the memory of Officer Greenwich standing beside her door moved through her mind. Though it was barely two days ago, it seemed like another lifetime. She arrived at Fairfax Hospital at one o’clock, with no memory of having driven there.

She walked into Jonathan’s room, where Dr. Altman and a nurse were hunched over a machine. They turned when she entered. “Ms. Vail,” Altman said.

“How’s Jonathan?”

“Well, he’s showing incremental improvement. Some slight opening of the eyes. It’s nothing dramatic, which is why I didn’t have them call you. But it’s definitely encouraging.”

I told them to notify me of any changes. She couldn’t fault them, however. To her, that Jonathan had made progress was significant. But medically, it was merely “incremental improvement.” Vail stepped up to her son and took his hand. “Is that all you can tell me?”

“Unfortunately, that’s all I can say now. We just have to wait—”

“Wait and see. Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “Sorry, Doctor. It’s been a rough week.” Or two.

“I understand. We’ll keep you posted of any substantial changes.”

“Has—I’m just curious . . . has my—has Jonathan’s father been by to see him? Deacon Tucker.”

Altman deferred to the nurse, who answered. “You’re the only visitor he’s had.”

The doctor tilted his head, considering her comment. “Seems like that’s important to you. Do you want to know if he comes by?”

“If my suspicions are right, he pushed Jonathan down the stairs. But I’ve got no proof, so I can’t get a restraining order. So, yeah, I’d like to know if he shows up. The minute he checks in at the nurse’s station.”

Altman leaned his head back. “Okay. I’ll make sure the entire nursing staff knows.”

Vail thanked Altman and he left with the nurse. She pulled up a chair and stroked her son’s cheek, ran her fingers through his hair, and talked to him. She told him she loved him, and that she was planning a big camping trip to Yellowstone, for when he got out of the hospital.

Vail felt foolish talking to someone who was unconscious and unable to respond. But she did it anyway, because according to Altman there was a possibility her son could hear her voice. And since no one knew how active a comatose mind was, there was also a chance Jonathan might be feeling scared and alone. Both were emotions with which she herself had suddenly become familiar. She was fortunate her friendship with Robby was strong, and that he’d made it clear he would be there to help her through things.

Jonathan, however, had only her.

thirty-four

Vail arrived at the BAU at five o’clock. She scanned her ID card, then moved through the heavy maple doors and down the narrow hallways toward Thomas Gifford’s office. She could feel her colleagues’ gazes following her, but she kept her eyes focused ahead and didn’t acknowledge anyone. She was there for a reason and didn’t feel like chatting with any of them about her suspension, which would be the likely topic of conversation.

She stood in front of the secretary’s desk and waited for Lenka to hang up the phone. “Can you ask the boss if he’s got a moment for me?”

“Sure thing.” Lenka punched a button, explained into her headset that Vail was in the anteroom, and hung up. “Go on in.”

Vail thanked her, then entered Gifford’s office. The chief honcho was behind his desk, Frank Del Monaco reclining in the guest chair to Vail’s right; Del Monaco’s legs were spread apart, his pudgy fingers splayed and resting comfortably on his thighs. The two men were laughing, as if they’d shared a joke.

“Agent Vail,” Gifford said, forcing the smile from his lips. “I thought you were supposed to remain at home pending the investigation.”

“I have something to discuss with you, sir. Just came up.” She glanced over at Del Monaco, who was biting his lip . . . as if he was still thinking about the joke. Unless the joke was about her.

Gifford bent his head down and ruffled some papers, no doubt to keep himself from looking at Del Monaco and losing his composure. “Agent Del Monaco,” he said, “a moment please.”

“Yes, sir.” Del Monaco stood and turned to walk past Vail, a grin widening his face.

The door slipped shut behind her, and Vail stepped forward. “I was thinking—”

“How’s your son?”

She hesitated a second, changing gears in her brain from business to personal. “Not much change. Some slight improvement.”

“Good. That’s good. Slight improvement is better than no improvement.”

She twisted her lips, confounded by his awkward attempt to show concern. “Sir, I had a thought about victim number three. The one everyone doubts was done by Dead Eyes—”

He held up a hand. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re on suspension.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She wanted to tell him that even though she draws her paycheck from the government, she really works for the victims—and they haven’t taken her off the job. Instead, Vail chose the less confrontational thought that flittered into her brain. “But being on suspension doesn’t mean my mind turns off. I’m still working the case in my head.”

“Just make sure it stays in your head. I don’t want any media hounds ramming mikes up my ass asking about your involvement. Bureau’s in for enough embarrassment once they find out you beat up your husband.”

“Ex-husband. And I’m certainly not going to talk to any reporters.”