Read Online Vail 01 - The 7th Victim by Alan Jacobson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan Jacobson
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possible.” She punched the keys with a vicious anger. “Whatever it takes, Jonathan, I promise I’ll get you out of there.”
eight
A fter dropping Jonathan at Deacon’s house, Vail put in another call to her family law attorney and spent a nervous evening plotting out her strategy . . . making lists and organizing her thoughts to help the lawyer build a solid argument for revisiting the custody arrangement.
But with the dawning of the new morning, she had to push Jonathan’s problems aside and force her attention back to her job. Robby was waiting for her to pick him up en route to an interview with Melanie Hoffman’s parents. The Hoffmans lived in an older clapboard house on acreage buried in a wooded area of Bethesda. Built eighty or ninety years ago, by Vail’s estimation, it was well maintained and sported a collection of flowerpots and wreaths arranged on the front porch.
She and Robby stood at the door and waited for the Hoffmans to answer the knock. A detective had already delivered the news about their daughter’s death, so they were at least spared the task of having to tell parents their little girl had not only passed on, but that her death was a horrific one, one you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemies.
Footsteps clapped along behind the front door. Wood flooring, Vail figured, heavy steps. Mr. Hoffman, no doubt.
“Sounds like we got the man of the house,” Robby muttered to Vail.
The door swung open and revealed a man of around fifty, about thirty extra pounds piled on his midsection. Clear blue eyes, glazed over, with a head of receding dark brown hair. Delicate features. Melanie’s father, for sure.
“Roberto Hernandez, Vienna PD. We spoke on the phone.” Robby waited a beat, received a slight flicker in the man’s eyes as acknowledgment, then continued: “This is my partner, Karen Vail, with the FBI.”
The man nodded. “Howard Hoffman. Wife’s in the living room.” He held the door open for them, and they entered the modest home. Wood plank floors, as Vail surmised. What she hadn’t anticipated were the paintings hanging everywhere there was wall space. Paintings similar in style to those they had seen in Melanie’s house.
“Melanie was very talented,” Vail noted as they followed Howard into the living room.
“My wife,” he said, motioning with a hand. “Cynthia.”
“Ma’am,” Robby said, nodding at her. He and Vail stood there awkwardly, awaiting a response from the woman. But she simply stared ahead at the window at the far end of the room.
“Can I get you anything?” Howard asked.
“Just some answers,” Vail said, attempting a slight smile.
Howard sat on the couch beside Cynthia and motioned his guests to the opposing love seat.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Robby said. “I can’t imagine—”
“She was a very special girl.”
The voice came from Cynthia, but it was so soft Vail wondered whether she had actually heard something. But Robby had heard it too, because he stopped in midsentence. They both looked at the woman. She was Howard’s age, but her posture and grief made her appear older. Shoulders rolled forward, hands curled around a tissue in her lap, eyes bloodshot, and wavy chestnut hair falling loosely around the sides of a haggard face.
Vail waited for elaboration, but Cynthia did not offer anything. Her gaze did not move.
“Mr. Hoffman,” Robby said softly, “we know Melanie had just started working for McGinty & Pollock. Where did she work before that?”
“A big firm in DC, I don’t remember the name. Began with a ‘P.’”
“Price Finnerton.” From Cynthia. They looked at her, and Vail made note of the name on her pad.
“Did she have any problems there? Did anyone give her a hard time, any conflicts with her boss?”
“Nothing.”
Vail and Robby waited for elaboration from Cynthia, but there was no
eight
A fter dropping Jonathan at Deacon’s house, Vail put in another call to her family law attorney and spent a nervous evening plotting out her strategy . . . making lists and organizing her thoughts to help the lawyer build a solid argument for revisiting the custody arrangement.
But with the dawning of the new morning, she had to push Jonathan’s problems aside and force her attention back to her job. Robby was waiting for her to pick him up en route to an interview with Melanie Hoffman’s parents. The Hoffmans lived in an older clapboard house on acreage buried in a wooded area of Bethesda. Built eighty or ninety years ago, by Vail’s estimation, it was well maintained and sported a collection of flowerpots and wreaths arranged on the front porch.
She and Robby stood at the door and waited for the Hoffmans to answer the knock. A detective had already delivered the news about their daughter’s death, so they were at least spared the task of having to tell parents their little girl had not only passed on, but that her death was a horrific one, one you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemies.
Footsteps clapped along behind the front door. Wood flooring, Vail figured, heavy steps. Mr. Hoffman, no doubt.
“Sounds like we got the man of the house,” Robby muttered to Vail.
The door swung open and revealed a man of around fifty, about thirty extra pounds piled on his midsection. Clear blue eyes, glazed over, with a head of receding dark brown hair. Delicate features. Melanie’s father, for sure.
“Roberto Hernandez, Vienna PD. We spoke on the phone.” Robby waited a beat, received a slight flicker in the man’s eyes as acknowledgment, then continued: “This is my partner, Karen Vail, with the FBI.”
The man nodded. “Howard Hoffman. Wife’s in the living room.” He held the door open for them, and they entered the modest home. Wood plank floors, as Vail surmised. What she hadn’t anticipated were the paintings hanging everywhere there was wall space. Paintings similar in style to those they had seen in Melanie’s house.
“Melanie was very talented,” Vail noted as they followed Howard into the living room.
“My wife,” he said, motioning with a hand. “Cynthia.”
“Ma’am,” Robby said, nodding at her. He and Vail stood there awkwardly, awaiting a response from the woman. But she simply stared ahead at the window at the far end of the room.
“Can I get you anything?” Howard asked.
“Just some answers,” Vail said, attempting a slight smile.
Howard sat on the couch beside Cynthia and motioned his guests to the opposing love seat.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Robby said. “I can’t imagine—”
“She was a very special girl.”
The voice came from Cynthia, but it was so soft Vail wondered whether she had actually heard something. But Robby had heard it too, because he stopped in midsentence. They both looked at the woman. She was Howard’s age, but her posture and grief made her appear older. Shoulders rolled forward, hands curled around a tissue in her lap, eyes bloodshot, and wavy chestnut hair falling loosely around the sides of a haggard face.
Vail waited for elaboration, but Cynthia did not offer anything. Her gaze did not move.
“Mr. Hoffman,” Robby said softly, “we know Melanie had just started working for McGinty & Pollock. Where did she work before that?”
“A big firm in DC, I don’t remember the name. Began with a ‘P.’”
“Price Finnerton.” From Cynthia. They looked at her, and Vail made note of the name on her pad.
“Did she have any problems there? Did anyone give her a hard time, any conflicts with her boss?”
“Nothing.”
Vail and Robby waited for elaboration from Cynthia, but there was no
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