The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(44)

She dribbled and then launched a fifteen-foot jumper. The ball swished the net.

“I thought you said you can’t shoot worth shit.”

“I purposely set low expectations. See how impressed you were?”

“You mean you lied.” Rooney laughed as he gathered up the ball and started walking toward the rack. “So you think that’s what happened with Marcks? His type wasn’t available so he went after a woman those times?”

“Not sure. But I think there’s more to it. Someday soon I hope to ask him about it.” Her Samsung vibrated. It was a text from Hurdle:

another marcks body

need you and curtis here asap

where are you

She replied and asked for the address.

“Problem?”

Vail realized she had suddenly gone quiet, focused on her phone.

“Another Marcks vic. Gotta go.”

Rooney set the ball on the rack. “You want to talk some more tomorrow?”

“I think I’m good for now. Let you know.”

She jogged out of the gymnasium, trying to reach Curtis as she ran. He answered as she hit the door. Ten minutes later, she was driving through the security booth at Quantico, headed for a wooded area near Cub Run.





21


SLEEPY HOLLOW ROAD

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Marcks stood in the shade of a large black walnut tree, its trunk a good three feet in diameter and offering solid cover from oncoming cars. The snow had not packed down around the tree, but was only a few inches deep. Its dense canopy of branches had shielded the ground from any significant accumulation.

He was getting chilled again, which meant he could not remain here much longer. But his goal was not simply to find shelter for the evening. He needed cash and some decent food. A bed and a hot shower would be a good bonus.

Marcks had ditched the Jensens’ sedan earlier in the day because there would be a stolen vehicle alert circulating among police officers. And with law enforcement patrols likely beefed up because of his escape, the risks of having the car now outweighed its benefits.

He had selected a wealthy neighborhood and was waiting for a luxury automobile: Mercedes, BMW, Audi, Porsche … he wasn’t picky. When one came along and turned into a nearby driveway, that would be his first mark.

He would observe for a while, scout out who was in the house and determine if it was a feasible target. Since there was only one of him, he had to maximize his odds of a successful intrusion. No dogs was his first screening criterion. His second was a fair amount of foliage around the front door, where he would likely enter, to block the view of anyone from the street. Third was no males—or it had to be one smaller than him.

Good odds of that.

It was late afternoon, so he figured that most men had not left work yet. Yeah, that was a bit of an assumption—more women were breadwinners in families nowadays, especially in cities and sleeper towns for corporate centers—but playing the averages, he figured most of the people in this affluent area had a high-earning male in the household … and chances were the woman was at home raising the kids. Or a nanny was—in which case, he could make her summon the wife home.

As the minutes ticked by, he realized that the longer he stood there, despite the tree’s cover, his odds of being reported to police as a suspicious person increased. A neighborhood like this, where property values were exceptionally high and the power halls of Washington exceptionally close, cops responded in short order. You never knew who would get pissed at a slow rollup of a patrol car: a CEO, a lobbyist, a congressional representative, a State Department executive. Safer for dispatch to jump on it when a call came in—and for the officers to hightail it over.

He bent his knees, attempting to get the blood flowing and restore sensation to his toes. As he flexed his fingers, a car moved down Sleepy Hollow, its xenon headlights a telltale sign that the vehicle was expensive. The turn signal flicked on.

Marcks moved against the rough bark and watched as the vehicle slowed and then hung a right into the long driveway that led up to the single-story brick house set back from the street and behind a rolling berm of snow-covered grass.

It was a Mercedes. Very good.

He shifted left, keeping his hands on the tree trunk, and peered into the gray distance. The garage door rolled up and the sedan pulled to a stop. There was space for two vehicles, meaning—hopefully—the other one was for the husband and he was not home yet.

Marcks moved out from behind his cover and walked toward the house, using the trees and hedges to shield himself from the neighboring home to his right.

He stopped and watched as a woman in her late thirties or early forties got out. It looked like a child followed her from the rear driver’s side door.

Like a tiger salivating over his prey, he licked his cold, dry lips.

This was exactly what the criminal ordered.





22


Vail arrived at the crime scene almost forty-five minutes later. She knew Hurdle’s car by now and slid in between it and Curtis’s sedan. Vail figured that Johnson must be there too.

“Talk to me,” she said as she approached Hurdle.

“Deceased is a resident of that house,” he said with a nod of his chin west of their location. The gray, snowy sky was darkening, evening approaching rapidly.

“And that?”