The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(5)

“Can’t argue with that.” But I still don’t want him carrying a badge and gun. She glanced around. “So where’s that letter?”

“Go on, take a look. That’s it right there on the table.”

Vail picked it up. It wasn’t evidence—there was no crime—but she almost felt like she should be wearing gloves while handling it. She pulled out the paper and unfolded it. What the hell did I expect? She said it was blank. But that did not fit a man like Roscoe Lee Marcks. There was also a photo of a stuffed animal—torn from a magazine of some kind. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” Jasmine stepped closer and brought a hand to her mouth.

“It was still inside the envelope. You didn’t see it?”

She shook her head, still staring at the image.

“Why would he send you a picture of a stuffed animal?”

Jasmine turned away and went back to the coffee. “I had one just like that growing up. I used to go to bed with it every night.”

“And your father sent this to you. With no note.”

Jasmine set a mug of steaming java in front of Vail, purposely averting her eyes from the clipping.

“Did this stuffed animal have any special meaning?”

Jasmine stopped what she was doing and stood there. “Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “I found it cut to pieces one day, in my bed.”

“You’re joking. You never told me about this.”

Jasmine pulled a bowl of sugar from the cupboard. “It upset me. A lot. I remember crying, not understanding who would do it. Or why.”

“Did you ever find out?”

“Never. My mom wasn’t very nice about it. She said she’d buy me a new one, which she did. And she thought that made it all better. I loved Sparky. The new one wasn’t Sparky. I had nightmares about seeing him all cut up for weeks. That’s why I could never have a dog. Or a cat, or an animal of any kind. I just can’t—” She shivered. “It’d just make me think of Sparky.”

“You think your dad did it?”

Jasmine snorted. “What do you think?”

“Who else knew about what happened to Sparky?”

“I didn’t tell anyone. It really freaked me out. I was afraid to talk about it. Besides, my dad told me to keep it to myself.” She chuckled. “He said people may think I’m weird. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t understand.”

Vail set the magazine clipping aside and examined the blank piece of paper again. “You got a pencil?”

Jasmine drew her chin back. “Maybe. I mean, if you’re not a draftsman or a sketch artist, who still uses pencils?” She rummaged through her drawer and handed Vail an old, yellow, chewed-up Eberhard Faber number two.

While Jasmine busied herself with pouring the coffee, Vail held the writing utensil at an angle, covering the white paper with soft, parallel strokes until she had shaded a good percentage of the surface a charcoal gray. “It’s not exactly blank.”

“What do you mean?” Jasmine came over and sat down next to Vail.

Oh shit. Shouldn’t have said anything. “Mind if I take this with me?” Vail said as she folded it and placed it back into the envelope.

“What’d you find? What does it say?”

“Not sure. I think there are impressions. Like when you write, it leaves latent or visible marks on the pages below it. It’s called indented writing. I’m going to take it over to the lab, have our techs take a look. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Vail swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Are you going to be okay on this book tour? The questions may not get any easier.”

Jasmine cupped the warm mug between two hands. “I brought it on myself. Writing The Serial Killer’s Daughter was cathartic in a lot of ways. I can’t explain it, but it was something I just had to do. I had to write it. Obviously there are some unforeseen consequences.”

“Stay away from the reviews. You don’t need to subject yourself to that kind of abuse. There are some nasty people out there who think they know it all, who have nothing better to do but comment on things they have no clue about. Do yourself a favor and don’t read that garbage. It’ll just upset you.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t care if it’s TV or radio, a local or national show, if there’s anything you don’t want to answer, if it’s too sensitive or painful, turn it back on them. Tell them they’re being cruel and you’ve been through enough. People will understand.”

Jasmine took a drink.

“Did you get time off work for the tour?”

“I took my accumulated sick time. Almost three weeks.”

“Still working for the state, right?”

“I’ve changed jobs a few times since you—well, since my father was convicted.”

“Something in computers?”

Jasmine managed a slight smile. “You remember.”

Now it was Vail’s turn to laugh. “It doesn’t happen often these days.”

“I was a computer science major my first two years of college. Then I realized I wasn’t very good at it, so I sat down with my adviser and, well, I cried in her office. She asked me some questions, gave me some forms to fill out, and told me I should become an accountant.” Her eyes glazed over as she got lost in thought. “I looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. But she said, trust me on this. So I did. And she was right. I have a thing for numbers.”