The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(58)

“Well, that sucks.” Ramos glanced at Vail.

Vail knew what he was thinking: he was not convinced that’s what really happened to Rhonda Marcks.

“Any witnesses?”

“No,” Vail said. “Patrol officer checked the scene, didn’t think it looked like anything but an accident so he didn’t call detectives. He wrote a standard one-page report. Body went to the ME for an autopsy because it was an unwitnessed death—and the ME categorized the method of death as an accident.”

Ramos swung back to Kubiak. “Did Marcks have any other homosexual encounters after that one you … described?”

“No. I—I don’t know.”

“Your old school buddy Vincent Stuckey said that there were a couple of bars that Marcks used to go to.”

“Yeah. Rock ’em Hard was one of them.”

“That’s a gay bar,” Ramos said.

Vail gave Ramos a quick glance. “And the other?”

“Yellow Lantern. We’d just go hang out, drink after work. Watch the Redskins on Sundays.”

“You know Marcks is out to kill Jasmine,” Vail said.

Kubiak turned away. “I told him to think long and hard about what he’s doing.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t really talk about her much.”

“Do you know why he wants to kill her?”

“Pretty damn obvious. What she wrote in her book really pissed him off. But we didn’t talk much while he was at Potter. We couldn’t.”

“You ever ask him about the murders?”

“You crazy?” Kubiak chuckled. “I didn’t dare. But like I said, he wasn’t on my block. I mostly just passed him short notes, sometimes taped to an envelope with shit in it—spices, cigarettes, that kind of stuff—things I could toss into his cell as I passed.”

Not sure how much I believe that, either.

“What about Booker Gaines?”

“What about him?”

Vail lowered her chin, her face drooping in disappointment. “Lance, you know what we’re after. We’re looking for Gaines because we’ve got questions, same ones we’ve asked you. He may know where we can find Rocky.”

“Don’t know where he is. Was living in Richmond but I dropped by his apartment once and he’d moved.”

“Anything you can tell us?”

Kubiak examined the ceiling. “Not really. That’s all I know. Haven’t heard from him in, I don’t know, maybe a year.”

“What about Scott MacFarlane?”

“Mac, man, I haven’t talked to him in a long time. He and I grew apart.”

“Why’s that?”

Kubiak tapped his right foot on the floor. “He accused me of being the enemy. Couldn’t believe I’d go into law enforcement.”

“The dark side, eh?”

Kubiak looked hard at her. “Not funny. Wouldn’t talk to me after I got my badge. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

She turned to Ramos to see if he had any other questions. He shook his head. “Okay, Lance. Thanks for your help. I’ll let the prosecutor know you were cooperative. And I won’t even tell her I had to threaten you.

“Prosecutor? Couldn’t we just let it go?”

“Like a speeding ticket?” Ramos asked. “Wink, wink to the officer, ask for a warning.”

Kubiak shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Yeah,” Vail said. “But no. That never works, anyway, does it?”

“Only if you’re a knockout blonde with a nice rack,” Ramos said.

Vail looked at him.

“Just sayin’. It does happen.”

“I’ll be right back,” Vail said. “Which way to the restroom?”

Kubiak hesitated a second. “Uh—”

“Got a long drive back.”

His gaze met Vail’s, which was intended to convey something like, “You’re actually thinking about telling me I can’t use your bathroom?”

I can tell him I have my period, which would really make him squirm. His shoulders rolled forward slightly in acquiescence—body language that told Vail there was something in the house worth hiding from her. But is it in plain sight?

“Second door on the right.”

Vail stood up and glanced at Ramos, letting him know she was going to take a look around in case there was anything connected to Marcks lying out along the way.

Instead of taking the second door on the right, however, she turned left, into the kitchen. Checked the refrigerator for a phone number, a name, anything that might indicate where Gaines was living. Several magnets advertised a local insurance agent, a pizza parlor, and a dentist. Another held a reminder note from Kubiak’s wife to her son to take the trash out on Wednesdays.

Other things that had no obvious connection to their case were scattered across the countertop. She glanced around but saw nothing of value.

A small oak rolltop desk sat in the corner with a corded phone on its left edge. She examined the spiral pad beside it and read the scribbles: a doctor’s appointment, by the look of it. Car repair reminder for tomorrow afternoon.

And—something sticking out of a drawer. Vail leaned closer and saw a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Sugar? Flour? In a desk? She pulled her phone and turned on the flashlight and shined it inside. From what she could see, there were several others.