Marcks laughed, then he raised his handcuffed wrists and pointed an index finger at her. “You’re a sneaky little devil, you know that, Karen? Get me talkin’ and not noticin’ you’ve asked about a dozen questions when I only agreed to three. That’s not really building trust, is it?”
How does he know about building trust? Has he read Douglas’s or Underwood’s books? He couldn’t have—unless he read them before he was caught. Maybe it was just a good guess. “I thought we were having a conversation.”
He yawned, making a show of it. “You know what? I didn’t sleep too good last night. There’s some shit going on in here and I have to watch my back. I’m really fuckin’ exhausted. Can we do this next time? Promise we’ll talk about my daughter.” He looked past her, as if about to call for the guard.
But Vail was not ready for the interview to end. “How do you feel about Jasmine?”
Roscoe slowly settled his gaze on Vail. It was a threatening move, eerie in its deliberateness. “How do I feel about her?”
“She turned you in. You were caught because of her. You’re behind bars. No chance of ever getting out. Because of her.”
Marcks held her eyes a moment, then shrugged. “Wasn’t a highlight of our relationship. How am I supposed to feel?”
“Did you read her book?”
“A news station sent me a copy hoping I’d give them an interview. Yeah, I read it.”
“Did it make you angry?”
His right fist curled into a white-knuckled mace. “You have no idea.”
“You want to get even?”
“How do you mean?”
Vail let the left side of her mouth drop sardonically. “You know.” She leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “Revenge.”
“Against my own daughter? Because of some bullshit book?”
“Yeah. Like hurt her. Kill her. Cut off her limbs.”
Marcks leaned back, narrowed his gaze, measured his response. “Now let’s say I could do harm to my own daughter. My own flesh and blood. How would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
He looked at her, long and hard. “Do something for me, Karen. Tell my little darlin’ to be careful.” He looked past her and banged his large fists on the table. “Guard!”
7
As Vail drove back toward Jasmine’s house, she phoned Tim Meadows. After the disturbing end to her visit with Marcks, she wanted to know if they had supporting evidence that he had sent his daughter the letter.
“You get the handwriting sample Del Monaco sent over?”
“I did,” Meadows said, “and I’ve got some good news. There’s one characteristic in particular that’s a bit unusual. A hitch in the uppercase S.”
“But.”
“How’d you know I was gonna say ‘but’?”
“There’s always a but with you.”
“Well, here’s the thing: both the known exemplar and the indented writing are small samples. It’s a little tough to say conclusively based on only a few words.”
“So … it’s a probable match.”
“Well, that’s part of the but. In Questioned Documents examinations, the identification is either conclusive or inconclusive. There’s some individuality and similarities in these writing samples, but …”
“There’s not enough to go on.”
“Right. If I was a betting man, however, I’d say he wrote it.”
“Are you a betting man?”
“Nope. But that’s irrelevant.”
“I think I’m more confused than before I called you.”
“Let me translate for the lower IQ agents I’m forced to work with: I believe it to be a match, but my report’s gonna say inconclusive because to say otherwise would be asking for a sharp defense attorney to tear me a new asshole in court. Does that clear it up?”
“Now let me translate: you think it was written by Marcks but you’re not gonna stick your neck out because you’re covering your large buttocks.”
“Now there’s a language we can both understand.” He paused a second, then said, “You think I’ve got a big rear end?”
Vail hung up and called Potter Correctional. Ten minutes later she had confirmation that a letter had been sent three days ago from Roscoe Lee Marcks. It contained a torn-out magazine advertisement and a blank piece of paper. They knew Marcks had a daughter, so they figured he was sending her a picture of a stuffed animal. Since it contained nothing overtly dangerous, they let the parcel pass.
Indented writing was covert, not overt, so she could not fault them for letting it through.
As Vail approached Jasmine’s house, she received a text message from Stacey DiCarlo. She glanced at her Samsung Galaxy while driving and decided not to reply, mimicking those annoying announcements she saw in the movie theater: “It can wait.” And when it came to her unit chief, she was more than happy to do just that.
Jasmine looked surprised to see Vail so soon. She had changed into workout attire—but she appeared to be nervous, as if she had spent the day stressing over the letter she received from her father.
“So there was something written on that paper,” Vail said.
Jasmine studied her face a moment. “Come in.”
Vail followed her into the kitchen again and they sat down. “Can I get you something?”
“I’m fine.” Truth was, she was starving—but she did not plan on staying long.