The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(77)

“Not really. Already got two people we’re looking for. I’ll put out a BOLO.”

Curtis rose from his chair. “I’ll let you handle that. You coming back to the command center?”

“If you can hang out a few minutes, we can take my car over, pick up yours later.”





38


As Vail pulled out of the parking lot, she chuckled. “Did you see that old Buick?”

Curtis swiveled his head back to the right. “Missed it. Why?”

“Mid-sixties. I think it was a ’64 LeSabre. My friend’s mom had one of those. She drove carpool to ballet lessons every Wednesday night.”

“You?” Curtis laughed. “Ballet lessons?”

“What’s so funny?”

“Can’t see you wearing a tutu, that’s all.”

“Anyway,” she said, “those cars, they didn’t have seatbelts in the back. Guess it was before it was the law. But when my mom found out, she wouldn’t let me go with them unless I rode in the front, where there were seatbelts. Which was a problem because my mother had a class on Monday and Wednesday nights, and if I sat in the front, her friend’s daughter had to sit in the back without a seatbelt.”

“Lemme guess. That next week they had rear belts installed.”

“Yeah—and a couple weeks later, boom. Real bad rear end accident. Crushed the trunk, pushed us into the car in front of us and shot it across the intersection into a telephone pole. That seatbelt saved my life. I would’ve flown right through the windshield.”

“Fate, you know?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that.”

“Hey, when it’s your time, it’s your time. Seatbelts, no seatbelts, vest, no vest … your number’s up, you’re done in this life.”

“So why do you have a seatbelt on right now?”

“Really, Karen? Because it’s the law. And I’m the law.”

THEY ARRIVED AT THE COMMAND POST, where all team members were present. They spent the next hour reviewing their status on the case: Marcks, Kubiak, Gaines, Stuckey, and their efforts to find Marcks’s last known associate: Scott MacFarlane.

“While I was in town,” Ramos said, “I sat down with the inmate Marcks got into the fight with at Potter. Patrick O’Shea. Wanted to be sure he wasn’t in on the escape. You know, like the fight was a ruse designed to get Marcks into the medical transport.”

“It was a ruse,” Hurdle said. “Only question was whether O’Shea was complicit or just used. Even though he got the better of the fight. By design.”

“And let me guess,” Vail said. “O’Shea wasn’t talking.”

“Actually, he did. He basically said he had nothing to do with it. Marcks insulted him and he beat him to a pulp.”

Vail nodded. “Guess male bravado trumps looking like a stoolie.”

“This guy’s huge,” Ramos said. “It’s like they put Marcks on a copier and hit ‘enlarge 10 percent.’”

They all laughed.

“Point is, no one’s gonna get in his face, stoolie or not. And that’s what made me think he was telling the truth. No way Marcks would pick a fight with this guy unless he had other motives.”

“I think I should mention that I haven’t heard from Jasmine.”

“Should we be concerned?” Morrison asked.

Vail shrugged. “I am. She’s never ignored my calls before.”

“Try her again,” Hurdle said. “Over what period of time?”

“A day, give or take.”

“We should put out a BOLO, see if we can get our army of eyes around town looking for her.”

“Already done.”

“Keep us posted.”

“Something else I wanted to mention,” Vail said. “Not sure if it’s relevant or not, but a weird forensic finding came up in another case I thought I should make you all aware of, just in case it becomes significant—or somehow suddenly becomes meaningful to our pursuit of Marcks.”

“And that is?”

“A series of arsons that have been going on for a while now, first one a year or two after Marcks started doing time in North Carolina. Last two were set after he escaped.”

“And why are we discussing this?” Tarkoff spread his hands. “What’s it got to do with Marcks?”

“Marcks used an anesthetic-soaked rag to subdue his victims. That same chemical was used as the accelerant in the arson cases.”

Tarkoff leaned forward, as if closer proximity would bring greater clarity. “The anesthetic is also an accelerant?”

Hurdle shook his head. “I don’t see the connection.”

“Hang on a second,” Morrison said. “What chemical was it?”

“Something unusual as far as accelerants go. I mean, it’s a fairly common chemical, a form of ether. Begins with an n, I think. I’m blanking on it. Or an h. Hydrogen or halogen something.” She rose from her chair. “Let me just get the file.”

“Where you going?” Hurdle asked, checking his watch.

“It’s in my car.”

“I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes.”