The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(91)
“You sure?”
“I’m sure I saw it in the parking lot. Not so sure it was the same one outside our house. But it would make sense. We need to stay somewhere, move my aunt. Unless we stay, lure him there.”
“Use you as bait?”
“We could install surveillance cameras outside the house, small ones that can’t be seen. Park a Marshals Service undercover van a few blocks away, monitoring the feed.”
“No.”
“It might work. And we’d get to test your theory.”
“My theory?” Robby asked.
“Forgo a safe house, look after ourselves.”
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Yeah, I know it. But I’ve gotta give you shit anyway.”
“I see you’re feeling better.”
She called Hurdle and asked him to get it set up—quietly, in case Marcks was in the area. Whether or not they actually slept at the house was unimportant. She would figure that out later. But if Marcks showed up, they would capture him on camera—and maybe capture him in the flesh.
She walked into Greenberry’s Coffee at 9:45 AM, a few minutes before Prati, taking the time to peruse the two shelves of pastries—the large black and white cookie tempted her—and settled on a carrot muffin and two cups of the decaf Guatemalan coffee of the day.
Prati entered in a dark suit and stamped the snow from his dress shoes.
“I got you decaf.”
“That works, thanks.”
He sat down at the square wooden table and dumped some sugar in the cup.
“What happened to your face?”
Vail snorted. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”
“Nothing I need to talk to Robby about?”
She laughed. “No. If he raised a hand to me …” She decided to skip the joke because, given her history with her ex-husband, it really was not funny.
“So you’ve got some questions about one of your cases?”
“Not one of my cases, exactly. About those fires.”
“You’re not commandeering that arson case, are you?”
Vail laughed nervously. The Bureau had been accused of such tactics—but that was a long time ago. “No, I’m looking at it because it’s got some common elements to my fugitive serial offender case.”
“I’m listening.”
“The offender uses ether as the accelerant.”
“Ether?” Prati bent his head to the left. “Seriously? I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of a case like that. I mean, there are so many efficient, low-cost accelerants. Why use that one?”
“Are you familiar with it?”
“Yeah, ethers are well-known chemicals, been around forever. In various forms, they’ve been used as a refrigerant, anesthetic, antiknock gasoline additive, solvent—I think it’s even used in paints. In 5 to 10 percent concentration it causes shallow breathing and loss of consciousness. But it’s not used as an anesthetic anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It was discovered about a hundred years ago. We’ve got more efficacious modern chemical compounds now, with better patient risk profiles—and most importantly, they aren’t flammable.” He laughed. “If the anesthetist weren’t careful, he’d either cause a blue flame that’d singe wool and hair or actually blow up—exploding the patient’s lungs, killing both him and the patient.”
“Art Rooney, the profiler who’s working the arson case, said there are also better, more efficient, more common accelerants. Why use this one, which might draw more attention? And why use one that can connect the serial murders to the arsons?”
“You’re assuming someone would make that connection. Sounds like, until now, no one has.”
“How easy is it to get hold of?”
“Not hard at all—for nonmedical uses. You can even buy it on eBay. It’s also fairly easy to synthesize.”
So much for that.
“Why?”
“As with anything criminals use, if access is broad and not too restrictive, it’s harder for us to track down the source or supplier.”
“Right.” Prati pulled the lid off his coffee and added another packet of sugar. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to help you much here.”
“Anything else I should know about it?”
Prati swirled his drink with the wooden stick. Steam spiraled up from the hot liquid. “Years before ether was put into service as an anesthetic, it was used as a recreational drug, sniffed from towels or handkerchiefs. I think it was called ether frolics. Nowadays, it still has a secondary market as a recreational inhalant drug, kind of like amyl nitrite, or poppers. It’s popular during sex, especially for homosexuals, because it facilitates anal intercourse. It relaxes smooth muscle—including the ones in the anal sphincter.”
Vail was staring at him, her mind suddenly racing.
“Did I say something wrong? You’re spacing out on me.”
“No—no, that might be incredibly helpful. My case, the offender’s gay, so that would make sense as to why he’d use it. If he had it around for sex, why not use it for an anesthetic, to subdue his victims?” She nodded. “That answers the question Art had.”