The 7th Victim

Bledsoe shared a look with Robby.

“She can stay at my place,” Robby said. “I’ve got an extra room.”

The corners of Vail’s mouth curled upwards, but she turned slightly so Bledsoe wouldn’t see. That was funny, Robby. She knew Bledsoe was too good a cop not to suspect there was something between them.

“Yeah, good, whatever,” Bledsoe said.

“Okay,” Robby said. “Go pack some things and I’ll—”

“No.” Vail said it firmly, as if it was the final word on the topic.

But Bledsoe was not to be denied his say. “We made a pact on this break-in. But the deal’s off if you’re going to put your life in danger without good reason. And this isn’t a good reason.”

Robby nodded. “I agree. Draw your line in the sand with this guy some other way.”

Vail let her arms fall to her sides. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll stay at your place. For a few days.”

“And I’ll get someone in civvies posted near Jonathan’s room. Not sure how I’ll explain it, but I’ll find a way.”

“Then we’re back to the main question,” Robby said. “Your connection to the offender.”

Vail shrugged and headed down the hall to the study. Most of the papers had been sprayed with ninhydrin and carefully stacked. “Can you get these processed?”

Bledsoe shook open a plastic bag. “I’ll have a guy at the lab do it for me. He owes me some favors for a private job I did for him. Helped him out big time in his divorce settlement. He’ll run them, no questions, no strings.” He placed the stack of papers in the bag, along with the memory card from her camera.

“Cool,” Robby said.

Vail was leaning against her desk, staring at the wall above the futon, where the offender’s message was scrawled. “It’s in the,” she mumbled.

Robby rolled his head from side to side. “He didn’t write it in blood this time.” He leaned closer. With his height, he was almost looking directly at it. “Looks like lipstick—”

“That’s it,” Vail said, moving to Robby’s side.

Bledsoe set the bag on the desk and joined them. “That’s what?”

Vail shared a look with Robby. “I can’t believe we didn’t see it before,” he said.

She shook her head, disbelief knitting her brows together. “It was right there.”

“What was?”

Vail half smiled. “It’s in the blood, every message he’s left was written in blood.” Vail crossed her arms and leaned her right shoulder against the wall. “Offender could be a disgruntled lover, someone who got HIV or hepatitis or some other viral infection from a woman. It would fit the pattern of offenders who displace their anger against a particular woman to all women in general—or against specific women who remind him of the one who infected him. The familiarity could be a scent, a touch, a look. For all we know, that woman had brown eyes, like our vics. But again, this is all just a possibility and if we look at possibilities, the field is very wide. I’m not sure that would really be helping us.”

Bledsoe paced for a moment, then pulled his cell phone. “Let’s meet at the op center in thirty minutes. I’ll get everyone over there.”

“You want me there?”

“For this, yes. I’ll take the heat.”

FRANK DEL MONACO greeted Vail as she entered the front door to the operations center. “Not a good idea for you to be here, Karen.”

“I’m a big girl, Frank. You don’t need to be my parent. I’ll deal with Gifford.”

Del Monaco unfurled the front page of the Washington Herald and held it in front of Vail’s face. The bold headline was like a kick to her gut:

IS FBI AGENT DEAD EYES KILLER?

POSSIBLE TIES TO SENATOR’S DEATH

A large photo of Vail, taken several years ago during an FBI-DEA drug bust in New York City, accompanied the article. She had always liked the picture—she was cuffing the suspect, straddling his legs, her hair tousled and a serious look on her face. The photo documented one of the biggest cases she had ever broken. It had been framed by the New York Post and now hung on a wall in her office.

“What the hell is this?” She snatched the paper from his hands and began reading. Bledsoe and Robby read over her shoulder:

Sources close to the FBI charged today that the identity of the Dead Eyes killer is known to the Bureau, but that the Bureau has been reluctant to move against the killer because she is one of their own, Special Agent Karen Vail. Vail, the profiler assigned to the Dead Eyes case for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, is currently serving a suspension for brutally assaulting her ex-husband—an attack that sent him to the hospital with fractured bones. . . .

“Son of a bitch.”

Informed sources also state that Senator Eleanor Linwood—whose death has been kept under tight seal by the Vienna Police Department—was murdered by the Dead Eyes killer. In a bizarre, though related twist, it appears that the senator was Agent Vail’s biological mother, though the senator abandoned her as an infant. . . .

Vail leaned back against the entryway wall and slid her butt to the floor. Her legs were weak and she was light-headed. Bledsoe and Robby knelt at her side.

“Karen, you okay?”

“Del Monaco,” Bledsoe said, making no attempt to temper his anger, “make yourself useful and get her some water.”

The voices were off in the distance. She was aware of Robby kneeling in front of her, holding her arm. His touch was warm, his hands moist. A glass was pressed against her lips, and she drank reflexively.

She could sense Manette off to her left. Robby was peering into her eyes. She set the glass down and asked him to help her over to a chair. He guided her to the nearest desk and remained by her side. She could feel her senses returning, her mind clearing. Everyone was staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bledsoe said. “Hancock threatened to go to the media unless we moved on you. It’s all bullshit. Don’t worry about it.”

“We’re behind you, Kari,” Manette said. “You’ll get through this.”

Vail wet her parched lips. “Gifford. I’ve gotta talk to Gifford.”

“He’s on his way,” Del Monaco said, setting the phone handset on the desk. He was standing in the kitchen doorway.

“You told him she’s here?” Robby asked, his face contorting into a snarl. He started toward Del Monaco, but Bledsoe grabbed his thick arm. Robby shrugged it off and in two strides was in front of Del Monaco, his large hands gathered around the profiler’s suit lapels. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about my job, Hernandez. My boss called me and said he’d tried reaching her. If I don’t tell him she’s here, it’s my ass that’s going to get whooped.” He shrugged against Robby’s grip. “Now, let go of me or I’ll have a chat with your sergeant.”

Bledsoe was behind Robby, his five-eight frame barely putting him up to Robby’s shoulders. “C’mon, Hernandez. We’re all upset by this. Let’s just get a grip on things.” He reached forward and pried Robby’s hands off Del Monaco’s jacket. Del Monaco looked up at Robby and then smoothed out his wrinkled lapels.