Vail swallowed. “Yeah. And it wasn’t good.”
“Do we have known handwriting samples on file for Marcks?”
“I—I don’t know.” She turned to Meadows. “I’m sure we do. But I came into the case after all the work had been done. I studied Underwood’s behavioral assessment, read through the file to see if I could reconstruct his thought process, follow how he arrived at his conclusions. I didn’t worry about the physical evidence too much because Curtis, the Fairfax detective, was dealing with that. Of course, in retrospect that seems ridiculous. But back then I was a rookie. What the hell did I know?”
“I suggest you find out. And you may want to pay Roscoe Lee Marcks a visit.”
He may be in more of a mood to meet with me now. She smiled inwardly. Thing is, even if he’s not, he may have no choice.
6
POTTER CORRECTIONAL FACILITY
HARDY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
Potter Correctional Facility was a prison that exemplified punishment not merely by its strict rules and regulations but by its rustic building: over a hundred years old, its walls were roughhewn from stone, the mortar cracking and crumbling, moss coating its northern surfaces and weeds taking root just about everywhere.
It was cold in winter and, because of its West Virginia location and poor air circulation, hot and humid in the summer. For thirteen years there had been talk of closing it and relocating the inmates, but for various reasons the plans never moved beyond discussion and debate, cost projections and the politics of every special interest that had a hand in the pie. Litigation was tied up in the courts. The status quo continued—as did the complaints.
Potter was filled with murderers, rapists, arsonists, and child molesters. Truth be told, the prisoner rights groups and their paid legal counsel were the only ones who cared about the subpar conditions. Everyone else seemed to adhere to the sense that maximum crimes brought maximum security, which in this case begat maximum suffering. Or close to it.
After leaving the lab, Vail phoned Frank Del Monaco, another profiler in her unit, and asked him to locate handwriting samples for Roscoe Lee Marcks that they had on file and to scan and email them to Meadows.
Del Monaco was less than pleased to be given the unscheduled task, but Vail had done her share of favors for him over the years.
Vail followed the correctional officers to the interview room. Although the assistant warden had wanted her to meet Marcks with a slab of super-strength Lexan Plexiglas separating them and a phone line connecting them, Vail wanted a more informal environment given the strategy she had devised for their discussion. She listened to each of the man’s objections then politely explained why she needed to do it her way.
Problem was, she had little control over how the interview was conducted: this was Bureau of Prisons’ domain and her only recourse would be to go above his head to the warden, and she did not want to burn the bridge unless absolutely necessary.
He ultimately agreed and she now sat in a small room with two officers behind her. Marcks was led in, all six foot two and two hundred fifty pounds of him, and shackled to the table.
“Leave him handcuffed,” Vail said. “But not to the table. I want him to be comfortable.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t—”
“Agent. Or Special Agent. Or Special Agent Vail. But not ma’am.” She faced Marcks but spoke to the guards. “Now please go check with Assistant Warden Thibeaux and you’ll see that Mr. Marcks is to be handcuffed but not shackled.”
The guard gestured to one of the other men, who left the room.
“He’ll be right back to remove those,” Vail said with a wink.
Marcks squinted. “Why are you going out of your way to make me comfortable?”
Vail shrugged. “I want to have an honest conversation with you. Hard to do that when you’re chained to a table and your back and shoulder muscles start to burn.”
Marcks canted his head slightly as if doing so would help him get a better angle on assessing her motives.
Vail needed to build a rapport with the man, to gauge the threat to Jasmine, to feel him out. In a best-case scenario, it would take multiple sessions. But she had to do it the right way if she had any hope of getting anything from him.
Seconds later, the door opened and the officer removed the shackles, then cuffed Marcks in front without a word. But on his way out, he turned to Vail and said, “If he bashes your head in, it ain’t my fault.”
She nodded at the two guards behind her. “You guys can go, too.”
They gave her a look—probably similar to the one Robby, her fiancé, would give her if he knew what she was doing.
When the men left, and it was only Vail and Marcks sitting a few feet from each other, he laughed. “You carry a lot of weight around here.”