William tilted his head, and in doing so his eyes caught the light. Marcks saw something there, perhaps recognition. Perhaps not. But he could not take the chance.
As William stood there pondering the situation, Marcks knew what had to happen. And if William could put two and two together, he would know it, too. But William looked like a simple man and he probably believed that if he talked tough, he would dodge a bullet and his unwelcome guest would be on his way.
Marcks held his hands up in surrender and walked toward the exit—which happened to be past William.
Before William realized what was happening, he was immobilized in a headlock, Marcks’s left arm cutting off the blood supply to his brain and Marcks’s right hand clamping over the man’s mouth, preventing an errant noise or desperate scream.
William slumped into Marcks’s hold, unconscious. Marcks set him on the ground and perused the workbench, ultimately finding his tool of choice: a wicked-looking keyhole saw. Long and narrow, with alternating teeth that were sharp as a knife, it was as imposing as it was lethal.
Marcks jabbed it into William’s chest between the fourth and fifth ribs slightly left of center.
“No witnesses, Willie,” Marcks said. “Just the way it’s gotta be.”
He then yanked out the saw and brought the man to his feet, bent his knees and folded William over his shoulder. With a quick contraction of his thighs, he lifted William and took him for a ride.
No one was going to find William’s body parts for an awfully long time.
19
Vail walked into the command center at 1:00 PM and found Hurdle hunched over his keyboard, examining spreadsheet data. Tarkoff was seated across from him studying other documents.
“Long breakfast,” Hurdle said without diverting his eyes.
“We had a good talk. She’s worried about not being able to finish her book tour.”
“I expect to get Marcks sooner rather than later. But either way, her sales and promotion are not my problem.”
Vail sat down opposite him. “Of course. I think she understood that my sole concern was keeping her safe and apprehending her father.”
“What about the bank account?” Hurdle asked.
“She’s kept it open. And when I hit her with the question of whether or not her father’s gay, she seemed … I don’t know. Like there was something there. Guess I could’ve been reading into it.”
The door swung out and Curtis stepped into the RV. “Just got a call from Warden Barfield at Potter. Wants to know if we’re making any progress on the escape.”
Tarkoff swiveled in his direction. “And you told him?”
“That we’ve got guys working on it.”
“He accepted that?”
“He wanted details but I didn’t wanna give him anything,” Curtis said. “Until we know who’s working with Marcks, we can’t trust anyone there. Not saying the warden’s a suspect, but he’s a suspect. Know what I mean?”
Hurdle shrugged. “Can’t think of a case where a warden helped an inmate escape—not counting incompetence. But there’s always a first. You two gonna follow up on his three friends the daughter gave us?”
“Next on our list,” Curtis said.
Good to know.
“For now, that’s your priority.”
“Well, that and investigating the Hartwell murder,” Vail said as she got up from her seat. “You want us to check back here later?”
“I’ll let you know. If not, see both of you tomorrow morning.”
Vail and Curtis left the trailer, Vail offering to drive.
“Where are we on the three of them?”
“Johnson did some of the grunt work, looked into their whereabouts, and put together some solid dossiers. She did a nice job.”
“I would’ve told you if she was going to be a problem. Leslie’s a good cop. She’ll have your back.” Vail turned right onto Lincolnia Road. “Where to?”
“Hood bridge.”
“What bridge?”
Curtis laughed. “Woodbridge, in Prince William County. What we call it, you know?”
“Because it’s got some high crime areas?”
“Hey, I didn’t coin the phrase. Fair or not, I wasn’t surprised this joker lives there.”
“Which one?”
“We’ve only got a twenty on Vincent Stuckey. Johnson’s still working on Scott MacFarlane and Booker Gaines—the one Jasmine said was following her in the store.”
“You got a phone number for Stuckey?”
Curtis squinted, then pulled out his cell and thumbed through his emails. “Yeah. You thinking of calling him?”
“Just want to make sure he’s there. Don’t want to make a wasted trip.”
He read off the number and she dialed her Samsung. It rang three times before a male voice picked up the line.
“This is UPS and we’ve got a package for Vincent Stuckey. Is Mr. Stuckey available?”
“Yeah, that’s me. But why are you calling? Don’t you guys just show up?”
“This is our third attempt,” Vail said, “and it’s marked for signature. Our driver can’t leave it at the door. You going to be around awhile so I can get you your package?”