The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(95)



“Right again. This delay mechanism is another purposeful, well-thought-out scheme.”

“Smart offender,” Vail said. Just like Marcks. And then something Rooney said hit her. “They found a body at that crime scene?”

“That’s what I was told. I just got this information from the investigator and I called you first. I’ll have to get more details on that early case.”

“I’d be very interested in seeing if that body had parallel lines carved into the abdomen. And excised genitalia.”

“I don’t think there was that much left intact. But you’re still thinking these arsons are related to your case?”

“That brings me to what I’ve got for you.” Vail explained how she had discussed the case with DEA agent Richard Prati and his background as a chemical engineer. “And the diethyl ether you found at your recent crime scene. We found it at Marcks’s buddy’s house, along with Sterno cans.”

“I need the forensics report on that, see if those cans match mine.”

“I’ll make sure you get a copy,” Curtis said.

She mentioned the homosexual use of the chemical and reminded him that Marcks had used it to temporarily disable his victims.

Rooney leaned back away from the camera. He rocked in his chair a few seconds, then said, “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I think you’re on to something. We should compare files, share info. Have you discussed this with Tom? It was his case way back when. He may have some insight, given time and distance. We all mull our cases, let them percolate over time, right?”

“He’s in Hawaii shooting his new series.”

Rooney chuckled. “That guy. Books, TV shows. Retirement’s been good to him.”

“I’m going to sit down with him when he gets back. But I’ll try him again, see if I can pull him away from the cameras for a few minutes.” She thanked Rooney and signed off. “I’m gonna call Stuart Sheridan and cross my t’s, make sure that stuff isn’t his.”

She pulled out her phone and dialed, identified herself, and reminded him who she was. As if he would forget.

“Mr. Sheridan, we found a few other items at your place that I just want to make sure aren’t yours. They’re not illegal, but it has great importance to our case.”

“When can I get into my home?”

“We’re almost done with our investigation. I can ask someone to call you with a better answer. But did you or your wife have a bottle of ether in your laundry room? It’s also known as diethyl ether.”

“What the hell is that?”

Guess that’s my answer.

“A chemical.”

“Not ours.”

“You want to check with your wife?”

“Hang on,” he said with the enthusiasm of a turtle. He muted the phone with a hand and called to Nancy, asked her something, then returned to the call. “No. She has no idea what I’m talking about. And of course now she wants to know why I’m asking.”

Oops. Guess he didn’t tell her about the squatter. “Sorry about that. What about Sterno cans?”

“You mean the fuel they use for catering? Chafing dishes? No, we haven’t had any events or major dinners at the house in years. Certainly nothing that we’d hire caterers for. And I’d never store chemicals or flammable fuel in my basement. Asking for trouble.”

You have no idea.

“That’s what I thought. Sorry to bother you with—”

“Why would this guy have that stuff in my house?”

“Nothing I can discuss right now,” Vail said. “But it may have connections to another case we’re looking at.” She thanked him and hung up before he continued asking questions she would not be able to answer.

She then called Underwood and was left chuckling at his voice mail greeting: “Shooting in Hawaii. The TV series kind, not the handgun kind. Leave me a short message and I’ll call you back.” She told him what they discovered regarding the offender using the same chemical as both an anesthetic and an accelerant and that it was important she speak with him before he left Hawaii. She had just hung up when several of their phones went off simultaneously.

“Goddammit,” Hurdle said as he read the text from Leslie Johnson:

another body

def a blood lines vic

Vail locked eyes with Curtis. “Terrific.”





50


Marcks sat in the backseat of his new car, where the rear windows were darkly tinted. During his adventures last night he had slit open the right pant leg of his jeans so he decided to risk going into a twenty-four-hour Walmart in Fredericksburg. He picked up two pairs of jeans, a pack of underwear and socks, a few shirts, more toothpaste, and hair dye.

Even though it was pushing 1:30 AM and there were few people in the store, he felt self-conscious walking around, even with the hat on and the beginnings of a full beard. At the same time, while there was danger in being out in public, the challenge, the rush, of pulling it off was worth it—far better than the boredom of being stuck in a prison cell day after day.

He walked by a clothing display showing a blonde model and he flashed on his reunion with Jasmine. It did not go as he had figured it would. A part of him felt something for her. It was more than familiarity. A connection, perhaps. He had difficulty putting his finger on it because he rarely experienced such emotions. Anger, fury were more his speed. Love? Family? He wasn’t sure he truly understood those constructs.

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