The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(21)

“How’s that?”

Hurdle nodded at Curtis. “Who’s your friend?”

“Erik Curtis. Fairfax County Police.”

“Uh-huh. Figured you’d show up.”

“Well,” Curtis said with a half-smile, “you are in my parking lot. Good to know we’re not gonna have any problems working together.”

“Before we talk about working together, I was told you were on the task force several years ago.”

“Whoever told you that seems to be a reliable source.” Curtis grinned again.

“Yeah, he is. We’ll have OPR do a backgrounder on you PDQ,” he said, referring to the Service’s Office of Professional Responsibility. “Make sure there’ve been no warrants issued and no bad shit smeared on you since you left the task force. Everything checks out, you’re back in the saddle. That’s the official line. Unofficially, look in my eyes.”

Curtis did as instructed.

“Anything I need to know about? Anything that would come up in the background check that’d make it impossible for you to serve on CARFTF?” he asked, ignoring the silent “F” and pronouncing it “cartif,” for Capital Area Regional Fugitive Task Force.

“Nothing.”

Hurdle studied his face a moment. “You’re onboard as of now, on my authority. You’ll be deputized as soon as the paperwork comes through. If we do our jobs efficiently, and the FBI doesn’t get in the way, we’ll have this Marcks dude wearing handcuffs before the ink’s dry on your application.”

Vail lifted her brow. “You sound very confident.” And more than a little condescending.

Hurdle walked toward them and leaned against the adjacent work table. “Damn straight. I’ve been tracking down these *s for eighteen years. I know what I’m doin’. You people are here because it’s the right thing to do. Cooperation with state and local. And FBI, in cases like this, because—well, because some clueless idiot bureaucrat, who knows shit about what we do, decided we have to work with you people. I get it—but that don’t mean I gotta like it. Or that it makes sense.”

“You didn’t really think the intimidation act would work with me, did you?”

“’Course not. I try it all the time with the Fibbies, never works. Can’t blame me for trying.” He cracked a smile—which looked genuine.

“Bottom line,” Vail said, “is—”

“Bottom line is that we’re gonna catch Roscoe Lee Marcks. And you guys will claim all the credit for a job well done. Ask any marshal on any task force in the country, he or she will tell you the same thing. That’s it in a nutshell.”

Perhaps that nutshell is more than a little cracked.

“I can do this shit in my sleep, Vail.”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’d rather you keep your eyes open on this one.”

“The question is not if we’ll get him,” Hurdle said, ignoring her. “It’s when. How long’s it gonna take us? Don’t know. But we will get our man. Assuming you don’t f*ck up.”

“Me?”

“You. I work dozens of these cases a year. In eighteen years, that’s a lotta violent fugitives. And I gotta say, the FBI always does its best.” He paused and looked into Vail’s eyes. “To grab the limelight. And yeah, screw things up. You guys don’t play well in the sandbox. You don’t share your leads. But you sure do look good on camera.”

A number of responses populated Vail’s thoughts—and none of them were polite or politically correct. Instead, she said, “Guess I’ll have to do my best. To prove you wrong.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

“You got any problem with the county police?” Curtis asked.

“Not generally, no. You guys are serviceable. Know your place.”

Vail and Curtis shared a look of disbelief.

“Okay,” Hurdle said, turning his back on them and walking toward the front of the room. “Let’s get started. Rest of the task force will be rolling in within the hour. You know how this works?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Vail said.

“There are regional task forces—Pacific Southwest Regional Fugitive Task Force, Southeast Regional Fugitive Task Force, this one, the Capital Area Regional Fugitive Force, and so on. We apprehend the most violent and dangerous fugitives in DC, Maryland, and Virginia. Like I said, we work with federal, state, and local law enforcement.”

“Even though you prefer not to,” she said.

“Even though. Yeah.” He gestured to a map mounted on the wall. “Districts can have their own local task forces, too. So the Marshals Service in the District of Arizona has warrant squads in Phoenix, Tucson, and Yuma that track fugitives in their area.” He turned back to them. “Overall, there are about sixty local fugitive task forces. Most are full-time. Why? Because we’ve got a lot of bandits out there tryin’ to avoid doing their time.”

“You know about the officer’s murder, I take it?” Vail asked.

“What officer?”

“The one who was watching Jasmine Marcks’s house.”

Hurdle ground his jaw. “No.” He checked his watch. “When did this happen? And what—”