The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(42)

“It won’t show up in the new CAD system, but the original paper reports were archived. Too expensive to digitize all the incompatible records because there are thousands of them. So generally speaking, when we access the database, it’s as if these files don’t exist.”

“So if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you have no idea they’re there.”

“Exactly.”

“But since we know that these records exist,” Vail said, “we know to request them.”

“And that’s what I just did. I asked for all PD-42 initial reports and PD-42s, the supplementals. Basically, all ROIs,” he said, using cop speak for reports of investigation.

“That explains why we didn’t know about this case when we were looking into Marcks for the Blood Lines killings. Kind of an important thing not to be aware of.”

“Shit happens in police work. Especially where records and technology are involved. You know that.”

“Had a thing like this in New York. So yeah, I know.”

They arrived at police headquarters, formally known as the Public Safety Center or the Massey Building, an aging 1960s-era structure with leaking pipes, malfunctioning air-conditioning, and its most endearing feature, asbestos.

They got out of the car and started trudging forward in the fresh layer of snow.

“The new HQ will be finished later this year,” Curtis said, gesturing to a partially constructed eight-story edifice. “We move in next year. Gonna miss that old building.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

They walked past the twelve-level public safety facility to the Massey Annex, the archive center commonly referred to simply as the “records room” by Fairfax County police.

They passed a sign that divided visitors into two categories: citizens and police. They headed right, down a short alcove to a twenty-year-old woman with her hair pulled back in a bun.

Curtis badged the clerk and explained what he needed. “Already spoke with the sergeant about it.”

“He just called. Give me some time to find it.”

As she walked off, Vail looked at Curtis. “She’s kind of young, no?”

“Cadets. Prospective police officers. Gotta be creative with county budgets. Put the eager, low-cost bodies where you need ’em, where they can’t do any damage.”

The woman returned an hour later with a thin folder. “Copies of the Marcks file. It’s a really, really old case.”

“Not to worry,” Vail said. “Marcks is updating his body of work as we speak.”

Curtis elbowed Vail away and gave the clerk a disarming smile. “Thanks. Appreciate your help.”

They went back to the warmth of Vail’s car. She clapped her gloved hands together and looked over at Curtis as he pulled open the folder.

He gave it a quick once-over while Vail turned up the heater and defroster.

“So it looks like Stuckey was being straight with us. Assuming this Lance guy told the truth—and it’s a stretch to make that assumption—it went down like Stuckey said. When they arrested Marcks, he was charged with improper discharge of a firearm and involuntary manslaughter. But once they found and interviewed Lance—” his finger tracked down the page—“Kubiak. Lance Kubiak. When they sat down with him, they accepted his version of events and null prossed it.”

Vail knew that was a bastardized version of a Latin term nolle prosequi, meaning they decided not to prosecute the case against Marcks.

Curtis harrumphed. “Forensics didn’t exactly match up. Gunshot residue was inconclusive. There was residue on Marcks and a trace amount on Eddie Simmons, the deceased teen. But with Marcks in the wind for—” Curtis turned a couple of pages and consulted the paperwork—“three hours, that kind of ruined the evidentiary value. They expected to find more on Simmons’s hands if they were struggling for the gun. But it wasn’t enough to press forward with a case. Especially with their only witness corroborating Marcks’s version of events, tainted as that accounting was.”

“So where does this leave us?”

Curtis closed the file. “Not sure.”

“Looks like Lance Kubiak knows what really happened. Assuming he’s still alive, he’s someone that Marcks put his trust in once before. Could be he does it again.”

Curtis cocked his head.

“What?”

“I can’t see Marcks making that mistake. Tracking down old friends … he’s wise to that. He’s too smart, too careful to let us to trap him like that.”

“Is he? He contacted Stuckey.”

“And what did that get us? Something on a thirty-year-old case. Nothing on where Marcks is in the present day.”

“We’ll see about that. For now, we follow the Marshals’ recipe. And a key ingredient of that recipe is watching known associates, family, and friends. Let’s find Lance Kubiak and see if he’s had contact with Marcks. It’s another bread trail.”

Curtis checked his watch. “Speaking of bread, I’m starving. We totally blew past lunch.”

“I’ll drop you off at your car. I’m running late for a meeting at the Academy.”

VAIL STRODE INTO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING and signed in at the front desk, then texted Art Rooney to tell him she had arrived.