The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(4)
“Do you think I’m wrong?”
“Other than mentally screwing with you, is there anything else behind this? Are you in danger?”
After a second’s hesitation, she said, “He’s in a max-security prison a hundred miles away. No. I don’t think I’m in danger. It just—it unnerved me.”
“I get it.” Vail pinched the bridge of her nose. “How ’bout I stop by, you can show me the letter. And we can talk.”
“I’d like that.”
“Give me a few minutes to get some things squared away. I’ll see you soon.”
Vail hung up and turned to face Gifford, whose face was scrunched into a squint. “I assume you figured out what we were talking about.”
“I did. You’re going over there because her father sent her a blank letter.”
Vail sighed. “It spooked her.”
“So much for being tough.”
“We all have things that get under our skin. She’s been through a lot. Hard to know what’s gonna be a trigger.”
Gifford muttered something unintelligible, then rose from his seat and turned to face his window. He rotated a thin rod and the green miniblinds opened wider, revealing the fresh snow that had fallen that morning. “You’re not her therapist, you know.”
“Don’t say it, sir.”
“Say what?”
“That I’ve been reduced to hand-holding.”
Gifford let that hang in the air a moment—he was not verbalizing it because he did not need to. “Go. I’ll tell DiCarlo I asked you to take something to headquarters for me. But this is a onetime thing. Your involvement with Jasmine Marcks is in the eleventh hour. We have pending cases that need your attention.”
“I know.”
Gifford turned to her. “Besides, we don’t want to give your unit chief any reason to gloat.”
3
Vail arrived at the Bethesda, Maryland, home of Jasmine Marcks an hour after she called. The house was a modest two-story colonial among larger and more robust residences, some a hundred years old and others recently constructed or remodeled.
Jasmine came to the door wearing the same stylish black below-the-knee dress she had selected for the morning’s television interview.
“Karen. I feel so silly to make you come down here. For a blank piece of paper, no less.”
“You didn’t force me. You didn’t even ask me. I came because I thought it was important.”
“Come in,” Jasmine said, standing aside and allowing Vail to pass.
Vail had been here a couple of times seven years ago when Jasmine’s father was about to stand trial. Jasmine testified and Vail accompanied the prosecutor when she questioned Jasmine about what she observed as a teenager.
“You’ve still not met with my father,” she said.
“I’ve asked. Every couple of years I make another request. Each time I get the same answer: ‘We’ll see.’ He’s purposely leading me along, yanking my chain. He leaves it open-ended so I have to keep coming back and asking. It’s about the only power he’s got left in a situation where he’s told when he can wake up, when he can go to sleep, when and what he can eat.”
“That sounds like something he’d do.”
Roscoe Lee Marcks was the last case that profiling legend Thomas Underwood handled before he retired from the Bureau, just prior to Vail joining the unit. Gifford gave her the file to help get her feet wet, to ease her into the flow of things—and, Vail was sure, to see if she had the stomach to handle the brutality the agents in the BAU lived and breathed regularly.
Since the profile had already been finalized and reviewed with the Fairfax County Police Department, Vail was able to study, and learn from, Underwood’s notes, analyses, and case management.
When Marcks was arrested, Vail began developing a rapport with Jasmine. After he was convicted, she and Jasmine stayed in touch periodically, mostly through email. But their contact grew less frequent.
“Coffee?” Jasmine asked as they sat down in the kitchen.
“I’d love some.”
“How’s Jonathan? How old is he now?”
“Almost nineteen. He’s a freshman at George Washington University.”
“No way. How did that happen? College? And a hell of a good one, at that. Smart boy. Like his mom.”
“I’d say he certainly didn’t get his smarts from his dad, but that’d be disingenuous. Deacon was many things, but before he started having problems, he was a bright man.” Not that it got him anywhere.
“What’s he studying?”
“Criminal justice.” Vail chuckled. “Go figure.”
“Uh-oh. Another cop in the family?”
Vail laughed again—but she clearly did not find it humorous. “Not if I can help it. Too dangerous.”
Jasmine opened the cabinet and removed a filter, then placed it in the basket of the coffee maker.
“He’s looking at law. Which would suit me just fine. A whole lot safer. And generally speaking, a whole lot more lucrative.”
“Well, you know how that goes, right? You can try to influence your kids but in the end they do what they want. And let’s not forget that whatever they choose to do in their careers, they’ve gotta be happy.”