“Hey, at least he’s a thorn who’s residing in a federal penitentiary, locked away forever.”
He worked his jaw slightly, as if conceding Vail’s point. “So let me see this letter.”
Vail pulled out a copy of the document and handed it to Curtis. “Not really a whole lot to ‘see.’” She described the envelope Jasmine received and how she determined—or concluded—that Marcks had sent it. “No one else knew about what was done to Sparky. At least, no one who’s still alive.”
Curtis shifted his right leg, crossed it over his left knee. “So we basically know this douche bag is the one who sent the letter and he’s … what? Toying with Jasmine? Or really threatening her?”
“Could be both. Don’t know enough to say. Yet. But we have to take it seriously.”
Curtis mulled that for a bit. “So what are you thinking?”
“Protective custody.”
“Don’t think I could sell that to my lieutenant. Not based on this.” He glanced again at the paper Vail had handed him.
“Maybe start with regular well-checks, investigate Marcks, see if you can get a line on anyone he could be using for a job—guys who visited him, known associates. Maybe we can get a handle on whether or not he’s actually going to act on this threat.”
Curtis gave a tight nod. “I can do that.”
“Jasmine’s going to be contacting you to file a report. She’s also got the names of three known associates of Marcks worth looking into. One may’ve been following her. Name’s Gaines. Coincided with a front page Time magazine article—”
“I saw it. I’ll follow up with her, look into it.”
“Good. Now get outta here so I can get some real work done. I’ve got a unit meeting and my boss is on my ass.”
“Speaking of asses, how’s your husband?”
Vail looked up and locked her gaze on Curtis. “He’s dead, Erik. Long story. I’m engaged to a DEA agent.”
“Good for you. I think.” He got up from his chair. “I had the hots for you. You know that, right?”
I do now.
“I—” she swallowed. “Nope, did not know that. But I’m … flattered.”
“Yeah, well, you were married, had a kid. Jonathan?”
Vail rose and gathered up a case file. “Jonathan, yeah. Freshman at GW.”
“Good. That’s good.” Curtis rocked back on his heels. “You’re lookin’ good, Vail. Guess you’re the one that got away.”
“Sorry.” She glanced up at him, trying not to laugh. “You’ll find someone.” It’d help if you cut your hair and joined a gym. But hey, there’s someone for everyone. “Keep me posted on what you find, okay?”
Curtis shrugged. “Of course.”
VAIL WALKED INTO THE CONFERENCE ROOM a couple of minutes late. Gifford frowned, but it was DiCarlo’s head shake that irked her. Yeah, I’m late and I’m sorry, but get over it, lady. I was working. On that hand-holding babysitting case.
Standing at the front, remote in hand, was profiler extraordinaire Art Rooney, one of two ATF agents—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives—in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He winked at Vail and turned back to the room, where nearly every one of the seats were taken.
“So as I was saying.” Rooney hit the button and the first image splashed across the screen. “This was a month ago. Out in the sticks, this house had three acres around it. Fire marshal believes the blaze was set in the living room and spread rapidly—a key indicator of an arson.”
“Accelerant?” Frank Del Monaco asked.
Rooney twisted his lips, hesitated, and said, “Denatured and jellied alcohol. Sterno.”
“From those catering canisters?” Vail asked. “Not a very effective way of starting a hot fire. Or sustaining it. Right?”
“Right.” Rooney forwarded to another photo, and then others: wide angle shots showing the crime scene and surrounding land and close-ups of the fine ash and burned rubble—remnants of kitchen appliances. “They’re still analyzing samples from the house. My guess is there was something else used other than Sterno because that fire was damn hot. With intense fires we typically see color changes or spalling in concrete, melted aluminum, deformation of steel, that type of thing—and we see some of that here.
“There wasn’t much left of the structure—cinderblocks for the fireplace, the back and front steps outside, some metal from a dishwasher and refrigerator. And that’s about it. While those are generally unreliable indicators of the presence of an accelerant, I’m convinced that the intensity of the fire is significant. I’m sure we’ll find something more potent than Sterno. Oh, we also found traces of bone. There was apparently a body, which is why homicide was called.”
“Identification?” Tom van Owen asked.
“Not a whole lot left. No teeth, no long bones. They’re running DNA. Homicide dick is Kevin McBride.”