The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(8)
Vail followed the correctional officers to the interview room. Although the assistant warden had wanted her to meet Marcks with a slab of super-strength Lexan Plexiglas separating them and a phone line connecting them, Vail wanted a more informal environment given the strategy she had devised for their discussion. She listened to each of the man’s objections then politely explained why she needed to do it her way.
Problem was, she had little control over how the interview was conducted: this was Bureau of Prisons’ domain and her only recourse would be to go above his head to the warden, and she did not want to burn the bridge unless absolutely necessary.
He ultimately agreed and she now sat in a small room with two officers behind her. Marcks was led in, all six foot two and two hundred fifty pounds of him, and shackled to the table.
“Leave him handcuffed,” Vail said. “But not to the table. I want him to be comfortable.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t—”
“Agent. Or Special Agent. Or Special Agent Vail. But not ma’am.” She faced Marcks but spoke to the guards. “Now please go check with Assistant Warden Thibeaux and you’ll see that Mr. Marcks is to be handcuffed but not shackled.”
The guard gestured to one of the other men, who left the room.
“He’ll be right back to remove those,” Vail said with a wink.
Marcks squinted. “Why are you going out of your way to make me comfortable?”
Vail shrugged. “I want to have an honest conversation with you. Hard to do that when you’re chained to a table and your back and shoulder muscles start to burn.”
Marcks canted his head slightly as if doing so would help him get a better angle on assessing her motives.
Vail needed to build a rapport with the man, to gauge the threat to Jasmine, to feel him out. In a best-case scenario, it would take multiple sessions. But she had to do it the right way if she had any hope of getting anything from him.
Seconds later, the door opened and the officer removed the shackles, then cuffed Marcks in front without a word. But on his way out, he turned to Vail and said, “If he bashes your head in, it ain’t my fault.”
She nodded at the two guards behind her. “You guys can go, too.”
They gave her a look—probably similar to the one Robby, her fiancé, would give her if he knew what she was doing.
When the men left, and it was only Vail and Marcks sitting a few feet from each other, he laughed. “You carry a lot of weight around here.”
“The assistant warden thinks I have a nice ass.”
“I agree.” Marcks laughed heartily—exactly the reaction she was hoping for. Break down the barriers that—had she sat down in a room with only a phone connecting them—would have prevented her from getting anything useful.
As he shifted his hands on the table, Vail noticed a three-letter scar on the inside of his left forearm spelling out “D.I.E.” It reminded her of a similar mark she had seen years ago when a woman had used an eraser to obliterate her skin, the resulting wound healing with a thick keloid, as Marcks’s had. More significantly, self-mutilation was one sign of childhood sexual abuse.
“And that may be the only time I’ll ever agree with anything the assistant warden says, darlin’. Mind if I call you darlin’?”
Vail grinned. “What do you think?”
He pursed his lips and pretended to study her, then said, “Nah. I think you want to be respected.”
She nodded slowly. “You’re right, Roscoe. Would you mind if I call you Roscoe?”
“It’s my name.”
“I would appreciate the same respect I’m giving you. Is that a deal?”
“I can live with that.”
“Do you know why I’m here?”
Marcks shrugged his large shoulders. “The Behavioral Analysis Unit’s ongoing research project to study and assess serial offenders, continuing the work of Ressler, Hazelwood, Douglas, and Underwood.”
Vail hiked her brow. “I’m impressed. Word for word from my letter.”
“Letters,” Marcks said. “I think we’re up to six now, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not.”
“You’ve been very persistent, Agent Vail.”
“It’s my job. I think you could help us.”
Marcks leaned back in his chair. “Now why would I want to do that? I mean, respect for you aside.”
Vail tilted her head left, letting her red hair fall partially across her eye. She brushed it aside gently, an alluring enough move to be seductive yet ambiguously innocuous. She was sure it got his attention. “I was hoping that respect for me would be enough.”
Vail knew he had not been in a room alone with a woman in about seven years. She had put on Robby’s favorite perfume and was wearing a form-fitting blouse and well-cut pants. She wanted him distracted. And she wanted him to enjoy talking with her—because she needed this to become a regular occurrence while she built a relationship. Of course, that was her objective before Jasmine received the letter.
While that did change things, it did not alter her approach appreciably—because threats from inside a max-security prison like Potter generally did not present a clear and present danger. Generally. But there were exceptions. Still, Roscoe Lee Marcks was locked away for life without chance for parole. Unless he had someone on the outside to carry out a threatening act against Jasmine, she was safe.