The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(61)

“Of all people, you don’t have to explain your motives. I know you have my best interests in mind. But for now, I feel safer where no one knows who I am. Or where I am.”

“I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“Plus, it lets me be absolutely sure no one talked, voluntarily or involuntarily. My father’s not above torturing someone for information on my whereabouts. This way, no one can give me up. And no one gets hurt.”

“That’s admirable, but—”

“And I’m wearing a disguise.”

Vail stifled a chuckle. “A disguise?”

“Nothing elaborate. Just enough to keep people from noticing me. Maybe it’s silly. I was only on TV a couple of times. But I figured it can’t hurt. You any closer to finding him?”

How do I answer that? “Closer? I think so, yeah. But I wouldn’t say we’re close. I’ll keep you posted. And you stay safe.”

Vail hung up as she turned onto Route 738, then took Old Dominion Drive to the closed National Park Service entrance shack, where she was admitted by a posted law enforcement officer.

In the parking lot sat Curtis’s Chevy sedan and Hurdle’s Toyota SUV. She pulled alongside them and saw a group of men huddled thirty yards away that looked like it included her task force members. Vail made her way over to the knot of personnel and joined the conversation.

“So who and what do we got?”

“No ID,” Curtis said. “Fit white male, early forties and wearing what looks like an expensive shirt and shoes. Nordstrom and Allen Edmonds, according to the ME.”

“Nice wardrobe. But why are we thinking the vic is one of ours?’

Hurdle shrugged. “That’s what we have to determine. Might not be.”

“Cause of death?”

“Strangulation. There’s bruising, pressure marks on the throat, neck, and behind the ears, consistent with a large hand. Hyoid bone may be broken. Petechial and subconjunctival hemorrhages. He said it’s likely to assume the assailant was a male because, judging by the bruises on the neck, those are two sizable paws.”

And women don’t usually have the strength to strangle a man. “Anything else?”

“Looks like he was raped,” Curtis said.

A woman approached with a flashlight in hand. From the gait, Vail knew it was Leslie Johnson.

“Raped how?” Vail asked.

“There’s anal penetration,” Curtis said. “ME thinks he used a condom. He’ll know more later, but he’s fairly certain.”

“Important to know ASAP,” Vail said.

“Why?” Curtis asked, keyed in on her enthusiasm.

“Something that came up in the last few hours. Remember I mentioned my theory that Marcks is gay? His murders may have something to do with that. I’m still working it through.” She turned to Hurdle. “But for purposes of the task force, I think we should put some guys at known gay bars throughout the county, even in the district.”

“Okay,” Hurdle said.

Even in the relative darkness, Vail could tell his facial expression was one of skepticism. “Look, I realize that’ll take a lot of manpower, but I’m confident enough in what I’m seeing to think it’s worth it. If I’m right, and we put undercovers at known gay bars and he shows, we may get our man.”

“He’s gotta know we’d be looking for him there,” Johnson said.

“I don’t think so, Leslie. Even before he went to prison, he kept his sexual orientation close to the vest—under the threat of violence. And his vics weren’t pure homosexual plays. He killed both men and women—which is unusual for homosexual serial killers. Well, for any offenders. They have their victim type and generally don’t deviate unless they have to—but they always go back. That could be what happened here, but I don’t think so.”

Johnson tilted her head in thought. “So you’re saying that because he was careful about hiding his sexual preference, he won’t think we’re hip to looking for him at known gay establishments.”

“Right. And straight people don’t hang out at these places. So for him, these may be safe havens. Where he doesn’t have to worry about law enforcement hanging out there and picking him up.”

“What makes you think he’s homosexual?” Curtis asked.

“Victim selection. The lust murder flavor to what he does to the bodies, the cutting of the genitals. Most of the vics were anally penetrated. And the correctional officer, his childhood friend, Lance Kubiak, walked in on him once many years ago when he was having sex with another man. Assuming he’s telling the truth—which might be a stretch for this guy.”

“We should ask Jasmine about it,” Curtis said.

“I did. She didn’t really answer me. And she sure as hell didn’t mention the incident Kubiak described, but I had a feeling there was something she wanted to tell me. Let’s face it, it’s a sensitive subject for some people. I’ll revisit it with her when the time’s right.”

Hurdle shrugged. “Let’s work this angle. I’ll get some undercovers deployed at key places.”

Vail told him about the two bars that Kubiak mentioned.

“Those’ll be at the top of the list.”

“Who found our new vic?” Johnson asked, lifting her feet to get the blood flowing.