They walked past the twelve-level public safety facility to the Massey Annex, the archive center commonly referred to simply as the “records room” by Fairfax County police.
They passed a sign that divided visitors into two categories: citizens and police. They headed right, down a short alcove to a twenty-year-old woman with her hair pulled back in a bun.
Curtis badged the clerk and explained what he needed. “Already spoke with the sergeant about it.”
“He just called. Give me some time to find it.”
As she walked off, Vail looked at Curtis. “She’s kind of young, no?”
“Cadets. Prospective police officers. Gotta be creative with county budgets. Put the eager, low-cost bodies where you need ’em, where they can’t do any damage.”
The woman returned an hour later with a thin folder. “Copies of the Marcks file. It’s a really, really old case.”
“Not to worry,” Vail said. “Marcks is updating his body of work as we speak.”
Curtis elbowed Vail away and gave the clerk a disarming smile. “Thanks. Appreciate your help.”
They went back to the warmth of Vail’s car. She clapped her gloved hands together and looked over at Curtis as he pulled open the folder.
He gave it a quick once-over while Vail turned up the heater and defroster.
“So it looks like Stuckey was being straight with us. Assuming this Lance guy told the truth—and it’s a stretch to make that assumption—it went down like Stuckey said. When they arrested Marcks, he was charged with improper discharge of a firearm and involuntary manslaughter. But once they found and interviewed Lance—” his finger tracked down the page—“Kubiak. Lance Kubiak. When they sat down with him, they accepted his version of events and null prossed it.”
Vail knew that was a bastardized version of a Latin term nolle prosequi, meaning they decided not to prosecute the case against Marcks.
Curtis harrumphed. “Forensics didn’t exactly match up. Gunshot residue was inconclusive. There was residue on Marcks and a trace amount on Eddie Simmons, the deceased teen. But with Marcks in the wind for—” Curtis turned a couple of pages and consulted the paperwork—“three hours, that kind of ruined the evidentiary value. They expected to find more on Simmons’s hands if they were struggling for the gun. But it wasn’t enough to press forward with a case. Especially with their only witness corroborating Marcks’s version of events, tainted as that accounting was.”
“So where does this leave us?”
Curtis closed the file. “Not sure.”
“Looks like Lance Kubiak knows what really happened. Assuming he’s still alive, he’s someone that Marcks put his trust in once before. Could be he does it again.”
Curtis cocked his head.
“What?”
“I can’t see Marcks making that mistake. Tracking down old friends … he’s wise to that. He’s too smart, too careful to let us to trap him like that.”
“Is he? He contacted Stuckey.”
“And what did that get us? Something on a thirty-year-old case. Nothing on where Marcks is in the present day.”
“We’ll see about that. For now, we follow the Marshals’ recipe. And a key ingredient of that recipe is watching known associates, family, and friends. Let’s find Lance Kubiak and see if he’s had contact with Marcks. It’s another bread trail.”
Curtis checked his watch. “Speaking of bread, I’m starving. We totally blew past lunch.”
“I’ll drop you off at your car. I’m running late for a meeting at the Academy.”
VAIL STRODE INTO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING and signed in at the front desk, then texted Art Rooney to tell him she had arrived.
He suggested that she meet him at the gymnasium. She passed through the magnetron scanner, then headed straight past the auditorium, library and classrooms, and on to the physical education wing. As she made her way down the hall, she saw Rooney opening the door to the pool area.
“Art!”
Rooney turned, nodded at her. “Trying to squeeze in a short workout before heading off to an appointment. You mind?”
“That’s fine. I got hung up over at Fairfax County PD. Took the clerk an hour to pull a file from archives.”
“Normally I wouldn’t care but I’ve got a dinner appointment.”
“Speaking of dinner, Robby and I had a guy over last night. Former ATF agent who did time in the fire lab.”
He tossed a pair of swim goggles onto a railing and continued on to the stairs, which led down to the main level of the cavernous gym. “Anyone I know?”
“Richard Prati, now with DEA Special Operations.”
Rooney pursed his lips. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“We had a chance to chat about Crime Concealment Fires. Anything new on that case?”
“Got back some forensics on the latest scene,” he said, grabbing a basketball off a wheeled cart. “Come shoot some hoops with me before I swim laps.”
Vail removed her shoulder holster and placed it around the head of an oversize gray and black “Cuff Man” dummy, which was outfitted with Velcro and designed to teach the proper techniques for applying handcuffs.