The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(83)

THEY WAITED AN HOUR until the emergency room physician, David Pryor, came out to speak with them.

Hurdle badged Pryor and they identified themselves as federal agents on the fugitive task force tracking Roscoe Lee Marcks. That got the man’s attention.

The doctor swung his stethoscope around the back of his neck. “You think Mrs. Anderson and her daughter know something about Marcks?”

“That’s why we need to talk with them,” Curtis said. “Might be something they can tell us that’ll help find him. How are they doing?”

“They came in moderately dehydrated. Another day for the girl and a couple of days for the mother and you wouldn’t have had anyone to interview.”

“Are they well enough to talk? We’ll keep it short.”

Pryor made a mark on the chart. “You can talk with Mrs. Anderson. Cassie’s still undergoing treatment. Maybe tomorrow.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Hurdle said.

Pryor led them to a curtained-off area and explained to Victoria who the men were.

“Thanks, doc,” Curtis said. “We’ll take it from here.” In fact, Curtis and Hurdle had agreed to have Curtis do most of the questioning, since this was his forte and they did not want to overwhelm Victoria.

“Five minutes is all you get,” Pryor said as he slipped out of the treatment area.

“Mrs. Anderson, I’m Erik Curtis, this is Lewis Hurdle. We—”

“Are you the ones looking for my husband?”

Curtis shot a glance at Hurdle. Apparently no one had done the death notification. But if they told her now, they would likely be unable to question her.

“No, the Fairfax police are in charge of that. Can we ask you some questions about the man who held you hostage, who … tied up you and your daughter?”

“He came in through the back door. Nathan wasn’t home yet.”

“The man who did this to you is Roscoe Lee Marcks, the escaped convict from Potter Correctional. We know that much.”

“Oh my god. I heard about that. That—that was him? A serial killer?” She shuddered and turned away, looked at the far wall, as if reassessing her contact with him.

“What did Marcks want?” Hurdle asked.

Her eyes canted up toward the ceiling. “Money. Jewelry. And our car.”

“What kind of car?”

“He took our Mercedes. Nathan’s. It’s one of the S-class models.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No—no, he was very threatening but he didn’t hurt us. He—he made us drink some medicine. Benadryl.”

Curtis looked over at Hurdle, who was a foot to his right and slightly behind him—letting Curtis control the conversation. “Sounds like he was drugging them.”

“Makes sense,” Hurdle said. “Very smart. I’m getting kind of tired of saying that.”

Pryor walked back in. “Okay, that’s good for today.”

“Excuse us for a minute,” Curtis said to Victoria, then moved to the corner of the room with Hurdle and Pryor.

“How long will you be keeping them?” Hurdle asked.

“Mrs. Turner, another day for observation. Should be able to release her at that time. Cassie—at least one more day, maybe two, depending on how she responds.”

Curtis leaned in closer and whispered in the doctor’s ear. “Her husband was found murdered. She hasn’t been notified. I think I should do it now, if you think she can handle it.”

Pryor sighed. “Not ideal, I have to tell you,” he said, matching Curtis’s volume. “Mental state is crucial to recovery. But it’s important for her to know, and it’s probably best to tell her in the hospital, where we can monitor her.”

Curtis turned around and faced Victoria. To say that this was his least favorite part of the job was an understatement. But he would rather do it with compassion than have some rookie patrol cop dispatched to handle the duties.

He walked to her bedside and placed a hand on hers. “Victoria, I’ve, uh, I’ve got some news on your husband.”

She read his face, and in that instant Curtis knew that he did not need to say anything further.





44


Marcks got out of the cab a few blocks from the used car lot. He trudged through the freezing snow, doing his best to keep his balance and avoid slipping on the slick ground. The last thing he needed was to hit his head, lose consciousness, and be taken by ambulance to the hospital. The stupid cops may just get lucky and realize that the guy in the ER was the escaped prisoner they’ve been looking for.

He arrived a few minutes past six. Oliver was approaching with a key in hand, no doubt to lock up for the evening. But Marcks stepped inside with seconds to spare, the edge of the door nearly catching Oliver in the nose.

“Looks like I got here just in time.” Marcks stuck out his right hand. “Buddy. Remember me?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes open wide. “I remember you.” He returned a weak shake as his gaze traveled Marcks’s face. He stepped back a few stuttering steps, jawing absentmindedly, his shoulders tense.

Marcks knew his secret was out: the Buddy cover was not going to work. Had Oliver seen a news report? An FBI bulletin with his photo? Or had Vail or the police connected that old Buick to Oliver’s used car lot?