“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.
All he knew is that when he was face-to-face with Jasmine, touching her, he wanted to break her neck. End her life.
That was the rage he was accustomed to.
All in all, his encounter with her was not a complete loss. He showed her he could still find her, which was undoubtedly unnerving. If it made for anxious, sleepless nights, so much the better.
But he no longer had a bead on Jasmine, and unless he could follow Vail again it would be difficult tracking his daughter down. Since Vail had to have her guard up now, tailing her carried a lot more danger. He had done it successfully once, but attempting a repeat performance might be going back to the well too many times. While he was skilled at not getting caught, he knew when to back off. His ability to outsmart, to outthink, the cops was what had gotten him this far.
One thing being locked away in a prison cell taught him was how mind-numbingly tedious life could be. Staying free presented its challenges, for sure, but they were good challenges.
He might have difficulty feeling certain types of emotions, but excitement was not one of them.
51
Vail stood at the entrance to the apartment and pulled on a pair of booties while watching members of the crime scene unit ply their trade. Curtis was parking the car as Vail stepped inside and found Johnson in the bedroom, right hand on her chin, studying the victim’s body from several feet away, as if trying to make sense of it.
“I’m here,” Vail said.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“Are we sure this is a Blood Lines kill?”
Johnson did not move. While still staring ahead, she said, “Oh yeah, I’m sure. Go on, take a look for yourself.”
Vail snapped on a pair of gloves. “Who is this?”
“Aida Cerulli. Thirty-nine-year-old pharmacist. Roommate, a factory worker who has the overnight shift, discovered her this morning. Best I can tell, Aida finished up at the drug store, an independent in Manassas, around 6:30 last night. I can’t account for her whereabouts after that. A neighbor thought she heard her come home around nine, but wasn’t sure.”
Vail advanced on the bed and saw the familiar dried blood pooled, soaked into the sheets and mattress pad. “Do we have a time of death?”
“ME said last night, probably between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM. There are tool marks on the front door lock.”
“Really. Forced entry.” That’s new. Why? Is this merely the evolution of MO? Or is it because this kill was done by Gaines or MacFarlane and we had his bottle of ether, so he couldn’t use it to subdue her?
“What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” She turned around and saw that Curtis had entered. She told him what her thoughts were. “Take a stealth entry, get into the apartment while the vic’s asleep. Surprise her, no screams.”