Read Online Vail 01 - The 7th Victim by Alan Jacobson - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Jacobson
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on her lip.
seven
F ollowing her acrimonious meeting with Gifford, Vail headed down I-95 to Jonathan’s middle school. The sky was still overcast and the air was heavy with the smell of precipitation. As she approached the school grounds, she saw Jonathan walking along the sidewalk with an auburn-haired girl who had a shapelier figure than Vail remembered having had herself at fourteen.
Vail pulled over to the curb and rolled down the window. “Hey handsome,” she said to her son, “want a ride?”
Jonathan smiled and some color filled his cheeks. Obviously, this girl meant something to him. “Mom, this is Becca.”
Vail nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She knew Jonathan wanted to talk, and she’d promised to meet with him around 4:30, but was now a good time, when he was with his latest heartthrob? “Becca, can I give you a ride home?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I only live across the street.” Becca turned to Jonathan and took his hand, then whispered something in his ear. Vail turned away, attempting to respect her son’s privacy . . . even though she really wished Jonathan was wearing a wire.
Jonathan got in the car and fastened his seat belt as Vail pulled away.
“She’s cute.”
“I guess.”
Vail glanced over at Jonathan. “So how was school?”
“Fine.”
The one- and two-word answers drove Vail crazy much of the time, but she knew it was all part of being a teenager.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I took time off work. If there’s something bothering you, I think we should talk. Don’t you?”
Jonathan was still staring out the window as they passed a Baskin-Robbins. “How about some ice cream?” he asked.
“It’s winter. Are you serious?”
“Serious.”
The smell of French vanilla hit her as she walked through the door. “See? It’s empty because no one eats ice cream in the winter when it’s twenty-five degrees outside.”
“I do.” He walked up to the counter and ordered a chocolate shake, then joined his mother at a small table across the room. It was warm inside, practically humid, and the storefront windows were fogged almost the entire way up to the ceiling. Vail pulled off her gloves and undid her scarf. Jonathan sat there, hunkered down with his coat zipped to his chin.
“When you call me and tell me you need to talk, it’s usually for one of two things. Money is the second. Your father is the first.”
Her son nodded but did not say anything.
“You know I’m an FBI agent, not a dentist, right? I’m not good at pulling teeth.” She smiled, but his face remained a mask. “Okay, so this is serious. Your father, right? You’re angry with him.”
“Well, duh. How’d you guess?”
Vail resisted the urge to admonish him for his fresh mouth. “So what’d he do that made you so angry?”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away.
Vail decided it was best to wait him out. She could tell he wanted to talk; it was a matter of him gathering the courage to open up.
The whir of the milkshake machine filled the small store. A moment later, when Jonathan turned back to her, his nostrils were flaring. “He never listens to me. He never talks to me unless he wants me to do something for him. Then he yells at me if I don’t do things just the way he wants them done. Calls me a retard. A stupid retard, that he’s—” Jonathan stopped and looked away again.
Vail detected a slight quiver in his lower lip. There was a glassy look to his eyes, too. “That he’s what, Jonathan?”
“That he’s embarrassed to have an idiot for a son.”
Vail felt the anger well up inside her. It was the same bullshit Deacon had pulled with her, in the last year of their marriage. The verbal abuse. The need to feel powerful by berating others. “That must’ve hurt.”
Jonathan’s gaze was down in his lap somewhere, as if
seven
F ollowing her acrimonious meeting with Gifford, Vail headed down I-95 to Jonathan’s middle school. The sky was still overcast and the air was heavy with the smell of precipitation. As she approached the school grounds, she saw Jonathan walking along the sidewalk with an auburn-haired girl who had a shapelier figure than Vail remembered having had herself at fourteen.
Vail pulled over to the curb and rolled down the window. “Hey handsome,” she said to her son, “want a ride?”
Jonathan smiled and some color filled his cheeks. Obviously, this girl meant something to him. “Mom, this is Becca.”
Vail nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She knew Jonathan wanted to talk, and she’d promised to meet with him around 4:30, but was now a good time, when he was with his latest heartthrob? “Becca, can I give you a ride home?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I only live across the street.” Becca turned to Jonathan and took his hand, then whispered something in his ear. Vail turned away, attempting to respect her son’s privacy . . . even though she really wished Jonathan was wearing a wire.
Jonathan got in the car and fastened his seat belt as Vail pulled away.
“She’s cute.”
“I guess.”
Vail glanced over at Jonathan. “So how was school?”
“Fine.”
The one- and two-word answers drove Vail crazy much of the time, but she knew it was all part of being a teenager.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I took time off work. If there’s something bothering you, I think we should talk. Don’t you?”
Jonathan was still staring out the window as they passed a Baskin-Robbins. “How about some ice cream?” he asked.
“It’s winter. Are you serious?”
“Serious.”
The smell of French vanilla hit her as she walked through the door. “See? It’s empty because no one eats ice cream in the winter when it’s twenty-five degrees outside.”
“I do.” He walked up to the counter and ordered a chocolate shake, then joined his mother at a small table across the room. It was warm inside, practically humid, and the storefront windows were fogged almost the entire way up to the ceiling. Vail pulled off her gloves and undid her scarf. Jonathan sat there, hunkered down with his coat zipped to his chin.
“When you call me and tell me you need to talk, it’s usually for one of two things. Money is the second. Your father is the first.”
Her son nodded but did not say anything.
“You know I’m an FBI agent, not a dentist, right? I’m not good at pulling teeth.” She smiled, but his face remained a mask. “Okay, so this is serious. Your father, right? You’re angry with him.”
“Well, duh. How’d you guess?”
Vail resisted the urge to admonish him for his fresh mouth. “So what’d he do that made you so angry?”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away.
Vail decided it was best to wait him out. She could tell he wanted to talk; it was a matter of him gathering the courage to open up.
The whir of the milkshake machine filled the small store. A moment later, when Jonathan turned back to her, his nostrils were flaring. “He never listens to me. He never talks to me unless he wants me to do something for him. Then he yells at me if I don’t do things just the way he wants them done. Calls me a retard. A stupid retard, that he’s—” Jonathan stopped and looked away again.
Vail detected a slight quiver in his lower lip. There was a glassy look to his eyes, too. “That he’s what, Jonathan?”
“That he’s embarrassed to have an idiot for a son.”
Vail felt the anger well up inside her. It was the same bullshit Deacon had pulled with her, in the last year of their marriage. The verbal abuse. The need to feel powerful by berating others. “That must’ve hurt.”
Jonathan’s gaze was down in his lap somewhere, as if
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