“Yeah, of course.”
Vail swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Are you going to be okay on this book tour? The questions may not get any easier.”
Jasmine cupped the warm mug between two hands. “I brought it on myself. Writing The Serial Killer’s Daughter was cathartic in a lot of ways. I can’t explain it, but it was something I just had to do. I had to write it. Obviously there are some unforeseen consequences.”
“Stay away from the reviews. You don’t need to subject yourself to that kind of abuse. There are some nasty people out there who think they know it all, who have nothing better to do but comment on things they have no clue about. Do yourself a favor and don’t read that garbage. It’ll just upset you.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t care if it’s TV or radio, a local or national show, if there’s anything you don’t want to answer, if it’s too sensitive or painful, turn it back on them. Tell them they’re being cruel and you’ve been through enough. People will understand.”
Jasmine took a drink.
“Did you get time off work for the tour?”
“I took my accumulated sick time. Almost three weeks.”
“Still working for the state, right?”
“I’ve changed jobs a few times since you—well, since my father was convicted.”
“Something in computers?”
Jasmine managed a slight smile. “You remember.”
Now it was Vail’s turn to laugh. “It doesn’t happen often these days.”
“I was a computer science major my first two years of college. Then I realized I wasn’t very good at it, so I sat down with my adviser and, well, I cried in her office. She asked me some questions, gave me some forms to fill out, and told me I should become an accountant.” Her eyes glazed over as she got lost in thought. “I looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. But she said, trust me on this. So I did. And she was right. I have a thing for numbers.”
Vail snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. Tax department?”
“My first job out of school. I’d interned for the state and showed a knack for finding things others missed. When I graduated they hired me. My supervisor liked me so much that he promoted me in, like, nine or ten months. Two years later I got a call from the state correctional system. It really wasn’t any different from what I’d done at the tax department, but they were looking for someone with my skill set. Pay was better, hours were better, and the opportunity for advancement was pretty high.”
“When was that?”
“Seven years ago. But two years after that a friend at work told me about this position at the Bureau of Prisons. Doing basically the same thing, only they paid a lot more. That was right around the time I started writing my book. Every night after dinner, 8:00 till 10:00.”
“So instead of dating, you were writing a book.”
“Instead of just about everything.” She sat down, took a drink of coffee. “Once I got started, it was like freeing my soul from a self-imposed prison.” Jasmine set her coffee down and laughed at her own comment. “I know that sounds silly. But when I shut my laptop every night, I slept better than I’ve slept since—well, since I was a teen.”
“It didn’t bother you being around a prison, being that your father was in a correctional facility?”
“Just the opposite, actually. I had a lot of pent-up anger. I really should’ve gotten help. But the book took the edge off. And going to work every day, seeing the prison, gave me a sense of comfort, knowing that my father was locked safely away just like the criminals where I worked.”
“I can understand that.”
Jasmine took another drink. “Besides, I was in the admin offices. I didn’t have any direct contact with the inmates. Minimum-security facility—completely different animal. And it’s not like my father was anywhere close. He was in North Carolina at the time, hours away, in a max facility.”
“And now he’s doing his best to reach out and touch you, making the seventy-five miles seem like a few blocks.”
Jasmine closed her eyes. Her hand shook slightly and she quickly set the mug down. “It caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to get that letter from him. And those questions this morning were … well, now I know what I’m up against.” She laughed nervously. “I’ll be fine.”
Can you please be a little more convincing? Stop it, Karen. Shit, maybe DiCarlo was right.
“You will be fine,” Vail said as she hugged her.
4
Vail drove to the FBI lab at Quantico to consult with Tim Meadows, the senior forensic scientist who had provided her with key assistance on many cases over the years.