The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(14)

“Heard about that.” Thibeaux brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and looked to Vail for an explanation.

“He sent a letter to his daughter.”

“Okay. What’d it say?”

“It was a veiled threat.”

The creases on Thibeaux’s face deepened as he leaned forward in his chair. “And my guys let that through? What’d it say? I wanna see it.”

“It was a blank piece of paper. Along with a magazine clipping—”

“Of what?”

Damn, I knew he’d ask. Hell, I’d ask. “Of a stuffed animal.”

Thibeaux looked at her, a blank sarcastic look that said, “You gotta be kidding me.” She knew it well because she had used it herself, many times. “A blank piece of paper and a photo of a stuffed animal. And you’re calling that a threat?”

“There was indented writing. It asked if she remembered her stuffed animal from her childhood—her favorite stuffed animal, which had been dismembered and left in her bed.”

Thibeaux sat back, his eyes narrowing in apparent thought. Then: “I’ll loop in the warden, get his take, see what he wants to do. But he’s a low-key guy, he doesn’t overreact to things. And I have a feeling he’s going to say this is nothing with nothing.”

“That’s a possibility. But I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

“You agree?” Thibeaux asked.

Curtis nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have to tell you Marcks did some pretty sadistic shit to his vics. You really wanna be the one responsible for his daughter’s murder? Right after her book hits stores and she’s hitting the talk show circuit?”

“Bring the warden in,” Vail said. “I’d like to explain this to him myself.”

Thibeaux contorted the left side of his mouth. “Wouldn’t recommend that. The warden wouldn’t take kindly to—”

“A woman telling him how to do his job?”

Thibeaux chuckled. “To the FBI telling him how to do his job.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ve been peripherally involved with this case for years. I’m concerned about Jasmine Marcks.”

Thibeaux leaned back. “So it’s personal.”

“No.” Wait, is it?

“All good cops personalize their cases,” Curtis said. “It’s what makes us human. If we turn off that spigot we wouldn’t give a shit about the victims. And we wouldn’t be very good at our jobs now, would we?”

Vail drew her gaze from Curtis back to Thibeaux. “Honestly, I couldn’t have said it better.”

Thibeaux worked his jaw, then got up from his desk and left the room.

“You know this ain’t gonna go well,” Curtis said quietly.

“Why?”

“Wardens are political appointees. A lot of these guys are clueless in terms of what really goes on in a prison. Most of what they do is manage bed space. Not very highly regarded. The black sheep of the Department of Justice.”

“Well, let’s hope this guy has some idea as to what’s going on in his house. And what to do about it.”

A couple minutes later, the door opened and Thibeaux motioned Vail and Curtis into the sparse hallway, then led them to a larger office. Larger, but not a whole lot nicer. In this borderline dilapidated building, there was just so much that could be done with aging, cracked cinderblock. Not to mention the lack of money to fund it.

Warden James Barfield’s desk was immaculate, with neatly stacked folders on the left and a battered HP laptop on the right. It was an obsessive-compulsive’s oasis in the bureaucratic mess of a correctional facility that was five decades past its prime.

“Sit, Vail.” There was only one chair. “Curtis, you can stand.”

Curtis frowned but did as instructed, taking up a position behind and to the right of Vail’s seat.

“I’m told you wanted a few minutes to convince me that Roscoe Lee Marcks poses a danger to his daughter.”

Vail folded her hands in her lap—less likelihood she would do damage with them tucked away there. “Not how I’d characterize it, warden, but I guess it’s accurate enough.”

“Well then, how would you characterize it?”

“It’s our responsibility to keep Jasmine Marcks safe. And it’s your responsibility to make sure Roscoe Lee Marcks doesn’t do anything that endangers her. Our interests overlap so I don’t see where we have to convince you of anything.”

According to Curtis, that’s not his responsibility at all. But it made so much sense. How could he argue?

Barfield chuckled. “Just like the FBI to tell me how to do my job.” He had a southern drawl and said FBI slowly, emphasizing each letter distinctly, the “I” sounding like “ah.” “My responsibility, as you put it, is to make sure these inmates do their time as instructed by a court of law, without causing harm to themselves or each other. That about sums it up, Agent Vail. Now, I don’t know ’bout you, but I don’t consider watching over an inmate’s grown child as bein’ part of that job description.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of common sense.” Vail forced a smile.