The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(55)

“Them? What kind of trophies?”

“The excised sexual organs.”

Ramos contorted his face as if he had bitten into a lemon rind. He reached for his glass of water and took a long drink.

“Wanna hear more?”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. He snatched it up, no doubt to prevent Vail from continuing. “Rambo.” He listened, his eyes darting left and right. “You sure?” He waited a second, then said, “Got it. Thanks.”

“Kubiak?”

“Yeah. Made a call two minutes ago to—are you ready?—a guy named Booker Gaines. He’s on our list.”

“Haven’t been able to find him.”

“Kubiak obviously knows how to reach him. He told Gaines to get word to Marcks that he’s in trouble, that the feds think they’re closing in on him. And that his daughter’s been cooperating with them.”

“You said you were with West Virginia State Police, right?”

“Before HSI, yeah. Why?” He slapped the table. “You want to know if I still have any buddies on the force.”

“In case we need to arrest Kubiak, we’ll need a local. State warrant’s gonna be a whole lot faster than going through an AUSA to get a federal warrant.”

Ramos made the call and ten minutes later, Detective Terrence Linscombe was on board. “We’ll take him in on state charges of obstruction, which’ll give us time to get a federal warrant for aiding and abetting.”

“Perfect.” Vail wiped her mouth with a napkin, then rose from her seat. “Let’s go get him.”

“Is this the fun part of the job or what?”

Ninety minutes later, a warrant in Linscombe’s figurative back pocket, Vail and Ramos rolled up in front of Lance Kubiak’s home, a small ranch house six miles from the correctional facility. It was well maintained—as best as could be observed with the accumulated snow—with an American flag flapping in the cold breeze above the entrance.

“I’m pretty confident Kubiak helped Marcks escape,” Vail said, “in one way or another. But I wouldn’t consider him a violent threat. What do you think? Will he freak when he sees us here?”

“Maybe.” Ramos pulled out his SIG Sauer P229. “Nothing a good gunfight won’t solve.”

Vail gave him a crooked smile. “Why don’t I go in without you. Less threatening. Once I walk in, give me a couple of minutes, then knock.”

“Fine, we’ll do it your way. Not as exciting as busting in a door.”

“Idea is to talk to him, Rambo, draw him out. We’re not in Iraq.”

“And thank God for that. You know I was just kidding, right? About the gunfight?”

Sure hope so. “How long till Linscombe gets here?”

Ramos checked his watch. “He’s about ten out. He’ll be ready to move in when I text him.”

Vail shut her door quietly and headed up the icy concrete walk. She was about to knock when the door pulled open.

“Agent Vail.”

“Officer Kubiak.”

He was dressed in a bulky navy blue sweatshirt that bore a gold embroidered Bureau of Prisons logo over his left breast.

“Warden Barfield gave me your address. I forgot to ask you something and he didn’t want to make you drag your ass back to the prison after a long shift.” She laughed. “His words, not mine. Anyway, I’m headed home tonight, so he figured you’d rather I stop by on my way back to DC. Said he was gonna call.”

“Oh, yeah?” He looked over his shoulder, then back at Vail. “He didn’t.”

“Probably got tied up with something. Can I come in?”

“Umm—” He turned again and looked behind him.

“Great,” she said. “Thanks.” She stepped inside, the signal for Ramos to follow.

“How about the living room?”

“Uh … well—”

Vail led the way toward the couch and took a seat on the chair. She detected the distinct smell of marijuana. And on the coffee table was a bottle of Budweiser—with a half-smoked joint beside it. Now I know why he wasn’t keen on letting me in. “Your wife or kids here?”

“At my mom’s house. Should be home soon.”

A knock at the door made Kubiak jump. “Oh, that’s Agent Ramos. Mind getting it?”

Kubiak stood up from the couch and hesitated, looked left—into the kitchen—and Vail stepped behind him, her hand on the Glock in its harness. Just in case. He swung his gaze back to her … and lowered it to Vail’s weapon.

“Answer it, officer.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You tell me.”

He hesitated, no doubt trying to figure out what was going on, perhaps wondering if she was going to bust him on possession of a joint. “No problem.”

“Then let’s not keep Agent Ramos waiting.”

Kubiak headed down the hall and opened the door. Ramos entered.

“More comfortable in the living room,” Vail said.

Kubiak looked from Vail to Ramos. “Okay.”

They sat down around the coffee table, Vail subtly gesturing at the joint.

“His wife and kids are due home soon.”

Ramos nodded.